“ARISTOPHANES : THE WOMEN’S FESTIVAL.”

Evening Star, Issue 3134, 6 March 1873, Page 2

“ARISTOPHANES : THE WOMEN’S FESTIVAL.”

To the Editor. Sin,—The subject of the new volume of Ancient Classics, for English readers, just issued, is “Aristophanes,” by the accomplished editor of the series, the Kev. Canon Collins, Viear of Kilsby, Northamptonshire. In his introduction Mr Collins well observes, “If one great object of the study of the classics is to gain an accurate acquaintance with one of the most brilliant and interesting epochs in the history of the Wv.rld, _ no pages will supply a more impoitant contribution to this knowledge than those of the great Athenian humorist.” Euripides, the Greek tragic poet, was one of the victims the comedian, who made the “ Women’s Festival the vehicle of his satire against his great con-

expressed antipathy of Euripides to women is made the ground of the satire, the tragic genius being submitted to the merciless criticism of an assembly of the women, whose sex, it was aliened, he had maligned. There may lie some ground for this charge ag.ii ;sb Euripides, whose <X| erieime may have induced his severity against the fair sex. We arc told he was twice married, and that be was twice unfortunate in his choice. 1 give one specimen of these translate ms, taken at random, as giving a very fair idea of the excellent characteristic of this part of the work, and is from the “ Women's Festival,” where the fair sex are supposed to defend thenise'vcs from the allegations of the men. It is so thoroughly modern in its toue, says the translator, tliat it does not !0.-e much in a ftee translation. With this dictum your ixadors will readily agree. It is as follows : They’re always abusing the women, As a terrible plague to men ; They s.iy we’re the root of all evil, And repeat it again and again. Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed, All mischief, be what it may ; And pray, then, why do you marry us, If we’re all the plagues you say? And why do you take such care of us, And keep us so safe at home, And are never easy a moment If ever we chance to roam? When, you ought to be thanking heaven. That your plague is out of the way, You all keep fussing and fretting— Where is my plague to-day ? If a plague peeps out of the window, Up go the eyes of the men ; If she hides, then they all keep staring, Until she looks out again. —I am, iSL'c., James Caldwell. Stuart street, March 4.