With halyards strained, a falling thunderbolt Smote full; again the goddess poised her bolt 535 With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself, And hurled it true with shock impetuous.
Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship, It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.
Still undismayed, he overtops the waves, All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff, 540 And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.
Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare, He shines amid the blackness like a torch Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep.
At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts In madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea, 545 The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves, The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.
I've braved the terrors of the god of war; With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge, Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.
Those gods, together with their Phrygians, 550 I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?
Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts: But what if Jove himself--" When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods, Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock, And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea. 555 So, falling with its fall, the madman lies By earth and fire and billows overcome.
But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners, A worse destruction waits. There is a reef, Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals, Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot Beneath the whirling waters of the sea. 560 Above this reef the billows heave and dash, And madly seethe with each recurring wave.
High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects, Which views on either side the spreading sea.
There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores, And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn, Shielding the broad Aegean from the west. 565 There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52] lies; And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.
This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied, With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.
There his accurséd hand a beacon raised And lured us onward to the fatal spot. 570 Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed, Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals; And where but now our vessels sought to land, They flee the land and choose the angry waves. 575 With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent, And full atonement had been made to Troy.
Then came the sun again; and brightening day Revealed the awful havoc of the night.
_Clytemnestra:_ I know not which were better, grief or joy.
I do rejoice to see my lord again, 580 And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.
O father Jove, at whose august command The sounding heavens quake, regard our race, And bid the angry gods be merciful.
Let every head be decked with festal wreath, The flute resound, and at the stately shrine Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice. 585 But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt, The Trojan women come; and at their head, With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired, Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.
[_Enter band of_ Trojan women, _led by_ Cassandra.]
_Band of Trojan women:_ Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing, This love of life we mortals cherish so!
What madness, when the door stands open wide 590 That frees us from our ills, and death calls loud And welcomes us to everlasting rest!
Who finds that refuge, fears no more These nameless terrors, these assaults, These insolent assaults of fate, And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove. 595 Deep peace of death!
No frenzied burgher-throng to fear, No victor's threatening madness here; No wild seas ruffled by the blast; No hosts in serried battle massed, Where whirling clouds of dust disclose 600 The savage riders to their foes; No nation falling with its city's fall, 'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall; No wasting fires, No burning pyres, And all the horrors impious war inspires.
They from the servile bonds of fate 605 This human life emancipate, Who fickle fortune dare to brave, And face the terrors of the grave; Who joyful view the joyless Styx, And dare their mortal span to fix.
How like a king, how like a god on high Is he who faces death nor fears to die! 610 In one dark night we saw our city doomed, When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed; But not in battle, not by warlike arts, As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.
No son of Thetis dealt the blow 615 Which wrought our final overthrow, Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight, When once, in borrowed armor dight, He put our Trojan chiefs to flight; Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er 620 The fierce resentment that he bore, And sped him forth on vengeance bent-- Not even in such evils pent, Did Troy to cruel fortune bend, But struggled bravely to the end.
Her bitter fate--for ten long years to stand, And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand. 625 In memory still we see the monstrous bulk Of that pretended and most fatal gift, The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous, With our own hands into our city led.
The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft 630 Upon the threshold of the city gate, While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.
And we might well have turned their crafty arts To work their own destruction. But alas, We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears, And low and angry mutterings within 635 Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.
Now free from fear our Trojan youth Crowd round to touch the sacred cords With joyous hands. Astyanax Here leads his youthful playmates on, While 'midst the maidens gaily comes The maid Polyxena, foredoomed To bleed upon Achilles' tomb. 640 Mothers in festal garments bring Their votive offerings to the gods, And sires press gaily round the shrines. 645 Throughout the town all faces tell One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba, Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre, Had never ceased her tears, was glad.
But now, unhappy grief, what first, What last, dost thou prepare to weep? 650 Our city walls in ruin laid, Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines Upon their very gods consumed?
Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes Have dried their tears for these. But now We weep, O father, king, for thee. 655 We saw, with our own eyes we saw, The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand, Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.
_Cassandra:_ Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits, Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine. 660 Let each bewail her several woes; but I For my own heavy grief have tears enough.
_Band:_ Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know That our own tears with others' flow; More sharply gnaws the hidden care 665 Which we with others may not share: And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief, Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.
Though Philomel for Itys sing 670 Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring; Though Procne, with insistent din, Bewail her husband's hidden sin; 675 Not these, with all their passionate lament, Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.
Let Cycnus raise his dying song, And its soft, plaintive strains prolong; Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave, 680 A-flutter o'er the tossing wave; Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele 685 Their tears for Attis share with thee: Still would our tears in no such measure flow, 690 For sufferings like these no limits know.
[Cassandra _lays aside her fillets_.]
But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?
Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.
_Cassandra:_ But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear. 695 I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more, For now am I beyond their power to harm, And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.
No country have I left, no sister, sire; For tombs and altars have my blood consumed. 700 Where is that happy throng of brothers now?
Departed all! And only weak old men Remain within the lonely palace walls To serve the wretched king; and these, alas, Throughout those stately chambered halls behold, Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.
And Hecuba, proud mother of a race 705 Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia, Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form, Barks madly round the ruins of her home, Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.
_Band:_ Why falls this sudden silence on her? See 710 Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise, And we can hear, though pent within her breast, The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.
Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon Her eyes seem backward turned into herself, 715 Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.
Now higher than her wont she lifts her head And walks with stately step; and now she strives To open her reluctant lips. At last, Though struggling still against th' inspiring god, The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.
_Cassandra:_ Why prick me on with fury's goads anew, 720 Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? Why Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh?
Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.
Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.
Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?
Now Troy is fallen--must I still rave on, 725 And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?
The kindly light has fled, and deepest night Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun, The day shines forth again; and doubled homes In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits 730 Amid those awful goddesses to judge (Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.
Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon Shall overthrow your house.
Beware the queen!
Why does she madly in her woman's hand Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek 735 With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred, Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?
What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?
A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts, Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate; While at his mangled[53] neck a low-born beast 740 Gnaws greedily.
Why do ye summon me, Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?
I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54] deep Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks, I see, though not in brave and fair array, As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow 745 Of burning ships; but with thy members torn And foully mangled by the dragging thongs.
And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too, Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!
I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus, Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift Of thy new wife? 750 Ah me, 'tis sweet to go Along the borders of the Stygian pool; To see the savage hound of Tartarus, The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old, Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls Across the murky Phlegethon today, The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades, And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven 755 Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both: Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm, That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold, Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.
See, see! the squalid sisters come, 760 Their bloody lashes brandishing, And smoking torches half consumed.
A sickly pallor overspreads Their bloated cheeks; and dusky robes Of death begird their hollow loins.
The gloomy night with fearsome cries 765 Resounds, and to my startled eyes Dread sights appear: there lie the bones Of that huge giant, far outstretched, Upon a slimy marsh's brink All white and rotting. Now I see That old man, wan with suffering, Forget awhile the mocking waves, 770 Forget his burning thirst, to grieve For this disaster hovering About his house; But Dardanus exults to see His foeman's baleful destiny.
_Band:_ Now has her rage prophetic spent itself, 775 And fall'n away; like some devoted bull, Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrine Beneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.
Let us support her ere she faint and fall.
But see, our Agamemnon comes at last To greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned; And, all in festal garb, with glad accord, 780 His consort welcomes her returning lord.
FOOTNOTES: ACT IV [_Enter_ Agamemnon. _He is met and greeted by his wife, who returns into the palace._] _Agamemnon:_ At last in safety am I home returned.
Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoil From many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length, So long the mistress of the haughty east, 785 Submits herself as suppliant to thee.
But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling falls With nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her; Revive her drooping spirits with the chill Of water on her face. Her languid eyes Again behold the light of day. Arise, Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.
That shelter from our woes, so long desired, 790 Is here at last. This is a festal day.
_Cassandra:_ Remember Ilium's festal day.
_Agamemnon:_ But come, We'll kneel before the shrine.
_Cassandra:_ Before the shrine My father fell.
_Agamemnon:_ We will together pray In thankfulness to Jove.
_Cassandra:_ Hercean Jove?
_Agamemnon:_ Thou think'st of Ilium?
_Cassandra:_ And Priam too.
_Agamemnon:_ This is not Troy. 795 _Cassandra:_ Where a Helen is, is Troy.
_Agamemnon:_ Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.
_Cassandra:_ But freedom is at hand.
_Agamemnon:_ Live on secure.
_Cassandra:_ I think that death is my security.
_Agamemnon:_ For thee there's naught to fear.
_Cassandra:_ But much for thee.
_Agamemnon:_ What can a victor fear?
_Cassandra:_ What least he fears.
_Agamemnon:_ Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard, 800 Till she shall throw this mood of madness off, Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.
To thee, O father, who the blinding bolt Dost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse, Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands, To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils; And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord, 805 Argolic Juno, here I offer now All fitting gifts--and so fulfil my vow.
[_Exit into the palace._] _Chorus of Argive women:_ O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons, And dear to the jealous Juno's heart, How mighty the children who feed at thy breast! 810 Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals; For Alcides has won by his labors heroic The right to be named with the lords of the sky.
Alcides the great! at his birth were the laws Of the universe broken; for Jove bade the night To double the dew-laden hours of the darkness. 815 At his command did the god of the sun To a sluggish pace restrain his car; And slow of foot around their course, O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.
He also checked his feet, the star, Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft 820 In the evening sky; and he marveled that he Should be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that Aurora Roused to her wonted task, but again Sank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus: For long must the night be, and tardy the morning, That waits for the birth of a hero divine. 825 The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood still To greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.
Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy hand Has the terrible lion of Nemea felt, 830 The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boar That Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bull When torn from the fields of Crete; Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction, 835 And severed the last of its multiplied heads.
The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one, Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club; But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds, Were driven away as the spoils of the east. 840 The terrible steeds of the Thracian king, Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon, Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody, With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them), 845 These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance, As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.
The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte saw A-gleam on her conqueror's breast.
The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds 850 By his arrows death-smitten, And the tree which bears the fruit of gold Feared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures, Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.
Forth from the ravished grove he strode 855 With its golden fruit full laden; in vain Did the deadly, sleepless dragon guard Hear the sound of the musical metal.
By triple chains to the upper world The hound of hell was meekly dragged; 860 His three great mouths in silence gaped, Amazed by the light of day.
And, greatest of toils, beneath his might, The lying house of Dardanus Was overthrown, and felt the force Of that dread bow which it was doomed In far-off time to feel again.
Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow; 865 As many years her second ruins know.
ACT V _Cassandra_ [_alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the interior of the palace, describes what is going on there; or else she sees it by clairvoyant power_]: Great deeds are done within, the cruel match For ten long years of suffering at Troy.
Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul, And take reward for thy mad prophecies.
The conquered Phrygians are victors now.
'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust, 870 For thou hast now to equal ruin brought Mycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.
Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soul So clearly seen the things of which it raved.
I see, and no false image cheats my sight, I see it plainly, there, within the hall, 875 A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests, Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.
The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries; Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of gold That once cheered great Assaracus; and see, The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad, Sits high in triumph at the table's head, 880 With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.
Now comes his queen and bids him put away The garment which his enemy has worn, And don instead the robe which she has made With loving thoughts of him.
Oh, horrid deed!
I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man, That exile, smite a king? the paramour The husband slay? The fatal hour has come. 885 The second course shall flow with royal blood, And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.
And now the king has donned the deadly robe, Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.
His hands no outlet find; the clinging gown Enwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.
With trembling hand the coward paramour 890 Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound; For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.
But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds, Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strives And strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain: So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside 895 The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet, Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.
Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches up A two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest, Before he smites the sacrificial bull, Marks well the spot and meditates his aim: So she her impious weapon balances. 900 He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed head Hangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.
Nor do they even yet their weapons stay: The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse, While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task. 905 So each responds to each in infamy.
Thyestes' son in very truth is he, While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.
The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day; Shall he go on or backward bend his way?
[_Remains beside the altar._] [_Enter_ Electra, _leading her little brother_, Orestes.]
_Electra:_ Flee, sole avenger of my father's death, 910 Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.
Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown, Our kingdom gone.
But see, a stranger comes, His horses driven to their utmost speed; Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.
But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear? 915 A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.
Put off thy fears, for close at hand I see The timely shelter of a faithful friend.
[_Enter_ Strophius _in a chariot, accompanied by his son_ Pylades.]
_Strophius:_ I, Strophius, had left my Phocian realm, And now, illustrious with th' Olympic palm, I home return. My hither course is bent To 'gratulate my friend, by whose assault 920 Has Ilium fallen after years of war.
But why these flowing tears and looks of woe?
And why these marks of fear? I recognize In thee the royal house. Electra! Why, When all is joyful here, dost thou lament?
_Electra:_ My father lies within the palace, slain 925 By Clytemnestra's hand. His son is doomed To share his father's death. Aegisthus holds The throne which he through guilty love has gained.
_Strophius:_ Oh, happiness that never long endures!
_Electra:_ By all thy kindly memories of my sire, By his proud scepter, known to all the earth, 930 And by the fickle gods, I pray thee take My brother hence, and hide him from his foes.
_Strophius:_ Although dead Agamemnon bids me fear, I'll brave the danger and thy brother save.
Good fortune asks for faith; adversity Compels us to be true.
My lad, attend: Wear this wild-olive wreath upon thy brow, 935 The noble prize I won on Pisa's plain; And hold above thy head this leafy branch, The palm of victory, that it may be A shield and omen of success to thee.
And do thou too, O Pylades, my son, 940 Who dost as comrade guide thy father's car, From my example faith in friendship learn.
Do you, swift steeds, before the eyes of Greece Speed on in flight, and leave this faithless land.
[_Exeunt at great speed._] _Electra_ [_looking after them_]: So is he gone. His car at reckless pace Fast vanishes from sight. And now my foes, 945 With heart released from care, will I await, And willingly submit my head to death.
Here comes the bloody conqueror of her lord, And bears upon her robes the stains of blood.
Her hands still reek with gore, and in her face She bears the witness of her impious crime. 950 I'll hie me to the shrine; and, kneeling here, I'll join Cassandra in our common fear.
[_Enter_ Clytemnestra, _fresh from the murder of her husband_.]
_Clytemnestra_ [_to_ Electra]: Thou base, unfilial, and froward girl, Thy mother's foe, by what authority Dost thou, a virgin, seek the public gaze?
_Electra:_ Because I am a virgin have I left 955 The tainted home of vile adulterers.
_Clytemnestra:_ Who would believe thee chaste?
_Electra:_ I am thy child.
_Clytemnestra:_ Thou shouldst thy mother speak with gentler tongue.
_Electra:_ Shall I learn filial piety of thee?
_Clytemnestra:_ Thou hast a mannish soul, too puffed with pride; But tamed by suffering thou soon shalt learn To play a woman's part.
Yea, truly, 'tis to wield the battle-ax. 960 _Clytemnestra:_ Thou fool, dost think thyself a match for us?
_Electra:_ "For us?" Hast thou another husband then?
Speak thou as widow, for thy lord is dead.
_Clytemnestra:_ As queen I soon shall curb thy saucy tongue, And break thy pride. But meanwhile quickly tell, 965 Where is my son, where is thy brother hid?
_Electra:_ Far from Mycenae fled.
_Clytemnestra:_ Then bring him back.
_Electra:_ Bring back my father too.
_Clytemnestra:_ Where lurks the boy?
_Electra:_ In safety, where he fears no rival's power.
This will content a loving mother.
_Clytemnestra:_ Yes, But not an angry one. Thou diest today. 970 _Electra:_ Oh, let me perish by thy practiced hand!
Behold, I leave the altar's sheltering side; Wilt plunge the knife into my tender throat?
I yield me to thy will. Or dost prefer At one fell stroke to smite away my head?
My neck awaits thy deadly aim. Let crime 975 By other crime be purged. Thy hands are stained And reeking with thy murdered husband's blood: Come, cleanse them in the fresher stream of mine.
[_Enter_ Aegisthus.]
_Clytemnestra:_ Thou partner of my perils and my throne, Aegisthus, come; this most unnatural child Assails her mother and her brother hides. 980 _Aegisthus:_ Thou mad and foolish girl, restrain thy tongue, For such wild words offend thy mother's ears.
_Electra:_ Thou arch contriver of most impious crime, Wilt thou admonish me? Thou base-born wretch, Thou sister's son, and grandson of thy sire! 985 _Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, how canst thou restrain thy hand From smiting off her head? But hear my word: Let her give up her brother or her life.
_Aegisthus:_ Nay, rather, in some dark and stony cell Let her be straight confined; and there, perchance, By cruel tortures racked, will she give up 990 Whom now she hides. Resourceless, starving there, In dank and loathsome solitude immured, Widowed, ere wedded, exiled, scorned of all-- Then will she, though too late, to fortune yield.
_Electra:_ Oh, grant me death.
_Aegisthus:_ If thou shouldst plead for life, I'd grant thee death. A foolish ruler he, 995 Who balances by death the score of sin.
_Electra:_ Can any punishment be worse than death?
_Aegisthus:_ Yes! Life for those who wish to die. Away, Ye slaves, seek out some dark and lonely cave, Far from Mycenae's bounds; and there in chains, Confine this bold, unmanageable maid, If haply prison walls may curb her will. 1000 [Electra _is led away_.]
But she shall die, that rival of my couch, That captive bride. Go, drag her hence at once, That she may follow him she stole from me.
_Cassandra:_ Nay, drag me not; for I with joy will go, Outstripping your desire. How eagerly I hasten to my Phrygians, to tell 1005 The news: the ocean covered with the wrecks Of Argive ships; Mycenae overthrown; The leader of a thousand leaders slain (And thus atoning for the woes of Troy) By woman's gift of wantonness and guile.
Make haste! I falter not, but thank the gods, 1010 That I have lived to see my land avenged.
_Clytemnestra:_ O maddened wretch, thy death I wait to see.
_Cassandra:_ A fateful madness waits as well for thee.
OCTAVIA OCTAVIA A FABULA PRAETEXTA THE ONLY EXTANT ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA INTRODUCTION The Roman historical drama had a place among the earliest products of Roman literature, and seems to have enjoyed a degree of popularity through all succeeding periods. That Roman literary genius did not find a much fuller expression through this channel was not due to a lack of national pride and patriotism, nor yet to a dearth of interesting and inspiring subjects in Roman history. The true reason is probably to be found in the fact that by the time national conditions were ripe for the development of any form of literature, the Greeks had already worked, and well worked, nearly all available fields, and had produced a mass of literature which dazzled the Roman mind when at last circumstances brought these two nations into closer contact.
The natural and immediate result was an attempt on the part of the Romans to imitate these great models. And hence we have in drama, both in tragedy and comedy, a wholesale imitation of the Greek dramas, oftentimes nothing more than a translation of these, with only here and there an attempt to produce something of a strictly native character, entirely independent of the Greek influence.
This imitative impulse was augmented by the fact that the Romans were following the line of least resistance, since it is always easier to imitate than to create. Furthermore, they had as yet developed no national pride of literature to hold them to their own lines of national development; they had no forms of their own so well established that the mere force of literary momentum would carry them steadily on toward a fuller development, in spite of the disturbing influences of the influx of other and better models. They had, indeed, developed a native Saturnian verse which, had it been allowed a free field, might have reached a high pitch of literary excellence. But it speedily gave way at the approach of the more elegant imported forms.
The overwhelming influence of Greek tragedy upon the Roman dramatists can be seen at a glance as we review the dramatic product of the Roman tragedians. We have titles and fragments of nine tragedies by Livius Andronicus, seven by Naevius, twenty-two by Ennius, thirteen by Pacuvius, forty-six by Accius, and many unassignable fragments from each of these which indicate numerous other plays of the same character. To these should be added scattering additions from nearly a score more of Roman writers during the next two hundred years after Accius. All the above-mentioned plays are on Greek subjects; and most of those whose fragments are sufficiently extensive to allow us to form an opinion of their character are either translations or close imitations of the Greeks, or are so influenced by these as to be decidedly Greek rather than Roman in character.
And what of the genuine Roman dramatic product? Speaking for the _fabula praetexta_, or Roman historical drama, alone, the entire output, so far as our records go, is contained in the following list of authors and titles.
From Naevius (265-204 B.C.) we have the _Clastidium_, written in celebration of the victory of Marcellus over Vidumarus, king of the Transpadane Gauls, whom Marcellus slew and stripped of his armor, thus gaining the rare _spolia opima_; this at Clastidium in 222 B.C.
The play was probably written for the especial occasion either of the triumph of Marcellus or of the celebration of his funeral.
We have also from Naevius a play variously entitled _Lupus_ or _Romulus_ or _Alimonium Remi et Romuli_, evidently one of those dramatic reproductions of scenes in the life of a god, enacted as a part of the ceremonies of his worship. These are comparable to similar dramatic representations among the Greeks in the worship of Dionysus.
The _Ambracia_ and the _Sabinae_ of Ennius (239-169 B.C.) are ordinarily classed as _fabulae praetextae_, although Lucian Müller classes the fragments of the _Ambracia_ among the _Saturae_ of Ennius; while Vahlen puts the _Ambracia_ under the heading _Comoediarum et ceterorum carminum reliquiae_, and classifies the fragments of the _Sabinae_ under _ex incertis saturarum libris_. The _Ambracia_ is evidently called after the city of that name in Epirus, celebrated for the long and remarkable siege which it sustained against the Romans under M. Fulvius Nobilior. That general finally captured the city in 189 B.C. If the piece is to be considered as a play, it was, like the _Clastidium_, written in honor of a Roman general, and acted on the occasion either of his triumph or of his funeral.
We have four short fragments from the _Paulus_ of Pacuvius (220-130 B.C.), written in celebration of the exploits of L. Aemilius Paulus who conquered Perseus, king of Macedonia, in the battle of Pydna, 168 B.C.
The fragments of the plays already mentioned are too brief to afford any adequate idea of the character or content of the plays. But in the _Brutus_ of Accius (b. 170 B.C.), which centers around the expulsion of the Tarquins and the establishment of the Republic, we have a larger glimpse into the play through two most interesting fragments consisting of twelve iambic trimeters and ten trochaic tetrameters, respectively.
In the first, King Tarquin relates to his seer an ill-ominous dream