Laudator Temporis Acti

Christopher Stray, "Flying at dusk: the 1906 praelections," in The Owl of Minerva: The Cambridge Praelections of 1906, ed. Christopher Stray (Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 2005), pp. 1-12 (at 4, footnote omitted):

At the other extreme, [A.W.] Verrall was caricatured in print as well as visually: H.R. Tottenham of St John's College — who had described Verrall as 'splendide emendax' — published 'Notes on an old world play' in which Punch and Judy are analysed in characteristically Verrallian fashion.

[Harry Rede Tottenham (1856-1937),] "Notes on an Old-World Play," The Cambridge Review, Vol. II, No. 40 (March 9, 1881) 219-220:

Now that we have all been hearing so much of the Agamemnon and of Greek Drama, it seems a fitting occasion for me to make public some notes of an Old-World Play, at which I have lately had the privilege of attending.

I was walking down the street the other day, when suddenly before me I saw a small wooden stage, and standing, or rather reclining, on the proscenium appeared a grotesque figure. On approaching I found that the play was just going to commence, and I began to note the details; the orchestra, with no doubt the thymele,—contrary, I believe, to classical custom—was situated beneath the stage, and screened from view by a green baize curtain, nor was I at a loss to understand the reason, when to my astonishment I distinctly made out that the strains were those of the enervating Mixolydian measure, which it is to be hoped our Rulers will soon banish from the city, together with Compulsory Greek, and everything else, which gives us an unworthy conception of the gods.

The play, I soon saw, was a precious relic of Indo-European times; the very names were a sufficient index. The hero is called Punch, in which word who can fail to trace the nasalisation of the root, which appears in Latin as PUG, and signifies "to strike" a name amply justified by the sequel? though I believe myself that it has here the general sense of "Warrior," while in Judy (root YU, cf. con-jux) we have the typical wife. Here then is the primeval idea of the Family—the Warrior and his Spouse. All is peace, but it is not long to last; a deep spirit of world-annihilation (Welt-Vernichtung) comes over Punch, and in a moment of recklessness he dashes his baby from the topmost battlement, and slays with the strokes of his club the wife of his bosom. It were long to tell of all the woes that follow from this Primeval Atê of the House, how the Doctor, the Beadle, and the Executioner fall victims to the Hero's wrath; but there is one character, whom we must discuss: he is described as a Clown, and is for ever, under various forms, torturing the otherwise unconquerable Punch, but disappears at the latter's final apotheosis. May he be the Nemesis, which is provoked by the spilling of Family Blood, and is ever ready, like a foul bird, to swoop down upon the head of the devoted warrior? Only he doesn't swoop, and Punch too wears a curious conical cap to prevent any unpleasant results (cf. the halos of medieval saints, and Paley in loc.) I have since thought, from the apparent comicality of some of his doings, that he may be the Protean YA himself. I do not insist upon this, but merely throw it out tentatively, and, as I shall probably have changed my opinion on all these matters before next lecture, you had better not put it down.

But what I want to point out is the insight we may gain from this play into the manners and customs of our ancestors. Let us then see what we can learn from it of the habits of those dwellers of old on the central tableland of the festive Hindu-Kush, to whom we are all so much indebted for their happy thought of continuing the Indo-European race. "Our ancestors" then, to quote from a well-known work on Etymology, "would seem to have been troubled by" babies. They had learned the use of the stick, an accomplishment, which, like Max Muller's root AR, has since travelled "from India to Ireland." They had domesticated the Dog, though he had hardly arrived at that stage of devotion, which Darwin has compared with our emotion of worship. They had in fact reached a high pitch of civilisation: beadles and gallows were familiar sights to the Indo-European gamin. The drink of the soberer sort was MADHU, or mead, while the gay young men preferred a modest soda and split-A. They were a many-sided people; in fact from their arrogating to themselves the title of Arya, their enemies thought that they had too much of that useful quality concealed about their persons. Oh, but it was a merry life they led, tending their flocks, and inventing words! Think of the triumph of the mad wit, who started the root VAS with three distinct meanings, so that when one Indo-European said to another, "in a waggishnesse," "I'll have your VAS," the second did not know, whether it was his house, his fire-place, or his waistcoat that was threatened. This must have led to much drollery, and subsequent punching of heads. But space fails me to tell of all their social aspects, of the traces of the "original Kankan," (cf. Peile, 2nd edit. p. 383.) too soon, alas! corrupted by an improper labialism, or of the assemblies of the chiefs, where, at least, we know Grimm's Law was passed by a large majority, though the Teutonic Irreconcilables voted solid against one clause. Their religion would seem to have been of that joyous bright Greek type, (so different to the brooding Semitic element in our own,) which saw no harm in anything in particular, and didn't stick at it, when it did; but I have developed this point later. I trust however that this is sufficient to shew that the Indo-European is no mere abstraction of the study, but that they were a real people, as large as life, and twice as natural.

With regard to the date of the drama, I must confess that I have arrived at only a rough approximation; it is in fact quite possible that we have here, confused together, a Punchiad and a Clowniad of two perfectly distinct authors. However, leaving such matters to be decided by Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Paley, I shall treat it as a systematic whole, and judging from internal evidence, I should place it somewhere between the times of the Cavemen, about B.C. 100,000 I am told (but I am unfortunately no geologist myself), and the age of Aeschylus and Sophokles, say B.C. 470. That it is not earlier than the first date seems certain from the sanctity of the marriage-tie, and other evidences of civilisation in the piece, while, that it is not later than the second, is amply proved by the fact that there is no trace throughout of a tritagônistês, for the baby was, in those happy times, a mere kôphon prosôpon, while Toby we may consider a parachorêgêma, like the pigs in the Acharnians, only more adapted to primeval taste, and less likely to be expunged by the Censor of Plays. Think of the sleepless nights that functionary must have passed, in determining the exact length of the frill round Toby's neck, for the morals (he felt) of the Indo-European public must be preserved.

Turn we however from these dry details to observe the beauties of the piece, and they are many; but I will ask you especially to note four points. In the first place mark the essentially tragic situation. It has been well said, with reference to the Antigone, that the highest possibilities of tragedy are reached, when we have before us a conflict, in which both parties can claim the right on their side. And is not this the case here? For who is there, at least what bachelor among us, who does not feel that the first act of our hero, from which springs every succeeding catastrophe, is a righteous act? (Cf. Malthus on Population, passim). Then consider the masterly blending of the comic with the tragic element. This is a point, which the Greek tragedians did not think unworthy of their attention. For instance, in the Choephoroe, think how our feelings are worked up to the highest pitch of excitement, as we watch Electra recognising her long-lost brother by the simple fact of their wearing the same sized boots (I am afraid, by the way, her feet must have been a bitter detestation to beetles), and by his happy fore-thought in putting on the very garment, in which he was carried out of the country, a baby-in-arms, some years before. This last fact, I must confess, has always been a difficulty to me; the climate of Greece was of course warmer than our own, but still where were the Bowmen? Think, I say, when our hearts have been thrilled by such scenes as these, what a relief it is to listen to the naïve revelations of the prattling nurse! Look once more at the truly Sophoklean Irony of some of the situations; listen to Punch, as he sings his song of triumph, while behind him stands the Form, visible to the spectators, though unseen by him, with staff upraised, ready to fell him to the ground. I doubt if a parallel to this could be found, except in the Oedipus of the Prince of Tragedy, or Mr. Caldecott's prematurely triumphant dog. Do you love the Pathetic? Then gaze with me awhile on the prostrate form of the hero, while the skilled leech bends over him, exhausting all the teachings of his art. The dialogue is indeed hard to catch, but may we not suppose that he is uttering some such words as those, which have gone to the hearts of so many: "when the cold gets up to his nose (says he) τότε οἰχήσεται—our friend will be gone?" But, as has been well observed on the parallel passage, this is a scene, which we hardly care to make the field for mere verbal criticism.

A word, then, before we have done, on the moral of the play. Though, as to its exact scope and meaning, there are considerable difficulties in the way of interpretation, I have a decided opinion of my own on them. Mere opinion, however, as we know, may be true or false. This is unfortunately hardly the place to enter on this interesting psychological question, or I could tell you of a friend of mine, who, when returning home after dinner, saw under a lamp the figure of a proctor, (probably placed there by some University), and being uncertain whether it was a man or a statue, he not only formed an incorrect opinion about it, but, being very drunk at the time, his opinion became a spoken proposition, and a very blasphemous proposition at that.

But let that pass. My opinion, for whatever it is worth, is that in this drama we have a type of the purification of the human soul, till, as personified in Punch, it utters its triumphant cry of victory over the conquered passions and distractions of this world of sense. In the murder, then, of (1) Judy and the child, (2) the Doctor, and (3) the Executioner, I seem to see the story of the struggle of the soul to free itself from the bonds of (a) family, (b) social, and (c) political ties, and in self-centred exaltation to rise to communion with the great Sky-Father.

[Note here, for future use, that, according to Mommsen, the Roman, like the modern country gentleman, said his prayers into his hat, while the Greek climbed the handiest eminence, and looked up fearlessly, with nothing between him and the azure of a Southern sky, an azure as unclouded as the countless ripple of his own sweet tongue. I believe I have got this last metaphor wrong end on, but it will do either way,—a regular amphisbaena among metaphors.]

And now, my reader, it is time that we be going on our several ways, I to my every-day work, and you to prepare for making acquaintance with Ajax, Electra, Philoctetes, Oedipus,—and others likely to pay,—at the bidding of the Eleven; and which of us will fare the better, especially under the new regulations, is known only to the Syndics.

                                                                                                     T.

P.S.—Go, my wanton little book, though about to be introduced to pepper, frankincense, and mackerel, and whatsoever is wrapped up in foolish writings, and to find out—alas, too late!—that it is in vain for such a disreputable young party to knock for re-admittance at the gate of this religious Foundation.