Hello, Woody again. You know the drill: scholarly hats, comfortable seat, time for more on myth.
This post is another one which is weird for me. It’s not enough for me to be writing on work written by men not wearing bedsheets, or to be reading a primary source written in my native tongue; no, for this post – for the first time in this series – I had to read something for the first time. When By Jove Co-Artistic Director Mr. David Bullen first suggested that I write a series of things on “misusing” myth, we roughed out a list subjects. Shelley was on that list, not because I knew and loved the work (which is the case of everything else in the series), but because of his Prometheus Unbound which shall be the focus of this post. It is a canonical example of “misuse” and its source is one the canonical myths. The point is this should be interesting, but I would like you to remember that this is as much a first impression from me as anything.
I have heard Shelly referred to as a lyric poet. In reading Ozymandias, for example, I get the same sense of great effort and artistry meticulously hidden that I feel when reading Horace, so I’d say that label’s true enough (at least in this instance). In Prometheus Unbound, however, the déjà vu is of a different ancient’s style. This work is like having a copy of Aeschylus launched at one’s head. Both have the same sense of a writer booming at their reader, “Look at how large my vocabulary is! Look how clever I am in making it fit the metre!” It’s the same bombastic language mocked by Aristophanes in the second half of his Frogs. Now, I knew before I started reading that Shelley was working from Aeschylean source material so I’m willing to acknowledge that some of the similarities I see may simply be confirmation bias, but such a bias does need something with which to work. I don’t wish to color your view prematurely, so get yourself a decent translation of the Aeschylus and have comparison session; see if you think the registers and use of language are as similar as I do.
It is the similarities and differences between Shelley’s work and that of Aeschylus that are the most interesting and I would like to have a bit of an examination of these. This is a somewhat tricky task because, sadly, Aeschylus’ version of Prometheus Unbound is not one of the seven plays of his which survive. We shall have to make do on this front. We do know, at least, the plot of Aeschylus’ version. This is as follows: Zeus knows Prometheus has information. Said information is that if the sea-nymph Thetis produces a son he will be ‘greater than the father’. In exchange for being told this Zeus permits/instructs Herakles to release Prometheus. (Incidentally, Zeus marries Thetis off to Peleus – an event which ultimately leads to the Trojan War. This is why you should ensure you’ve got at least half a day free if you ever ask a Classicist “What started the Trojan war.”). The big change Shelley made to the plot of the myth is that Prometheus withholds this knowledge from Jupiter and as such Jupiter has produced a child with Thetis. This child does kill Zeus in Act III, Scene I. The rest of the play is rejoicing.
One change (not a little change, granted) to the plot completely changes the effect of the play. Aeschylus, as the tragedian who first introduced dialogue to the form, famously had a lot of his plays taken up with huge speeches by either the characters or the chorus. My guess that a lot of these speeches in his lost Prometheus Unbound would have been taken up by praising the wisdom of Zeus in cutting the deal with Prometheus. Because Zeus cuts no such deal in Shelley, we have, in their place, speeches on (among other things) love. This is a fine thing to insert into any work, particularly if one is a romantic liberal. We must ask ourselves, though, why necessitate these changes? Would the world not have appreciated the genius of someone who could have given it at least a version of the lost play by the first playwright?
My answer to that? Probably, but that’s not good enough. Prometheus Bound is full of political and legal language. It was written at the height of the Athenian Golden Age, at the height, more importantly, of the democracy. There is no getting around the fact that Zeus’ punishing of Prometheus was tyrannical so as a loyal Athenian (as Aeschylus was – his gravestone famously says he’d fought at Marathon but makes no mention of his writing) Aeschylus would of course have his characters rail against such tyranny. Aeschylus has his Prometheus talk in the tones of the democratic court of the Assembly, using this myth as a platform for which to declaim democratic values. Shelley chose not to have Prometheus and Zeus reconcile in his version because “The moral interest of the fable, which is so powerfully sustained by the sufferings and endurance of Prometheus, would be annihilated if we could conceive of him as unsaying his high language and quailing before his successful and perfidious adversary.”
Shelley recognized both that this myth was a cracking story, and that in its current form it went against his own ethics. So he changed it and made something new, preserving the power of the story and its images, but not putting his name to a message he could not endorse. Kind of like us here at By Jove. Well done, that man.
One hopes you’re well,
Yours,
ADWoodward
