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SOPHOCLES.* IT is a commonplace of criticism that the works of Sophocles are the perfection of dramatic art. They are supreme in the same sense that the Parthenon and its sculptures are supreme. They do not reveal by so much as a single hint the idiosyn- crasy, in strength or weakness, of the poet. When you read the sounding line of Aeschylus, which haunts you with the music of a torrent, when in the mood of curiosity you attempt to pierce the mystery of Euripides, the philosopher, you carry away from the works of each some image of the man who wrote them. You feel the rugged, irresistible temper of Aeschylus in every passage of his plays. The delicate, self- tortured talent of Euripides cannot elude you. But what of Sophocles ? Does the author of King Oedipus present him- self in human shape when you have read his masterpiece? We think not. Perfection is impersonal, and the tragedies of Sophocles seem to have been fashioned, not by a man, but by the genius of harmony, working untrammelled and alone.
In other words, Sophocles and Pheidias present the art of their glorious age, as it were, without the intervention of a human intelligence. They strike the uniform note of harmony and good order, which, as Professor Phillimore justly says in the preface to his recently published translation, is the note of the time. They preserve a perfect balance between their craft and its material, between the various elements of thought and skill which go to make up their work. In the presence of their masterpieces admiration is easier than analysis, because the artistsl were more deeply interested in the per- fection of their work than in laying bare their own souls. Neither of them has a code of signs by which he communi- cates to remote posterity the personal secrets of his mind, and we may reverence the plays of the one, the incomparable sculptures of the other, without any interposing thought of themselves. "If you try to parody Sophocles," says Pro- fessor Phillimore, with excellent wisdom, "you will be
• Sophocles. Translated and Explained by X. S. Phillimore. London: George Allen. [76. 6d.]
parodying the Periclean Age; as in Shakespeare the E1z1:- bethan England"; and from either enterprise the vainest of the moderns would shrink appalled. Euripides tempts to' parody, and Marlowe's mighty line might perchance find here and there a timid echo, But Sophocles and Shakespeare show you the image of perfection, which none but the master's themselves could hope to represent.
Nevertheless, some of the processes by which Sophocles attained perfection are still discernible, and it is strange that this apostle of order should have been an innovator in his art.
Yet it is strange only at first sight. The art whose practice he inherited was still primitive, even hieratic. When Sophocles began to write, the Greek drama, or the Greek opera, as Professor Phillimore rightly calls it, was hampered by too many restraints to be wholly expressive; and it was the
triumph of Sophocles to have modified its artifice, and to have increased its reality, yet not one inch beyond the limit of his art. To this end, then, all his innovations tended. He abandoned, for instance, the ancient system of tetralogies; he added a third actor to the caste ; he invented—so it is said—the art of scene-painting ; he involved the chorus more closely in the action of the piece than had been customary before him ; and lie simplified the diction. It is in the last innovation, perhaps, that be best showed his mastery. His style is moderation raised to the point of genius. It is the principle of f.c)7UY eiyam beautifully exemplified in perfect verse. He is not stately like Aeschylus; he is not familiar as Euripides; he is in the middle style, always showing "order, measure, adjustment," like the Ilyssus, or the columned facade of the Parthenon. In Professor Philliruore's admirable words, "his art is to be never posing, yet never slipshod; never on parade, yet always keeping a natural ease of carriage." He recognised that the drama must preserve a certain illusion, that its sole object was not to pay reverence to a god, that it must strengthen the link which binds it to the life of man ; and therefore be invented a verse which is harmony and suppleness made manifest. And once having come into his kingdom, he never resigned the crown. The Oedipus Colaneus is separated from the Ajax by forty years, but while there is no hint of immaturity in the Ajar, there is not the smallest trace of old age in the splendour of the Oedipus Coloneus. Indeed, the similarity of achievement and intent in the two works is their most striking and happiest quality. Each has the marmoreal sense of order which distinguishes the genius of Sophocles, and neither could have come from any other hand, if so human a word as "hand" be permissible. But there is nothing so elusive as perfection, and if we attempt to define the beauty of Sophocles's masterpiece, King Oedipus, we are faced by a riddle far more difficult than that posed by the Sphinx. It is not in the choric odes, matchless as they arc; it is not in the arrangement of the simple episodes, adroitly as they are managed ; it is not in the celebrated sipoptia, in accordance with which Oedipus pitilessly contrives his own doom. It is rather in the many- sided genius which can gather together so many and various qualities for a single assault. No one talent puts its fellows in the shade. All are used with perfect simplicity and an equal mastery to a single end, and as you read the last lines of the play you recognise that its harmony is as inevitable as its conclusion.
Sophocles, then, is the supreme type of the artist. But he was also a man, and even an actor. Now for the ancients anecdote does duty for biography, and we must accept the stories handed down to us concerning Sophocles in no other than a general sense. Nevertheless, we may believe with his German commentator that multus 'epos et hilaritas were characteristic of him. His temperament, indeed, was not serene like his art; and if we may trust Plutarch, he gravely deplored the fever of his blood. A lover of pleasure. he was a lover also of his kind; and he was that rarest of beings, an artist without guile and without jealousy. He respected Aeschylus with all the fervour of a devout pupil, and when Euripides died he bade his actors lay aside their crowns, that due reverence might be paid to the dead master. Fortunate in genius and character, he was fortunate also in the age wherein he was born. He was proud Athenian in the very pride of Athens. He remembered Salamis, and himself took part in the service of thanksgng for that splendid victory; and if he saw the deoline froal -grea. tness of his fatherland, he yet was privileged to live through the years of her magnificent triumph. To us, who look upon the stage with a half-suspicious eye, it is strange thaa this miracle of art should have been an actor. Yet we -may take comfort in the fact that, though he played the harp hi Thamyris, though he won great applause for the skill wherewith he threw the ball in Nausieaa, he was probably a mute personage, and merely appeared to display his musical skill and physical activity.
Sophocles was the poet of his own, as he remains the poet of
time. He "saw life steadily, and saw it whole," wrote Matthew Arnold ; and though from time to time Euripides appeals to the prevailing sentiment, as he did among the later Greeks, Sophocles will always be to the poet and to the scholar "the mellow glory of the Attic stage." Some there are, it is true, who find the white light of perfection dazzling to their eyes, and prefer the iridescence of curiosity. But the clear brilliance of the sun dims the rainbow. In other words, order and harmony prevail over ingenious experiment. The vague striving of the primitive, the tired preciosity of the decadent, amuse for the moment; but admiration soon returns to the exquisite perfection of the master, and Sophocles sits enthroned apart.
A word upon Professor Phillimore's translation. He has attempted to render "the middle diction" of Sophocles, that "common ground to the poetical and the prose style," by the English rhymed couplet. He has failed because he has attempted the impossible. The "middle diction" of Greek cannot be represented by the "middle diction of English." The plain words of our speech have been debased by associa- tion far lelow the level cf the Sophocleau style, and Professor Phillimore's too familiar version lacks that distinction which is necessary above all to the translation of Sophocles. How- ever, Professor Phillimore's experiment is not uninteresting, and he has failed where nothing save genius equal to the poet's own had a chance of success.
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