Читать книгу Greek Tragedy in the Light of Vase Paintings - John H. Huddilston - Страница 11

Under the expression ‘Roman sarcophagi’ one understands those of the first and second centuries A.D. unless the expression is further qualified. Sarcophagi from the time of the Republic are very rare and they are withal modest in their workmanship. The florid decorations of the time of the Empire, and especially of the period just noted, are often of secondary interest, but the reliefs on the sarcophagi are for the most part of prime importance, as furnishing reminiscences of lost tragedies and ancient paintings of great renown. The majority are copies of very ordinary merit, while now and then a sarcophagus relief is not unworthy a Greek artist of the fourth century B.C.

It is a commonly known fact that long before the Laokoön, or the Farnese Bull, or the Apollo Belvidere was unearthed in the sixteenth and fifteenth centuries—long before the classical antiquities of Rome, Florence, and Naples had attracted students and lovers of art—the sculptures of these sarcophagi, scattered about in cathedrals and palaces, had begun to teach the Italian artist what the human figure really is, and what composition and decoration should be. The Renaissance artist first learned the charm and simplicity of the ancient costume from these marbles and perceived how vastly superior this was to the heavy, conventional church-dress that concealed the outlines of the form and rendered grace and beauty impossible. The study of the antique, we have reason to believe, was in the early Renaissance largely a study of these Roman sarcophagi.

There is no need of going into detail. It will be enough to hint at the most important monuments of this class that stand under the influence of Greek tragedy. Whether they are a direct product of the Greek plays or are founded on the Latin translations, or whether they represent copies of Greek paintings based on Greek tragedy—this is for the present purpose all one and the same. It is not necessary to determine whence the incentive came. The important fact for one to grasp first is, that a surprisingly large number of the reliefs owe their existence to the tragic drama, and that these sculptures should be brought into one’s study of the tragic poets^[48].

The series of reliefs illustrating Euripides’ Alkestis is of prime importance for one who wishes to see in art a scene worthy of the poet^[49]. The touching farewell of Alkestis as she reclines upon her death-bed is in each instance the centre of the groups on the long side. Around her gathers the whole family. The children draw up close to their mother’s side. Her parents are also present, and this lends more interest to the sight, for they could scarcely be absent although the poet does not mention them in this connexion. The last words of Alkestis, and Admetos’ reply, form the real charm of the play. All else falls far behind these speeches, and following one of the gems in Greek literature the artist could afford to assign his illustration the first place on the reliefs. Arranged on either side are the other incidents of the drama, following the poet with considerable faithfulness. In this connexion should be mentioned the relief in Florence, also based upon the same source^[50].

The Hippolytos sarcophagi are, so far as I know, the most numerous of those that are dependent upon tragedy. If we possess more than a score, either entire or in fragments, after the destructive elements have been at work on them since antiquity, there is reason to believe that many times this number were once in existence. Copies were made in large numbers, and many a Roman was laid to rest behind the tragedy in marble which in the Hippolytos of Euripides has continued with some interruptions to move the sympathies of the civilized world for more than two thousand years. The reliefs are in the main faithful illustrations of Euripides. One or two situations are foreign to him, and these would suggest the influence of a Roman poet. It is unnecessary to do more here than to refer to the following chapter, where the whole question finds a further discussion^[51].

‘The Orestes myth appears upon the sarcophagi exclusively in the form given to it by the Attic drama. The first part—the slaying of Aigisthos and Klytaimestra—follows the Oresteia of Aischylos. The second part—the meeting of Iphigeneia and Orestes and the rape of the Tauric idol—is based upon the Iphigeneia in Tauris of Euripides.’^[52] One exception only is noted and this appears to represent the influence of a later play which handled the subject of the Oresteia^[53]. The scenes on the other sarcophagi are indeed illustrations of Aischylos. In each case the final moment of the Choephoroi, when the Furies rush in upon the murderer, guilty of a mother’s blood, is chosen for the middle group. Right and left from this the succeeding events are arranged. The right end scene invariably represents Orestes as he is about to escape from the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi and go to Athens. He picks his way with circumspection over the sleeping Furies, and one is led up to the triumphal verdict of the Eumenides^[54]. Robert has shown very clearly the relation of these sculptures to Aischylos’ words, and it is enough to refer to his discussion.

The Iphigeneia-Orestes sarcophagi breathe from first to last the spirit of Euripides. A study of them is scarcely less instructive than a reading of the play. Step by step the story is unfolded. Orestes and Pylades are taken captives and stand before the priestess, whose dreadful office is made more horrible by the remains of human sacrifices that are fastened up around the sanctuary; the recognition scene with the letter follows. Then Iphigeneia appears with the idol in her arms, and asks Thoas’ permission to go and purify it in the sea. The two Greeks stand bound, ready to follow her, and last of all comes the mêlée at the ship. One after another of the barbarians is laid low by the strong arms of Orestes and Pylades. Iphigeneia is placed safely aboard with the image, and one sees the beginning of the homeward journey that closed the history of the house of Atreus^[55].

The Euripidean Medeia is discussed at length in another place, and I have pointed out there the part that the sarcophagi occupy in art representations of the tragedy^[56]. The two extremes of touching tenderness and violent passion, which no one ever combined more successfully in one character than did Euripides in his Medeia, come prominently to the foreground in these reliefs. I know of no monuments of ancient art that grasp the spirit of a Greek tragedy more effectually than the Medeia sarcophagi. The strange and secret power of the sorceress hovers over and pervades the whole. The dreadful vengeance exacted by the slighted queen is shown in the most graphic manner. Standing before the Berlin replica, which is the best preserved and most beautiful of all the sculptures, one cannot but feel that he is face to face with a marvellous illustration of the great tragedy. The marble all but breathes; the dragons of Medeia’s chariot may be heard to hiss.

A small number of other monuments of this class belongs to the ‘Seven against Thebes,’ and, as in the case of the Etruscan urns, the Phoinissai of Euripides is the main source of the illustrations. Perhaps Seneca’s Phoenissae also entered into the work. Robert conjectures that Euripides’ Oedipus may have furnished suggestions for parts of the scenes^[57].

The Philoktetes of Sophokles is illustrated on one relief very much in the manner of the Etruscan urns already referred to. The wounded Philoktetes stands at the mouth of the cave and speaks to Neoptolemos on the right. Odysseus keeps safely out of sight on the left^[58].

The story of Pasiphaë’s unholy love is told on a fragment of a sarcophagus in the Louvre^[59]; Daidalos and his cunning work play the leading part. The ultimate literary authority was Euripides’ Κρῆτες. The latter may not have been used directly, as the myth enjoyed after this play a continuous popularity. The relief on one end represents a fruit offering, and as this would agree with the vegetarian vow of the chorus, Robert prefers to recognize a direct connexion with Euripides^[60].

Mention may be made lastly of the Meleager sarcophagi, which, like the Etruscan urns, have much in common with Euripides’ Μελέαγρος^[61].