Chapter 24

I come, Posidon I, from briny depthsOf the Aegean Sea, where Nereids dance, etc.[Way’s translation]

I come, Posidon I, from briny depthsOf the Aegean Sea, where Nereids dance, etc.

I come, Posidon I, from briny depths

Of the Aegean Sea, where Nereids dance, etc.

[Way’s translation]

This new freedom, which thus came first to divine prologists, was soon extended also to mortals. Thus the heroine in Euripides’Andromacheexclaims (vss. 1 ff.):

O town of Thebes, beauty of Asian land,Whence, decked with gold of costly bride-array,To Priam’s royal hearth long since I came, ...Here on the marshes ’twixt Pharsalia’s townAnd Phthia’s plains I dwell.[Way’s translation]

O town of Thebes, beauty of Asian land,

Whence, decked with gold of costly bride-array,

To Priam’s royal hearth long since I came, ...

Here on the marshes ’twixt Pharsalia’s town

And Phthia’s plains I dwell.

[Way’s translation]

The artificiality of Euripides’ opening soliloquies strikingly appears in hisOrestes. Referring to Clytemnestra’s murder of her husband, Electra says (vss. 26 f.):

Wherefore she slew,—a shame for maid to speak!—I leave untold, for whoso will to guess.[Way’s translation]

Wherefore she slew,—a shame for maid to speak!—I leave untold, for whoso will to guess.

Wherefore she slew,—a shame for maid to speak!—

I leave untold, for whoso will to guess.

[Way’s translation]

These words, together with certain other phrases, show clearly that the speaker is conscious of an audience.

It will be worth our while to note and comment also upon the other monologues in theAlcestisand the first one in theMedea, these being the oldest of Euripides’ extant tragedies. At vss. 243 ff. the dying Alcestis, in the presence of her husband and the chorus and interrupted by the former at regular intervals, bids a final farewell to sun, earth, palace, etc. This belongs to the type found in Homer and Aeschylus and is paralleled by Sophocles’Antigone(vss. 806 ff.) andAjax(vss. 372 ff.). At vs. 746 of theAlcestisoccurs one of the few instances of a chorus retiring during the course of a Greek play. Advantage is at once taken of this circumstance. A reason for the servant’s leaving the palace at this point can readily be imagined but none is expressly mentioned. Nor is the bluntness of his monologue softened by any motivation. At vs. 773 Heracles appears and a dialogue ensues between them. At vs. 837 the servant withdraws; Heracles tarries and bursts forth as follows (incidentally obviating in this way the necessity of their departures in opposite directions exactly synchronizing):

O much-enduring heart and hand of mine, etc.

It will be observed that such an introduction for the following soliloquy is a reversion to the second Homeric type, which nowmakes its first appearance in tragedy. At vs. 861 Admetus re-enters with the chorus and apostrophizes his bereaved palace. His speech at vs. 934 begins with the words “my friends,” referring to the chorus, and closes in the same way at vs. 961. Except for these artificial sutures his words constitute in effect a soliloquy. This play is especially valuable for our present purpose as indicating what a hindrance the chorus was to the unhampered use of monologues outside of the prologue, and how quickly and freely they were called into requisition during its withdrawal. The same deduction may be drawn also from comedy. In the Old Comedy of Aristophanes, the chorus still being active and vigorous, soliloquies were employed hardly more freely than in Aeschylus or Sophocles. But by the time of New Comedy, when the chorus had so far lost its functions as to appear only forentr’actesand when Euripides’ innovations had had time to work their full effect, monologues occur with great frequency and are usually unmotived. In fact, Professor Leo endeavored to use them in the plays of Plautus and Terence, which are taken from originals of the Greek New Comedy, as a criterion to determine the position of act divisions.

From theMedeaI wish to cite only the opening monologue, which is spoken by the Colchian’s nurse:

Would God that Argo’s hull had never flownThrough those blue Clashing Rocks to Colchis-land,... My mistress then,Medea, ne’er had sailed to Iolcos’ towersWith love for Jason thrilled through all her soul.[Way’s translation]

Would God that Argo’s hull had never flown

Through those blue Clashing Rocks to Colchis-land,

... My mistress then,

Medea, ne’er had sailed to Iolcos’ towers

With love for Jason thrilled through all her soul.

[Way’s translation]

An admirable quality here is the passionate emotion which does not always dominate Greek soliloquies. A little later (vs. 49) a man slave enters and inquires:

O ancient chattel of my mistress’ home,Why at the gates thus lonely standest thou,Thyself unto thyself discoursing ills?How wills Medea to be left of thee?[Way’s translation]

O ancient chattel of my mistress’ home,Why at the gates thus lonely standest thou,Thyself unto thyself discoursing ills?How wills Medea to be left of thee?

O ancient chattel of my mistress’ home,

Why at the gates thus lonely standest thou,

Thyself unto thyself discoursing ills?

How wills Medea to be left of thee?

[Way’s translation]

She replies:

... For I have sunk to such a depth of grief,That yearning took me hitherward to comeAnd tell to earth and heaven my lady’s plight.[Way’s translation]

... For I have sunk to such a depth of grief,That yearning took me hitherward to comeAnd tell to earth and heaven my lady’s plight.

... For I have sunk to such a depth of grief,

That yearning took me hitherward to come

And tell to earth and heaven my lady’s plight.

[Way’s translation]

It is noteworthy, however, that despite this statement her opening monologue had not in fact been addressed to earth or sky. Since Ibsen the soliloquy has been tabooed on the modern stage. Yet inasmuch as people do at times talk aloud, when alone, it would seem that the present-day reaction had gone too far and that monologues, under proper psychological conditions, might sometimes be allowed. Furthermore it must be supposed that among impulsive southern races, like the Greeks and Romans, soliloquizing would be more common than with us, and in consequence it would naturally claim a larger part in their drama. Nevertheless, we have seen that, until Euripides, the playwrights restricted its use to such instances as could be motivated with some degree of naturalness. Of these motives it must be allowed that the least satisfactory was that founded on an appeal to the elements. Of course most commentators have refused to recognize this as a mere expository convention and have expatiated upon the innate feeling for and sympathy with nature among the Greeks. But as for myself I fear that this explanation has been pressed unduly. Euripides, I am sure, felt self-conscious in utilizing a device so threadbare and patent. My conviction is based on the retroactive way in which he employed the motive here in theMedea, on the fact that he often preferred to introduce monologues without any motive than to resort to one so bald and artificial as this, and especially on the guilty phrase which he slips into the heroine’s soliloquy in hisIphigenia among the Taurians(vss. 42 f.):

What visions strange the night hath brought to meI’ll tell to ether,if doing so brings help.

What visions strange the night hath brought to me

I’ll tell to ether,if doing so brings help.

Though it is unsafe to set too much value upon the jibes of the comic poets, yet it is not without interest to observe their attitudein this matter. Philemon placed a close parody of thisMedeapassage in the mouth of a boastful cook:[370]

For yearning took me hitherward to comeAnd tell to earth and heaven—my cuisinerie!

For yearning took me hitherward to come

And tell to earth and heaven—my cuisinerie!

And Plautus in hisMerchant(vss. 3 ff.) preserved a more explicit passage from the same poet of New Comedy:

I do not do as I’ve seen others doIn comedies, who through the power of loveTell night, day, sun, or moon their miseries.

I do not do as I’ve seen others do

In comedies, who through the power of love

Tell night, day, sun, or moon their miseries.

The foregoing statement of Euripidean usage is far from exhaustive. Yet it is necessary to hasten on. Quite apart from the effects which may be secured from monologues in choral drama, there are no less than three additional uses to which they can easily be put in chorusless plays. In terms of classical drama, therefore, they will appear most frequently in Greek New Comedy and in Plautus and Terence.

In the first place when two characters meet on the stage and talk it is necessary for them either to appear simultaneously at the two entrances (and it is self-evident that this method cannot be employed very often without seeming ridiculous) or for one of them to enter first and fill up a slight interval before the other’s arrival by soliloquizing. Such an entrance monologue occurs at the beginning of Aristophanes’Lysistrata, where the bearer of the title-rôle complains:

Now were they summoned to some shrine of Bacchus,Pan, Colias, or Genetyllis, there had beenNo room to stir, so thick the crowd of timbrels.And now!—there’s not one woman to be seen.Stay, here comes one, my neighbor Calonice.Good morning, friend.[Rogers’ translation]

Now were they summoned to some shrine of Bacchus,

Pan, Colias, or Genetyllis, there had been

No room to stir, so thick the crowd of timbrels.

And now!—there’s not one woman to be seen.

Stay, here comes one, my neighbor Calonice.

Good morning, friend.

[Rogers’ translation]

Perhaps I may be pardoned for digressing here a moment in order to discuss what happens when two characters make a simultaneous introit through the same entrance. In most cases it is natural to suppose that they have been together for some little while and that some talk has already been carried onbetween them. On the contrary in the fifth-century plays the conversation regularly does not begin until after they have entered the stage. Two instances of this have already been noted onpages 259 f., above, Orestes coming all the way from Phocis to Argos before he acquaints his associates with the Delphian oracle or formulates a plan of action with them, and Iris accompanying Madness from Olympus but reserving her instructions until Thebes has been reached. Of course it is easy to see why this convention was employed, but a little thinking enabled the playwrights to secure the same results without violating verisimilitude quite so patently. Only twice in fifth-century drama do characters enter with words which indicate that they have already been engaged in conversation. In Aristophanes’Frogs(405B.C.) (vs. 830), Euripides says to Dionysus, as they emerge with Pluto from the latter’s palace: “I would not yield the throne of tragedy to Aeschylus; do not urge me to.” Again in Euripides’ posthumousIphigenia at Aulis(vss. 303 ff.), Agamemnon’s slave enters in expostulation: “Menelaus, outrageous is your boldness.... You ought not to have unsealed the tablet which I bore.” The former of these quotations clearly implies words off scene, and the latter implies action and presumably words as well. But in New Comedy and the Latin comedies this technique has, not unnaturally, pre-empted the field. Two instances must suffice. In Terence’s version of Menander’sAndrian Girl(vss. 820 f.), Chremes enters complaining: “My friendship for you, Simo, has already been put sufficiently to the test; I have run enough risk. Now make an end of coaxing me.” Again, in Terence’sBrothers(vs. 517), Ctesipho and Syrus enter together, the former saying: “You say my father has gone to the country?” It is characteristic of this technique that the very first words make plain the fact that the stage conversation is a continuation of one already begun off stage and likewise disclose the topic under discussion. It will be remembered that simultaneous entrances of this sort, when made from the abode of one of the characters involved, are generally left unmotivated (seep. 239, above).

After this digression we may return to the second use which New Comedy made of monologues, viz., as exit speeches. Since there was no drop curtain in the Greek theater, all characters had to go off as well as come on; no tableau effects to terminate a scene were possible. Moreover, in order to avoid the simultaneous exit of all the persons in a scene, it often seemed best to detain one of them beyond the rest and allow him to fill a brief interval with a soliloquy. As already mentioned this technique occurs so frequently in Plautus and Terence that an attempt has been made to utilize it as a criterion for a division of the Roman comedies into acts. Such an exit soliloquy has already been noted in Euripides’Alcestis, vss. 837 ff. (p. 306, above).

In the third place, unless a new character is to enter the stage at the very instant that an old one leaves it, the actor who engages in successive dialogue with each of them must cause a slight pause by soliloquizing. Such a soliloquy is technically known as a “link.” One is found in the monologue which Strepsiades utters between the withdrawal of his son and the entrance of Socrates’ pupil (Aristophanes’Clouds, vss. 126 ff.). Links are often extremely short, sometimes being no more than a cough or hem; they are frequently employed to cover the condensation of time, especially when they occur between the exit and re-entrance of the same character. Furthermore, they occur in playwrights who reject other forms of soliloquy, no less than five instances appearing in Ibsen’sPillars of Societyalone.

So long as the chorus retained its vigor, dramatists found it easier, except in the prologue or during occasional withdrawals of the chorus in the course of the action, to fill gaps by remarks addressed to the coryphaeus than by entrance soliloquies, exit soliloquies, or links. Yet they do occur in choral drama, and I have cited one instance illustrative of each type from fifth-century plays. In comedies of subsequent date, in which the chorus was greatly curtailed or nonexistent, they may be found by the score.

It still remains to speak of another kind of soliloquy, viz., the aside or, more accurately speaking, the apart, by which the grim ghastliness of modern tragedy has often been enhanced. The vastness of Greek theaters and the almost constant presence of from twelve to twenty-four choreutae rendered this artifice an awkward one for ancient playwrights. Nevertheless, asides are occasionally found in Greek drama. In Euripides’Hippolytus(vss. 1060 ff.), that hero, unable to clear himself of false accusations except by violating his oath of secrecy, exclaims to himself:

O Gods, why can I not unlock my lips,Who am destroyed by you whom I revere?No!—whom I need persuade, I should not so,And all for nought should break the oaths I swore.[Way’s translation],

O Gods, why can I not unlock my lips,Who am destroyed by you whom I revere?No!—whom I need persuade, I should not so,And all for nought should break the oaths I swore.

O Gods, why can I not unlock my lips,

Who am destroyed by you whom I revere?

No!—whom I need persuade, I should not so,

And all for nought should break the oaths I swore.

[Way’s translation],

entirely unheard by his father and the chorus close at hand. Half-asides occur in Euripides’Hecabe(vss. 736-51), where the Trojan queen utters no less than four aparts, an aggregate of ten verses, in an effort to decide whether to appeal to Agamemnon for aid. His interruptions indicate that he is aware that she is speaking but does not catch the drift of her words. It should be noted, however, that these passages do not contain the ironic values which have usually inhered in the use of aparts upon the modern stage. The obstacles hampering the employment of asides in fifth-century times appear most plainly from scenes like Euripides’Ion(vss. 1520 ff.), where two actors wish to speak to one another privately. Their confidences must be uttered loud enough to be heard by the seventeen thousand spectators, but the nearby chorus catches not a word. With the virtual disappearance of the chorus in New Comedy the apart, not unnaturally, came into more frequent use and was employed more as it has been in modern times.

For the absence of ironic aparts, however, Greek tragedy was richly compensated by the frequent occurrence of dramatic irony. Irony of course is a mode of speech by means of which is conveyed a meaning contrary to the literal sense of the words, and maybe divided into two classes—“verbal” and “practical” (to use Bishop Thirlwall’s term) or “dramatic.” In the former the dissimulation is manifest to all concerned, else the sarcasm, passing unrecognized, would fail of its effect and recoil upon the speaker, while in the latter (which alone interests us here) concealment of the hinted truth is essential. It may be the speaker himself who fails to perceive the inner meaning of his own words (and then we call it “objective” irony), or he may employ “subjective” irony, i.e., consciously use his superior knowledge, to gloat over his victim or inveigle him to doom by an ambiguous utterance. In either case, however, thedouble ententeis usually known to the audience, a considerable part of whose pleasure consists in viewing with prophetic insight the abortive efforts of the dramatic characters to escape the impending catastrophe.

An excellent instance of conscious irony occurs in Middleton and Rowley’sChangeling, Act III, scene 2. There De Flores is guiding Alonzo about the castle where he intends to murder him, and significantly says:

All this is nothing; you shall see anonA place you little dream on.

All this is nothing; you shall see anon

A place you little dream on.

The unconscious irony, however, is likely to be more tragic in its tone. So when Iago first conceives his groundless suspicions of his wife and Othello he vows that he will be

evened with him, wife for wife.[Othello, Act II, scene 2],

evened with him, wife for wife.

[Othello, Act II, scene 2],

and these words are fulfilled in a sense far different than he intended, by the death of both wives. For this sort of irony Sophocles was especially renowned, and hisOedipus the Kingabounds in instances. One must suffice. Oedipus has slain his own father, the reigning king, though these facts are unknown to him. Being now directed by an oracle to investigate his predecessor’s death, he declares, with more meaning than he realized: “I will fight this battle for him as for mine own sire” (vss. 264).

It is possible to draw still one more distinction. Dramatic irony consists, not only in the contrast between the outer,apparent meaning and the real, inner meaning of an ambiguous phrase, but also in the contrast between the real and the supposed situation. Thus a man whose ruin is impending often mistakes the position of his affairs so utterly as to indulge in entirely unjustified expressions, feelings, gestures, or acts of rejoicing and triumph. The difference between these two varieties of dramatic irony may be seen in Sophocles’Maidens of Trachis. In the first place we have the contradiction between the real meaning of the oracle that Heracles’ “release from toils will be accomplished” and Heracles’ own mistaken interpretation thereof (vss. 167 f. and 1170 ff.); and in the second place there is the “irony of situation” in that Deianira sends him a gift which she hopes will woo back his love but which actually results in his death. Euripides’Bacchanalsoffers other examples in the boastful and confident attitude of Pentheus, whom the spectators know to be doomed to a frightful end, and in the mock humility of Dionysus, whose intended vengeance they foresee. Again, in Sophocles’Oedipus the King(vss. 1014 ff.) there is a striking contrast between the intended and the actual effect when the Corinthian messenger informs Oedipus that Polybus was not his father. This irony of situation often consists in the clash or shock of conflicting intrigues, as may be seen in Shakespeare’sMeasure for Measure.

But dramatic irony was not confined to tragedy, as a brief analysis of one of Terence’s plays will disclose. In comedy, however, the effect was naturally somewhat different, being more humorous than tragic. In theAndrian Girl, Simo intrigues to test his son’s obedience, pretending that he has arranged an immediate marriage for him with Chremes’ daughter. Accordingly there is irony of situation in the consternation which this false announcement causes (vss. 236 ff. and 301 ff.). Pamphilus’ slave (Davus), however, soon sees through the trick and persuades him to turn back the intrigue (and, consequently, the irony) upon his father by apparent compliance (vss. 420 ff.). But Simo at once proceeds to get Chremes’ consent in fact, so that the dramatic situation is again reversed, as the too cleverslave discovers to his surprise when he facetiously inquires why the wedding is being delayed (vss. 581 ff.). Especially galling are Simo’s words (said without a full comprehension of how true they are): “Now I beseech you, Davus, since you alone have brought about this marriage ... exert yourself further that my son be brought into line” (vss. 595 f.). There is also irony in the conduct of Charinus, who is a suitor for Chremes’ daughter and is naturally (though needlessly) disturbed at the thought of Pamphilus’ marrying her (vss. 301 ff., 625 ff., and 957 ff.). Of course there is always irony involved when a man leads himself astray or allows another so to lead him; but as these are the standard themes of comedy, one need not cite every such instance.

The best instance in this play, however, can be appreciated only on second reading or as the memory of the spectator recalls its real significance. Simo wishes his son to marry Chremes’ daughter, but Pamphilus’ affections are already pledged elsewhere. Now unknown to all the parties concerned this sweetheart is also Chremes’ daughter. There is, therefore, more meaning than he intends or perceives in Pamphilus’ despairing question: “Can I in no way avoid relationship with Chremes?” (vs. 247).

This is similar to Admetus’ words in Euripides’Alcestis(vs. 1102) when Heracles insists that he receive into his home a veiled woman (really Admetus’ own wife restored to life): “Would you had never won her in a wrestling bout!” But in the present instance the identity of Pamphilus’ mistress does not transpire until later, so that, as I have stated, the irony is not at first apparent. There is here a point of difference between tragedy and comedy in antiquity: the themes of tragedy were almost invariably drawn from mythology and the outlines of the story would therefore be known to practically everyone of consequence in the audience; furthermore, the not infrequent practice of foretelling the dénouement in the prologue would put even the ignorant in a position to recognize subtleties in the language of the characters. That the ancient playwrightsthemselves appreciated this difference appears from the words of the comic poet, Antiphanes, already quoted onpage 127, above. As a result, in ancient tragedy the irony of a situation or ambiguous phrase would be recognized at once without any preparation for it whatsoever, while in ancient comedy and in modern plays, whether tragic or comic, these effects usually have to be led up to. Two other considerations ought also to be mentioned, however. First, audiences exercise a sort of clairvoyance in looking beneath the bare words and divining the course of events, so that (paradoxical at it sounds) the surprises of the stage usually are long foreseen by the spectators and only the expected events happen. Secondly, the dénouement here in question, the discovery that Pamphilus’ sweetheart is the daughter of free parents and, in particular, of someone among the dramatis personae, was so hackneyed in New Comedy, occurring in no less than five of Terence’s six plays, that any frequent theatergoer would have been on the lookout for it and might easily have recognized any subtle effects dependent thereon.

In conclusion, we have to consider the dramatic purpose of tragic irony and its effect upon the audience. Bishop Thirlwall (op. cit., p. 489) pointed out:

There is always a slight cast of irony in the grave, calm, respectful attention impartially bestowed by an intelligent judge on two contending parties, who are pleading their causes before him with all the earnestness of deep conviction, and of excited feeling. What makes the contrast interesting is, that the right and the truth lie on neither side exclusively: that there is no fraudulent purpose, no gross imbecility of intellect, on either: but both have plausible claims and specious reasons to allege, though each is too much blinded by prejudice or passion to do justice to the views of his adversary. For here the irony lies not in the demeanor of the judge, but is deeply seated in the case itself, which seems to favor both of the litigants, but really eludes them both.

This analogy is especially true when the irony arises from clashing intrigues, and the audience, admitted to the author’s confidence and sitting at his side, as it were, joins with him in awarding praise here and condemnation there. Again the playwright is the omnipotent creator and ruler of the little worldthat moves upon the stage. And the spectator, beholding the dramatic characters’ fruitless toil and plotting, baseless exultation, and needless despondency seems to be admitted behind the scenes of this world’s tragedy and to view the spectacle through the great dramatist’s eyes, learning that man must be content with little, humble ever, distrustful of fortune, and fearful of the powers above. Thus the slighter themes and less important reverses of comedy bring a purification (κάθαρσις) in their train no less truly than the more somber catastrophes of tragedy.[371]

Back to Index Next