No More Learning

The production of Alfieri's tragedies began with the sketch called
Cleopatra,' in 1775, and lasted till 1789, when a complete edition, by
Didot, appeared in Paris. His only important prose work is his Auto-
biography,' begun in 1790 and ended in the year of his death, 1803.
Although he wrote several comedies and a number of sonnets and
satires, — which do not often rise above mediocrity, —it is as a tragic
poet that he is known to fame. Before him — though Goldoni had
successfully imitated Molière in comedy, and Metastasio had become
enormously popular as the poet of love and the opera - no tragedies
had been written in Italy which deserved to be compared with the
great dramas of France, Spain, and England. Indeed, it had been
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VITTORIO ALFIERI
said that tragedy was not adapted to the Italian tongue or character.
It remained for Alfieri to prove the falsity of this theory.
Always sensitive to the charge of plagiarism, Alfieri declared that
whether his tragedies were good or bad, they were at least his own.
This is true to a certain extent. And yet he was influenced more
than he was willing to acknowledge by the French dramatists of the
seventeenth century. In common with Corneille and Racine, he ob-
served strictly the three unities of time, place, and action. But the
courtliness of language, the grace and poetry of the French dramas,
and especially the tender love of Racine, are altogether lacking with
him.
Alfieri had a certain definite theory of tragedy which he followed
with unswerving fidelity. He aimed at the simplicity and directness
of the Greek drama. He sought to give one clear, definite action,
which should advance in a straight line from beginning to end, with-
out deviation, and carry along the characters — who are, for the most
part, helplessly entangled in the toils of a relentless fate — to an
inevitable destruction. For this reason the well-known confidantes of
the French stage were discarded, no secondary action or episodes
were admitted, and the whole play was shortened to a little more
than two-thirds of the average French classic drama. Whatever
originality Alfieri possessed did not show itself in the choice of sub-
jects, which are nearly all well known and had often been used
before. From Racine he took Polynice,' (Merope) had been treated
by Maffei and Voltaire, and Shakespeare had immortalized the story
of Brutus. The situations and events are often conventional; the
passions are those familiar to the stage, — jealousy, revenge, hatred,
and unhappy love. And yet Alfieri has treated these subjects in a
way which differs from all others, and which stamps them, in a cer-
tain sense, as his own. With him all is sombre and melancholy; the
scene is utterly unrelieved by humor, by the flowers of poetry, or by
that deep-hearted sympathy - the pity of it all — which softens the
tragic effect of Shakespeare's plays.
Alfieri seemed to be attracted toward the most horrible phases of
human life, and the most terrible events of history and tradition.
The passions he describes are those of unnatural love, of jealousy
between father and son, of fratricidal hatred, or those in which a
sense of duty and love for liberty triumphs over the ties of filial
and parental love. In treating the story of the second Brutus, it
was not enough for his purpose to have Cæsar murdered by his
friend; but, availing himself of an unproven tradition, he makes Bru-
tus the son of Cæsar, and thus a parricide.
It is interesting to notice his vocabulary: to see how constantly
he uses such words as “atrocious,” «horror,” “terrible, «incest,"
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373
" rivers," streams, » lakes,” and “seas” of blood. The exclama-
tion, «Oh, rage! ” occurs on almost every page. Death, murder,
suicide, is the outcome of every tragedy.
The actors are few,- in many plays only four,- and each repre-
sents a certain passion. They never change, but remain true to
their characters from beginning to end. The villains are monsters
of cruelty and vice, and the innocent and virtuous are invariably
their victims, and succumb at last.
Alfieri's purpose in producing these plays was not to amuse an
idle public, but to promulgate throughout his native land - then
under Spanish domination — the great and lofty principle of liberty
which inspired his whole life. A deep, uncompromising hatred of
kings is seen in every drama, where invariably a tyrant figures as
the villain. There is a constant declamation against tyranny and
slavery. Liberty is portrayed as something dearer than life itself.
The struggle for freedom forms the subjects of five of his plays, -
(Virginia,' The Conspiracy of the Pazzi, Timoleon, the First
Brutus,' and the Second Brutus. ' One of these is dedicated to
George Washington - Liberator dell' America. ' The warmth of
feeling with which, in the Conspiracy of the Pazzi, the degrada-
tion and slavery of Florence under the Medici is depicted, betrays
clearly Alfieri's sense of the political state of Italy in his own day.
And the poet undoubtedly has gained the gratitude of his country-
men for his voicing of that love for liberty which has always existed
in their hearts.
Just as Alfieri sought to condense the action of his plays, so he
strove for brevity and condensation in language. His method of
composing was peculiar. He first sketched his play in prose, then
worked it over in poetry, often spending years in the process of
rewriting and polishing. In his indomitable energy, his persistence
in labor, and his determination to acquire a fitting style, he reminds
us of Balzac. His brevity of language — which shows itself most
strikingly in the omission of articles, and in the number of broken
exclamations - gives his pages a certain sententiousness, almost like
proverbs. He purposely renounced all attempts at the graces and
flowers of poetry.
It is hard for the lover of Shakespearean tragedy to be just to
the merits of Alfieri. There is a uniformity, or even a monotony,
in these nineteen plays, whose characters are more or less alike,
whose method of procedure is the same, whose sentiments are
analogous, and in which an activity devoid of incident hurries the
reader to an inevitable conclusion, foreseen from the first act.
And yet he student cannot fail to detect great tragic power,
sombre and often unnatural, but never producing that sense of the


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VITTORIO ALFIERI
ridiculous which sometimes mars the effect of Victor Hugo's dramas.
The plots are never obscure, the language is never trivial, and the
play ends with a climax which leaves a profound impression.
The very nature of Alfieri's tragedies makes it difficult to repre-
sent him without giving a complete play. The following extracts,
however, illustrate admirably the horror and power of his climaxes.
Oscarkahne.
AGAMEMNON
[During the absence of Agamemnon at the siege of Troy, Ægisthus, son
of Thyestes and the relentless enemy of the House of Atreus, wins the love
of Clytemnestra, and with devilish ingenuity persuades her that the only way
to save her life and his is to slay her husband. ]
ACT IV - SCENE I
ÆGISTHUS
CLYTEMNESTRA
Æ
GISTHUS -- To be a banished man, . . . to fly, . . . to die;
These are the only means that I have left.
Thou, far from me, deprived of every hope
Of seeing me again, wilt from thy heart
Have quickly chased my image: great Atrides
Will wake a far superior passion there:
Thou, in his presence, many happy days
Wilt thou enjoy — These auspices may Heaven
Confirm - I cannot now evince to thee
A surer proof of love than by my flight; . .
A dreadful, hard, irrevocable proof.
Clytemnestra— If there be need of death, we both will die!
But is there nothing left to try ere this?
Ægis. - Another plan, perchance, e'en now remains;
But little worthy . . .
Cly. — And it is-
Ægis. - Too cruel.
Cly:— But certain ?
Ægis. — Certain, ah, too much so!
Cly. — How
Canst thou hide it from me ?
Ægis. —How canst thou
Of me demand it ?
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375
Cly. - What then may it be? . . .
I know not . . . Speak: I am too far advanced;
I cannot now retract: perchance already
I am suspected by Atrides; maybe
He has the right already to despise me:
Hence do I feel constrained, e'en now, to hate him;
I cannot longer in his presence live;
I neither will, nor dare. — Do thou, Ægisthus,
Teach me a means, whatever it may be,
A means by which I may withdraw myself
From him forever.
Ægis. - Thou withdraw thyself
From him ? I have already said to thee
That now 'tis utterly impossible.
Cly. — What other step remains for me to take? . . .
Ægis. - None.
Cly. — Now I understand thee. - What a flash
Oh, what a deadly, instantaneous flash
Of criminal conviction rushes through
My obtuse mind! What throbbing turbulence
In ev'ry vein I feel! - I understand thee:
The cruel remedy . . . the only one . .
Is Agamemnon's life-blood.
Ægis. -I am silent . . .
Cly. — Yet, by thy silence, thou dost ask that blood.
Ægis. - Nay, rather I forbid it. — To our love
And to thy life (of mine I do not speak )
His living is the only obstacle;
But yet, thou knowest that his life is sacred:
To love, respect, defend it, thou art bound;
And I to tremble at it. — Let us cease:
The hour advances now; my long discourse
Might give occasion to suspicious thoughts.
At length receive . . . Ægisthus's last farewell.
Cly. — Ah! hear me . . . Agamemnon to our love . . .
And to thy life? . . . Ah, yes; there are, besides him,
No other obstacles: too certainly
His life is death to us!
Egis. - Ah! do not heed
My words: they spring from too much love.
Cly. — And love
Revealed to me their meaning.
Agis. - Hast thou not
Thy mind o'erwhelmed with horror ?


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.
Cly. — Horror ?
yes;
But then to part from thee!
Ægis. - Wouldst have the courage ? .
Cly. — So vast my love, it puts an end to fear.
Ægis. — But the king lives surrounded by his friends:
What sword would find a passage to his heart?
Cly. – What sword ?
Ægis. — Here open violence were vain.
Cly. — Yet, . . treachery! . . .
Ægis. —'Tis true, he merits not
To be betrayed, Atrides: he who loves
His wife so well; he who, enchained from Troy,
In semblance of a slave in fetters, brought
Cassandra, whom he loves, to whom he is
Himself a slave .
Cly. — What do I hear!
Ægis. - Meanwhile
Expect that when of thee his love is wearied,
He will divide with her his throne and bed;
Expect that, to thy many other wrongs,
Shame will be added: and do thou alone
Not be exasperated at a deed
That rouses every Argive.
Cly. – What said'st thou ? . . .
Cassandra chosen as my rival ? .
Ægis. — So
Atrides wills.
Cly. — Then let Atrides perish.
Ægis. — How ? By what hand ?
Cly. — By mine, this very night,
Within that bed which he expects to share
With this abhorred slave.
Ægis. - O Heavens! but think . . .
Cly. — I am resolved . .
Ægis.
- Shouldst thou repent ?
Cly. I do
That I so long delayed.
Ægis. — And yet .
Cly. -- I'll do it;
I, e'en if thou wilt not. Shall I let thee,
Who only dost deserve my love, be dragged
To cruel death ? And shall I let him live
Who cares not for my love? I swear to thee,
To-morrow thou shalt be the king in Argos.


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377
Nor shall my hand, nor shall my bosom tremble . . .
But who approaches ?
Ægis. —'Tis Electra .
Cly. — Heavens!
Let us avoid her. Do thou trust in me.
SCENE II
ELECTRA
Electra Ægisthus flies from me, and he does well;
But I behold that likewise from my sight
My mother seeks to fly. Infatuated
And wretched mother! She could not resist
The guilty eagerness for the last time
To see Ægisthus. — They have here, at length,
Conferred together . . . But Ægisthus seems
Too much elated, and too confident,
For one condemned to exile . . . She appeared
Like one disturbed in thought, but more possessed
With anger and resentment than with grief .
O Heavens! who knows to what that miscreant base,
With his infernal arts, may have impelled her!
To what extremities have wrought her up! . .
Now, now, indeed, I tremble: what misdeeds,
How black in kind, how manifold in number,
Do I behold! . . . Yet, if I speak, I kill
My mother: If I'm silent —? . . .
.
.
ACT V - SCENE II
ÆGISTHUS
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ægis. – Hast thou performed the deed ?
Cly. - Ægisthus . . .
Ægis. — What do I behold ? O woman,
What dost thou here, dissolved in useless tears ?
Tears are unprofitable, late, and vain;
And they may cost us dear.
Cly. — Thou here? . . . but how?
Wretch that I am! what have I promised thee?
What impious counsel ? . . .
Ægis. -- Was not thine the counsel ?
Love gave it thee, and fear recants it. — Now,
Since thou'rt repentant, I am satisfied;


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Soothed by reflecting that thou art not guilty,
I shall at least expire. To thee I said
How difficult the enterprise would be;
But thou, depending more than it became thee
On that which is not in thee, virile courage,
Daredst thyself thy own unwarlike hand
For such a blow select. May Heaven permit
That the mere project of a deed like this
May not be fatal to thee! I by stealth,
Protected by the darkness, hither came,
And unobserved, I hope. I was constrained
To bring the news myself, that now my life
Is irrecoverably forfeited
To the king's vengeance .
Cly. —What is this I hear?
Whence didst thou learn it ?
Ægis. More than he would wish
Atrides hath discovered of our love;
And I already from him have received
A strict command not to depart from Argos.
And further, I am summoned to his presence
Soon as to-morrow dawns: thou seest well
That such a conference to me is death.
But fear not; for I will all means employ
To bear myself the undivided blame.
Cly. — What do I hear? Atrides knows it all ?
Ægis. - He knows too much: I have but one choice left:
It will be best for me to 'scape by death,
By self-inflicted death, this dangerous inquest.
I save my honor thus; and free myself
From an opprobrious end. I hither came
To give thee my last warning: and to take
My last farewell. . . Oh, live; and may thy fame
Live with thee, unimpeached! All thoughts of pity
For me now lay aside; if I'm allowed
By my own hand, for thy sake, to expire,
I am supremely blest.
Cly. - Alas! . . . Ægisthus.
What a tumultuous passion rages now
Within my bosom, when I hear thee speak! . . .
And is it true? . . . Thy death . . .
Ægis. - Is more than certain. . . .
Cly. — And I'm thy murderer! . .
Ægis. - I seek thy safety.
•
-
-
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379
Cly. — What wicked fury from Avernus' shore,
Ægisthus, guides thy steps ? Oh, I had died
Of grief, if I had never seen thee more;
But guiltless I had died: spite of myself,
Now, by thy presence, I already am
Again impelled to this tremendous crime.
An anguish, an unutterable anguish,
Invades my bones, invades my every fibre. .
And can it be that this alone can save thee? . . .
But who revealed our love?
Ægis. — To speak of thee,
Who but Electra to her father dare ?
Who to the monarch breathe thy name but she ?
Thy impious daughter in thy bosom thrusts
The fatal sword; and ere she takes thy life,
Would rob thee of thy honor.
Cly. — And ought I
This to believe ? . . . Alas! . . .
Egis. Believe it, then,
On the authority of this my sword,
If thou believ'st it not on mine. At least
I'll die in time. . .
Cly. - O Heavens! what wouldst thou do?
Sheathe, I command thee, sheathe that fatal sword. -
Oh, night of horrors! . . . hear me . . . Perhaps Atrides
Has not resolved.
Ægis. – What boots this hesitation ? . . .
Atrides injured, and Atrides king,
Meditates nothing in his haughty mind
But blood and vengeance. Certain is my death,
Thine is uncertain: but reflect, О queen,
To what thou’rt destined, if he spare thy life.
And were I seen to enter here alone,
And at so late an hour . . . Alas, what fears
Harrow my bosom when I think of thee!
Soon will the dawn of day deliver thee
From racking doubt; that dawn I ne'er shall see:
I am resolved to die:. . . – Farewell . . . forever!
Cly. - Stay, stay. . Thou shalt not die.
Ægis. — By no man's hand
Assuredly, except my own:- or thine,
If so thou wilt. Ah, perpetrate the deed;
Kill me; and drag me, palpitating yet,
Before thy judge austere: my blood will be
A proud acquittance for thee.


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Cly. - Maddning thought! .
Wretch that I am! . . . Shall I be thy assassin ? . . .