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THE
ANCIENT CLASSICAL DRAMA
MOULTON
HENRY FROWDE
Oxford University Press Warehouse Amen Corner, E.C.
THE
ANCIENT CLASSICAL DRAMA
dR §tnb^ in BiUtat^ (Bt?oftt^ion
INTENDED FOR READERS IN ENGLISH AND IN THE ORIGINAL
BY
RICHARD G.' kOULTON, M.A.
LATE SCHOLAR OF CHRISt's COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY (EXTENSION) LECTURER IN LITERATURE
O;efotr^
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 1890
[ All rights reserved ]
PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
BY HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
PREFACE
I HAVE ventured to entitle this work ' A Study in Literary Evolution.' It is obvious that some of the familiar processes and results of evolution are to be traced in literature. Within the field of the Ancient Classical Drama we can see a common starting-point from which lines of development extend in various directions ; the rise of new literary species, or transi- tional tendencies not amounting to distinction of species ; developments traceable in embryo and on to maturity, with precious links preserving processes of change all but lost ; unstable forms that continually originate lite- rary changes, reversions to type, and survivals of formsv long after their raison d'etre has passed away; while the Drama as a whole will present the double process of growth in simplicity from the indefinite to the regular, and the passage from simple to complex. Thus to survey the phenomena of literary development gives a point of view distinct from that of literary history. History is concerned with the sum of individual works produced : evolution takes account only of literary varieties. History will always give prominence to the
VI PREFACE.
author, and tends to consider a dramatist's plays as so many steps of achievement in the life-history of the poet. Evolution concerns itself with the works more than with the author ; or rather, it treats a literature as an entity in itself, of which literary works are dis- tinguishing features, and expounds it as a continuous unfolding of new phases by the operation of creative impulse on ever changing environment.
But my book has a wider and more practical purpose than this of tracing evolution. It aims at presenting the Ancient Drama from a purely literary standpoint, and addresses itself to readers in English and in the original. Circumstances have given me an exceptional experience in this matter of teaching Ancient literature in translation. Under the Cambridge University Extension scheme I have since 1880 conducted courses of lectures on Ancient Drama in twenty-six different places, addressed to adult audiences, representing all classes of society, in which not one person in ten would know a word of Greek or Latin. Taking my experience as a whole I should rank the Ancient Classics second only to Shakespeare and Goethe as an attractive subject for lectures ; and I may add that the largest audiences I have ever myself had to deal with were in connection with a course on Ancient Tragedy at Newcastle-on-Tyne, where they reached a weekly average of over seven hundred. In all these cases a considerable percentage of the audience did regular exercises in the subject of the lectures, and were tested at the end of the course in a formal
PREFACE. - vii
examination, with results satisfactory enough to assure the position of this study as part of a general English education. I have spoken of what is within my own cognisance : I am well aware that more distinguished teachers are at work in the same field. With Mr. Arthur Sidgwick to represent it at Oxford, and Mr. Churton Collins among the teachers of London, this enterprise of opening the ancient classics to the ordinary English reader is secure of a favourable trial.
I am one of those who believe a knowledge of the ancient classical literatures to be a first requisite of a liberal education. I think it is a mistake to divert attention from these in favour of our own earlier litera- ture. Our true literary ancestors are the Latin and* Greek Classics : the old English writers have had less influence in moulding our modern literature than have Homer and Virgil and the Greek dramatists. As a practical teacher of literature I find it almost impossible ! to give an intelligent grasp of form in Shakespeare to J -V those who are ignorant of Classical Drama, for the first (I is a multiple of which the latter is the unit. Milton and' Spenser construct their poems out of details which were made into literary material by the literatures of the past. The ancient classics constitute a common stock from which the writers of all modern countries draw, and their familiar ideas are the currency in which modern literary intercourse is transacted. The educa- tional problem of the day is to adjust the claims of classical and ' modern ' systems. I believe an essential
viii PREFACE,
point in its solution will be a recognition of the distinc- tion between language and literature : whatever may be ultimately found practicable with reference to the study of the Latin and Greek tongues, the leading productions of Latin and Greek literature will have to be the ground- work of all education that is not content to omit litera- ture altogether.
I have also desired to make my book useful to those who read in the original languages, supplementing their other study with a treatment that presents the ancient drama purely as literature. Whatever may be the in- tention of those who direct our higher education, I believe that our study of Latin and Greek is in practice almost exclusively a study of language : the great mass of those receiving a classical education enter upon life with no knowledge of literature or taste for it, while they can be at once interested in science or art. It is of course easy to point out exceptions. But men of the intellectual calibre to make senior classics and double firsts are persons of small importance in educational discussions. It is the average man that tests the system, and with the passmen of our universities, and the still larger number who follow classical studies at school, I believe that the language element of their Classics almost entirely swallows up the element of literature. I do not see how it can be otherwise. The unit in the study of literature is the book or play that to a reader in a dead language means a considerable course of work ; an ordinary student cannot cover the ground fast enough to get the
PREFACE. ix
comparison of work with work and author with author necessary for literary grasp. Thus Classics, to the ordinary student, is a study terribly out of perspective, demanding exactness in minor points yet admitting vagueness in all that is great, tithing the mint and anise and cumipin of oratio obliqua and second aorist para- digm^DUt oiHitting the weightier matters of a poet's conceptions and literary force. It is no revolution that I am contemplating. But where it is customary at present to set, say, two books of Homer or two Greek plays, would it not be possible to set only one for reading in the original, and for the time thus saved to prescribe the whole Odyssey, or a group of plays, to be studied in English, or some such course of reading in ancient and English Classics combined as I suggest in an appendix to this book? Or even in a course of study so ele- mentary as to comprise no more than one Greek or Latin work, I do not see why a definite fraction of it might not be sufficient for study in the original, and the whole, with one or two kindred works, be set for reading in English ; the difference between five hundred and a thousand lines for exercise in parsing and construing is not very serious, while the substitute for the other half might be sufficient to at all events awaken a beginner's taste and imagination. Such a change as I advocate would be welcome to a large proportion of both teachers and taught. But some of the most willing among these teachers are from lack of experience at a loss. It is for these I have hoped my book may be useful, in suggest-
X PREFACE,
ing what sort of questions need to be taken up and thought out in order to present the ancient drama as literature.
The arrangement of the book will, I hope, explain itself. An Appendix contains Tables intended to bring out general lines of development in ancient drama, and the structure of particular plays, more especially in regard to the variations of metrical effect. I fear these Tables have a somewhat forbidding look : but the reader must please understand that a dry appen- dix means so much dry matter kept out of the text. In the Appendix is also a list of suggestions for courses of reading, both in (translated) plays and in English Classics associated with the ancient drama.
In order not to break the text with a multitude of references I express here once for all my indebtedness to the various English translators of the Ancient Clas- sical Drama. First and foremost to Dean Plumptre, whose complete versions of Aeschylus and Sophocles (though too expensive for popular classes) are the only means by which the English reader is enabled to appre- ciate the delicate variations of metre in the dramatic scenes which make so important a feature in Greek tragedy. For Euripides I have had to fall back upon the last-century translation of Potter : it is to the disgrace of English scholarship that we have no verse translation of this all-important poet produced in our own day. Potter almost always neglects stage lyrics, and it has been often necessary to alter his lines or retranslate. Of Seneca I
PREFACE. XI
know no English version except the antiquated one of Sir Edward Sherborne. Aristophanes is the only case in which there is the distraction of choice. Hookham Frere's renderings of particular plays make him the great pioneer in the opening of Comedy to modern readers. I have drawn copiously from these and from the translation (now out of print) by Rev. L. H. Rudd ; the beautiful version by the latter of the Comus Song in the Frogs I have quoted in full ^. The translations by Mr. Rogers of the Clouds^ Wasps, Peace, and above all the Lysistrata, appear to me amongst the greatest feats in translation ever accomplished : I have used them freely, and only regret that they are not made accessible to the general reader. For Plautus and Terence there are only the old translations by Bonnel Thornton and Colman : they are of considerable literary interest, but neglect the distinctions of metre, and it has been often necessary to retranslate. For occasional passages in the various poets I have borrowed from Mr. Morshead's admirable House of Atreus, from the late Professor Kennedy's valuable edition of the Birds, and a notable passage from Robert Browning's version of the Hercules of Eu- ripides. I have never used my own translation where I could get any other that served the purpose.
I must also express my obligation to my friend Mr. Joseph Jacobs for reading the proof sheets, and for many suggestions made at various stages of my work.
^ Mr. Rudd omits the Iambic Interlogue altogether: I have supplied it (in iambic metres) as essential to my purpose.
xii PREFACE.
I fear, however, that there will be many errors of detail in the book of a' kind that only the author can correct, and I wish I could have brought to my task a less rusty linguistic scholarship.
RICHARD G. MOULTON.
December. 1889.
NOTE.
*^* It will be observed that in the stage arrangements of the various plays commented upon I have not adopted the theory of Dorpfeld, which, in the age of Sophocles and Eurip- ides, would abolish the distinction between stage and orchestra. Without in the least underrating the value of the facts brought to light by this eminent discoverer and his coadjutors, I am unable to see that the inferences from them, whatever they may show about the material and permanency of the early stage, prove anything at all as against the separateness of stage from orchestra, while the whole weight of internal evidence from the plays themselves tells in favour of a distinct and elevated stage. On this and all other matters of theatrical antiquities I would refer the reader to Mr. Haigh's valuable work on The Attic Theatre ^ : his statement of the controversy and conclusions I entirely accept.
^ Clarendon Press, 1889: see especially pp. 142-6.
PREFACE. ' xiii
REFERENCES.
The References in this work are to the original : — to the Cambridge texts of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, to Bergk's text of Aristophanes (which differs from Dindorf s in many points of importance to the literary student), to Fleckei- sen's Plautus and Parry's edition of Terence. Difficulty arises in the case of English readers, for the English versions per- sistently omit any numbering of lines, and thereby greatly reduce the value of the work for purposes of study. The exceptions are the Aeschylus and Sophocles of Dean Plumptre, which adopt the sensible plan of making the numbering in the margin refer to the Hnes of the original, not to the translated lines. In the case of the other poets I can only leave the English reader to find the reference by guesswork, and I have been on account of this difficulty the freer in my quotations. A Table (on page 480) will somewhat facilitate references to the trans- lations of Euripides in the Universal Library.
CONTENTS.
■^ Origin of Tragedy
II.
Choral Tragedy: The Story of Orestes in HANDS OF Aeschylus
III. ^ Choral Tragedy as a Dramatic Species J . Structure of Choral Tragedy . ■ 2. The Lyric Element in Ancient Tragedy
, * 3. Motives in Ancient Tragedy .
... 4. The Dramatic Element in Ancient Tragedy I 5. Extraneous Elements in Choral Tragedy
IV.
W' Ancient Tragedy in Transition ....
1 . The Story of Orestes in the hands of Sophocles
and Euripides ....
2. Nature and Range of Transition Influences
3. Instability of the. ..Chorus
4. Other Lines of Development .
V.
The Roman Revival of Tragedy ....
65 69
93 124 141
149
173
176
182
65
149
203
VI.
Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' arranged as an Ancient Tragedy , .
225
CONTENTS. XV
VII.
it PAGE
247
VIII. Choral (or Old Attic) Comedy : The ' Birds' of Aris- tophanes 271
IX.
V Choral (or Old Attic) Comedy as a Dramatic Species 2*93
1. Structure of Choral Comedy . , .293
2. The Comic Chorus 318
3. The subject-matter of Aristophanes . . 321 ^. The Dramatic Element in Old Attic Comedy 326
X.
v' Ancient Comedy in Transition 349
1 . Nature and Range of the Transition . . 349
2. Instability of the Chorus .... 350
3. Other lines of Development illustrated from
Aristophanes . . . . .361
XL V Roman Comedy 377
1. Roman Comedy as a Dramatic Species . 377
2. The ^ Trinummus' of Platitus . . . 380 _ - 3 Traces of the Chorus in Roman Comedy . 397
4. General Dramatic Features ^f R^oman Comedy 410
5. Motives in Roman Comedy . V . . . 420
XII.
yj The Ancient Classic and the Modern Romantic
Drama 427
CONTENTS.
APPENDIX.
PAGE
Structure of Particular Plays . . . . . . 438
Tables Illustrating Development 450
Courses of Reading 458
General Index - 463
Index of Plays 477
Table of References 480
I.
Origin of Tragedy.
at
The origin of Ancient Tragedy is one of the curiosities Chap. I. of literary evolution. On the one hand the assertion is ""■ made that the drama of the whole world, so far as if is j^^^l^^^f ^^ literary drama, is derived from, or at least moulded by, the a problem drama of Greece ; while in Greece itself this form of art ^H^^^ ^ reached maturity only among one people, the Athenians. On the other hand, the process of development in such Athenian drama can be carried back in history, by in- telligible stages, to that which is the common origin of all literary art. So defined a root has spread into such wide ramifications : and the process of growth can be surveyed in its completeness.
This ultimate origin to which Greek Tragedy traces up The Bal- is the Ballad-Dance, the fundamental medium out of which ^^^-D^^^''^' all varieties of literature have been developed, — a sort of literary protoplasm. It consists in the combination of speech, music, and that imitative gesture which, for lack of a better word, we are obliged to call dancing. It is very important, however, to guard against modern associations with this last term. Dances in which men and women joined Greek are almost unknown to Greek antiquity, and. to say of Q,^tinang. guest at a banquet that he danced would suggest intoxication. The real" dancing of the Greeks is a lost art, of which the modern ballet is a corruption, and the orator's action a faint survival. ' It was an art which used bodily motion to convey./ thought : as in speech the tongue articulated words, so in dancing the body swayed and gesticulated into meaning. It was perhaps the supreme art of an age which was the
B 2
4 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. I. great period of the world for bodily development ; and the degree of perfection to which dancing attained in Greece may be described in the enthusiastic words of Charles Kingsley :
A dance in which every motion was a word, and rest as eloquent as motion ; in which every attitude was a fresh motive for a sculptor of the purest school, and the highest physical activity was manifested, not, as in coarse comic pantomimes, in fantastic bounds and unnatural dis- tortions, but in perpetual delicate modulations of a stately and self- sustaining grace.
The Bal- It is such dancing as this which united with speech and t\e common ^^^^^^ to make the Ballad-Dance ; wherever the language originofall oi primitive peoples raises itself to that conscious elevation which makes it literature, it appears not alone, but sup- ported by the sister arts of music and dance, — a story, or poetical conception, is at one and the same time versified, chanted, and conveyed in gesture. In the case of Miriam's Song of Deliverance the poetical form of her words has come down to us, while the two other elements are supplied by the verse which tells how Miriam ' took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and dances.' It was a sacred Ballad-Dance that David danced with all his might before the Lord. Heathen War- Dances, chanting rude defiance with savage gestures, are the same embryonic poetry of races which are to-day passing through the early stage of civilisation traversed by ourselves hundreds, and by the Hebrews thousands, of years ago. the parent And that such a Ballad-Dance is fitted to be the starting- <^J ^pi<^i point of all literary progress will be the easier to understand when it is recognised as the natural parent of the three main divisions of poetry. In epic poetry, where thought takes the form of simple narrative, the speech (Greek, epos) of the Ballad-Dance triumphs over the other two elements. lyric, Lyric poetry consists in meditation or highly-wrought de-
scription taking such forms as odes, sonnets, hymns, —
THE BALLAD-DANCE, 5
poetry that lends itself to elaborate rhythms and other Chap. I.
devices of musical art : here the music is the element of TT'
and dra-
the Ballad-Dance which has come to the front. And the matk imitative gesture has triumphed over the speech and the -?^^^^^-^- music in the case of the third branch of poetry : drama is thought expressed in action.
But the Ballad-Dance in primitive antiquity took an Varieties of infinite variety of forms, as being the sole medium in j)ance: the which religious ritual, military display, holiday and social ^^'^^r- festivity found expression ; this youth of the world literally danced through all phases of its happy life. Only one of these Ballad-Dances was destined to develop into drama. This was_ the JDiLbyj:aj^^by-the— daft€e--us€4 ifl -the festival worship of the god Dionysus, better known by the name Bacchus— his pet name, if the expression may be allowed of a god, that is, the name used by his votaries in their invocations. The question arises then, what was there in Dionysiac the worship of Dionysus which could serve as force sufficient '^^ygigpijjl^ to evolve out of the universal Ballad-Dance the drama 2i^ force of a special branch of art?
It must be premised that in Greek antiquity divine worship as a whole shows traces of a dramatic character. The ancient temple was not a place of assembly for the worshippers, but was the dwelling of the god, of which the worshippers occupied only the threshold. A sacrifice was a feast in which the god and his votaries united ; the choicest morsels were cut off and thrown into the fire, the freshly poured wine was spilled on the ground, and the deity was supposed to feed on the perfume of these while the worshippers fell to on grosser viands. So the 'mysteries' of ancient religion were mystic dramas in which the divine story was conveyed. It is natural to suppose that the most powerful religion would have the most dramatic ritual. Now the worship of Bacchus was a branch of nature- worship; and in early civilisation nature is the great fact
ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
C:tap. I. and the main interest for mankind. Moreover this worship of the Wine-god was the supreme form of nature-worship. Partly this may have arisen from the circumstances of its introduction ; that it was a late and therefore fashionable cult, that it came tinged with some of the oriental excess of the countries through which it had travelled to Greece. But the nature of the case is reason sufficient for explaining why this celebration of the most dazzling among the gifts of nature should become at all events the most exciting of religious functions. In modern life all the force of religion is often insufficient to control appetite for vinous excess ; • where religion and appetite were on the same side it is no wonder that Dionysiac festivals were orgies of wild excite- t,ment. The worship of Bacchus was a grand Intemperance ' Movement for the ancient world. Hence the worship of Dionysus was foremost in displaying, that wildness of emotion in ancient religion which has bequeathed to modern language the word 'enthusiasm,' a word which in its structure suggests how the worshipper is ' filled with the god.' Enthusiasm was held as closely akin to madness ; it was an inebriety of mind, a self-abandonment in which enjoyment was raised to the pitch of delirious conscious- ness. Like the Roman Saturnalia, the Italian Carnival, the mediaeval Feasts of Unreason, these enthusiastic orgies of Bacchus were moral safety-valves, which sought to com- pound for general sobriety and strictness of morals by a short period of unbridled license. The chief distinction then of the Dithyramb among the Ballad-Dances was this enthusiasm of which it was the expression. In such wildness of emotion we see the germ of ' Passion,' one of the three elements of which dramatic effect is made up.
Again : as soon as the worship of Dionysus took the lead among the festivals of nature it became the form used to convey that which is the great point in primitive religion, sympathy with the changes of the year. Whether in early
as contain ing the germs of Passion,
of Plot,
DIONYSIAC WORSHIP. 7
or late civilisation the most impressive external experience Chap. I. for mankind is the perpetual miracle of all nature descend- ing into gloom in the winter, to be restored to warmth and brightness in the spring. Modern appreciation, diluted as it is over its myriad topics, cannot hear without a secret thrill the symptoms of the changing year told in language which has served the purpose for thousands of years :
For, lo, the winter is past.
The rain is over and gone ;
The flowers appear on the earth ; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
And the vines with the tender grape give good smell.
The worship of Dionysus divided itself equally between the celebration of the vine and of the changing year. His festivals marked the four winter months : our December was, in the southern climate of Greece, the month for the Rural Dionysia, a harvest-home for the vintage; in the next month was the Festival of the Wine-press \<\ the Feast of Flowers ^ was the name given (in February) to the ritual of opening the wine-casks; while the series was brought to a climax in March by the Greater Dionysia, which celebrated the beginning of spring and the reopening of navigation. Accordingly, the mythic stories of Dionysus had to accom- modate themselves to his connexion with the changing seasons, and became distinguished by the changes of fortune they conveyed. As a rule, the deities of Olympus were loftily superior to human trouble, but in proportion as they became nature deities their legends had to tell of gloom mingled with brightness ; Dionysus so far surpassed them in capacity for change of experience that the 'sufferings of Dionysus' became a proverbial expression — sufferings always a prelude to triumph. Now it is precisely in such
^ LencEU. 2 Anthesteria.
8 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. T. change of fortune that we have the germ of 'Plot,' the second great element of dramatic effect.
and of And the third is not far to seek. One form taken by the
^'^' ^^' self-abandonment to Dionysiac excitement was that the worshippers disguised themselves as followers of the god. They coloured their bodies with soot or vermilion, they made use of masks and skins of beasts. If Dionysus stood for nature as a whole, it was easy to personify, as attendants on the deity, the special forms in which nature is known to us ; so the votaries of Bacchus arrayed themselves as Panes (or Spirits of Hunting), as Nymphs and Fauns. Especially popular were the Satyrs, the regular attendants on Bacchus, equally ready to share his misfortunes or his sportive adven- tures : grotesque beings, half men, half goats, suggestive of • a gross yet simple sensuality, the sensuality that belongs to a state of nature. It was a noticeable feature of Dionysiac . festivals that the worshippers thus imitated, in guise and behaviour, Satyrs and other attendants on the god : and this is nothing else than dramatic 'Characterisation.' The answer then to the question, why the worship of Dionysus should be the developing force of drama, is that in different aspects oFlts ritiial are latent germToT the three main elements of dramatic effect — Passion, Plot, Character.
Revolution Before these slow and universal principles of natural
% 0^600") development could culminate in complete Drama they had to be interrupted by a distinct revolution, the work of an historical personage. We have next to consider the Revo- lution of Arion, which consists in the amalgamation of the embryonic drama with fully developed lyric poetry.
The revolution is technically expressed by saying that the Dithyramb was made choral. It will be noted that as music holds in the modern world the position occupied by danc-
TheChorus ing in antiquity, so it has taken over many of the technical
as contrast- ^^.^.^^ of the lost art. ' Chorus ' is one example amongst edxvtth the , ....
Dithyramb many of expressions that convey musical associations to us.
REVOLUTION OF ARION. 9
r
but are terms originally of dancing. The Chorus was the Chap. I. most elaborate of the lyric ballad-dances, — lyric, because, though it retained all three elements of speech, music and gesture, yet it was moulded and leavened by music. Its distinctions of form were three. First, its evolutions were V^^ confined to a dancing-place or ' orchestra^ — another example of a term appropriated by music ; in this the Chorus was directly contrasted with the Dith^rambj which- was a 'Comus,' or wandering dance. Again,^ the Chorus was accompanied "' with the lyre, a stringed insfirument, unlike the Comus of which the musical accompaniment was the flute. A third distinction of the Chorus was that it was divided into what we call 'stanzas.' But the Greek notion of stanzas was different from ours. In their poetry stanzas ran in pairs. Strophe and Antistrophe ; the metre and evolutions for the two stanzas of a pair were the same down to the minutest gesture, but might be changed altogether for the next pair. An ode was thus performed. The Chorus started from the altar in the centre of the orchestra, and their evolutions took them to the right. This would constitute a Strophe, whereupon (as the word 'Strophe' implies) they turned round and in the Antistrophe worked their way back to the altar again, the second stanza of the pair getting its name because in it the rhythm, gestures and metre of the first were exactly repeated though with different words, A second Strophe, very likely accompanied with a change of rhythm, would take the dancers towards the left of the orchestra, in the corresponding Antistrophe they would retrace their steps to the altar again. The process would be continued indefinitely ; if there was an odd stanza it was performed round the altar, and called an Epode if at the end, or a Mesode if in the middle, of the performance. _^^
With such characteristics of form the Chorus represents The tzvo the highest achievement of lyric art. The contrast between ^^"^"f^l it and the Dithyramb reflects the contrast between the two Avion.
lO ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. I. national deities to whose worship the dances were conse- crated— Apollo, the intellectual god of the stately Dorians, and the passionate Dionysus, chief adoration of the excitable Ionic peoples. Arion had connexion with both sides of the contrast. A native of Methymna in Lesbos, which was a great seat of Bacchic worship, he had travelled widely among the Doric states of Greece, and he was moreover the first lyre-player of his time ; thus early associations would root in his mind a love for the passionate freedom of the Dithyramb, while later experience and his specialty as an artist inclined him to the lyric Chorus. Accordingly, when he settled down at the Ionian city of Corinth, he accomplished the feat of amalgamating the two opposites. The Dithyramb in his hands was confined to an orchestra, it was made strophic, and was altogether so transformed that henceforward it was called a Chorus \ On the other, hand it necessarily retained the subject-matter proper to a festival of Dionysus, and with the subject-matter the characterisation of the performers as Satyrs, together with the exuberance of emotion which had given to the old Dithyramb its chief artistic worth. This life-work of Arion is thus no mere matter of technicalities, but constitutes one of the most remarkable revolutions in the history of art. It was a union between self-discipline and abandon, a marriage of intellect with emotion ; in the history of rhythmic move-* ment it was an amalgsenaation of the stationary and the roving ; it gave to the new ritual the full artistic intricacies an^ elevation of the Chorus, while leaving it to retain its hold on the heart through the sense of sacred revel. Yet to modern observers what Arion did is less interesting than what he failed to do. The main art of the modern world is music, the basis of modern music is orchestration, and
^ The Dithyramb in its old form still remained, but passes out of the line of dramatic development : it had a different history, and became dis- tinguished by florid music and wild verse.
LYRIC TRAGEDY. II
the key to orchestration is the combination of stringed with Chap. I. wind instruments. In the case of Arion we have, six cen- turies before Christ, an amalgamation effected between two rituals, one of which had been regularly accompanied with a 'stringed instrument and the other with a wind instrument : had the acoustic knowledge of the age enabled Arion to unite the strings with the wind in the new ritual the history of music might have been rewritten, and Beethoven and Wagner anticipated by centuries. As it was, a stringed accompaniment was used for the Dithyrambic Chorus when it was applied to serious, and a flute accompaniment when it was applied to lighter purposes.
How far this event has brought us in our present task Founda- will be seen when it is added that we now reach the word txraledy' 'Tragedy,' which is first applied in antiquity to the reformed Dithyramb of Arion. The word, it must be noted, has no suggestion of drama in its signification. ' Tragi ' is an old word for Satyrs ; the three letters -edy are a corruption of the Greek word which has come down to us in the form * ode,' a leading form of lyric poetry. Thus to a Greek ear ' Tragedy ' simply suggests a lyric performance by Satyrs ; modern scholarship has endeavoured to keep up the effect to English readers by applying the term ' Lyric Tragedy ' to this earliest outcome of Arion's reforms; Such Tragedy is Lyric clearly a compound form of art. It is entirely lyric in form : ^^^S^^y- a story conveyed in- descriptive meditation, and with elaboration of metre, musical accompaniment, and dancing evolutions. It is dramatic only in spirit, distinguished from other lyric poetry by wildness of emotion, and self- abandonment to sympathy with the incidents described,
which continually tended to break out in actual imitation. _^ ^ ^ , •^ Steps of dc-
The remaining history of Tragedy consists simply in a velopment succession of steps by which the dramatic spirit struggles to f^'^^^ ^^'^^' break through the lyric form in which it is restrained. ticTragedy.
The first of these steps may be taken to be the splitting
12 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. 1. up of the Chorus into two Semi-choruses for the purpose of
F' ~V~t i) • ^"''Phasising, by rapid and brief dialogue, some critical point
Semichoric in the ode. An exact illustration of such a device in its most
Dialogue, elementary form may be borrowed from modern music.
The opening chorus of Bach's oratorio, St. Matthew^ is
a general invocation to lament, of which the words run
thus :
Come, ye daughters, weep with me ; Behorld Him, the Bridegroom ! See Him, as like a Lamb ! See His innocence ! Look on our offence !
In the performance of this movement a startling effect is produced: the Chorus suddenly appears as double, and while one Chorus is singing the words in the ordinary form, the other is interrupting with short sharp interrog- atories.
Behold Him— ^
Second Chorus. Whom ?
First Chorus. The Bridegroom! See Him —
Second Chorus. How ?
First Chorus. As like a Lamb ! See —
Second Chorus. What?
First Chorus. His innocence ! Look —
Second Chorus. Where?
First Chorus. On our offence !
The effectiveness of such a device is obvious ; it is equally clear how slight a departure it is from the strictest lyric form. Such bifurcation for sudden effect seems to have been the earliest change that the Dithyrambic Chorus underwent, and would fit well with the points of suspense or climaxes of excitement in which Dionysiac subject-matter abounded. The significance of such a change in the development of the drama is clear : it has introduced dialogue into Tragedy, and dialogue is the very essence of drama. To the end of
L YRIC TRA GEO V BE COMING DRAMA TIC. 1 3
Greek history the Chorus eetained the power of breaking Chap. I. into semichoric dialogue to express supreme emotion, full j^^ ^^^ ^^^ choral order being resumed when the crisis was passed. complete The dialogue so introduced into Tragedy would find a ^^^^ ^' ready source of extension in the function of the ' Exarch,' or ^^^^ . ^J^^ Leader of the Chorus : the word is related to dancing as the Episode. word 'precentor' is related to singing. Tradition agrees with the nature of the case in suggesting how, the evolutions of the dance being suspended at intervals, this leader would hold conversation with the rest of the Chorus to bring out special points of the story, or divide it into parts, each con- versation introducing a fresliRubject for choral illustration. This represents a considerable advance on the first stage. What was before an ode has now become a series of small odes, separated by passages of dialogue ; the alternation of lyric and dramatic elements gives already to Greek Tragedy the double external form it never ceased to present. The supremacy, however, of the lyric over the dramatic element is reflected in the name given to these dialogues — 'Episodes,' a word exactly equivalent to our 'parentheses.' In the completely developed drama a trace of this second stage Traces of
survives in the prominence of the Chorus- Leader \ who • ""^^^ff, ^ ^ in complete
regularly enters into the dramatic dialogue, speaking on Tragedy. behalf of the Chorus as a whole. It is perhaps another trace of this stage in which the Chorus themselves con- stituted the second interlocutor that, in the fully developed Tragedy, they regularly speak of themselves in the singular and not in the plural.
The next, and the main, stage in the development oi Revolution dramatic Tragedy is again connected with the name of an ^-^ ^ ^^It^ individual ; as the revolution of Arion had brought the influence of lyric poetry to found Tragedy, so the revolution v
of Thespis gave the chief impulse to its development by linking it with the epic. Epic and lyric poetry had been ^ His appellation has then changed to Coryphceus.
14
ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY,
Chap. I. developing side by side froiH their common origin the , " ^Ballad-Dance. The Homeric epic had reached a stage in
Injluenceof ,.,.,,,, rr ^ • n r -1
epic poetry which it had shaken on the influence of music, but not on the entirely that of gesture, since the earliest reciters of such poetry — called ' Rhapsodists ' — made use of a staff to em- phasise the rhythm of their verses. All recitation has in it an element of drama; but there was one form of epic recitation, obtaining at the great festival of the Panathengea and elsewhere, which was highly dramatic. This consisted in the union of two performers in one recitation. In a story like the one known t^us as the first book of the Iliad^ when the chief reciteP reached the quarrel of t^e princes, a second reciter would come forward and declaim the speeches of Agamemnon, while the other confined himself to the part of Achilles. In such an effect it is clear that epic and dramatic approached very near one another ; and the revolution of Thespis consisted simply in the intro- duction of such^epic reciters into the episodes of Tragedy, for the purpose of carrying on the dialogue with the Leader of the Chorus.
The importance of this step is very great. Hitherto, while Tragedy had consisted of alternations between dra- matic dialogue and lyric odes, yet the dialogue had been a subordinate function of the lyric performers. The work of Thespis was to introduce an 'Actor,' separate altogether from the Chorus ; and the first word for an actor — a word that has come down to us in the form ' hypocrite,' one who plays a part — is borrowed from the epic recitations, its etymologicaDsignificance being fairly translated by the term ' answering-reciter.' Moreover this change carries with it another.. As the Actor was not a member of the Chorus there was no place for him in the orchestra; hence the origin of the ' Stage,' or external platform from which the speeches of the Actor were declaimed. In Tragedy as remodelled the lyric element might still predominate; but
Third step: the Actor,
and the Stance.
L YRIC TRA GED Y BECOMING DRAMA TIC. 1 5
at all events the dramatic element had secured a place and Chap. I^ performers of its own.
Two palpable traces of this important transitional step Traces in are visible in the completely developed Drama. One is '^jya/edy • the ' Messenger's Speech,' which few Greek tragedies omit, the Mes- and which is wholly unlike other dramatic speeches, resem- ^speech bling rather a fragment of an epic introduced into a play.' The other is still more striking to those who read in the' original. Greece always presents itself as twofold, <:,Qn\\- andthedis- w^nXz]. and peninsular, Peloponnesus and Attica, inhabited ^^^/^il^Jl '^ (for the most part) by strongly contrasted races, the Dorians and the lonians. Before Thespis the development of Tragedy had been mainly in the hands of the Dorians, and it was at Corinth that Arion effected his reforms. With this last step the leadership in Greek drama removes to Attica and Athens ; the epic recitations which gave it an actor were the special characteristic of this country, and Thespis himself was a villager of Attica, and made his reforms under the countenance of the famous autocrat of Athens, Pisistratus. This double source of the lyric and dramatic elements in ancient Tragedy has brought it about that, to the end of Greek literature, the choral odes are -. composed in the Doric dialect, while the dramatic scenes are in the dialect of Athens : the effect is as if the dialogue was -^ in Shakespearean English and the interludes in the language of Burns. So clearly may the external form of literature reflect the story of its origin.
From the revolution of Thespis the history of Tragedy Fourth presents a continuous advance, but an advance that was ^^^i^' ^"' double in its character: on the one hand there was a steady eraland increase in general artistic effectiveness, on the other hand ^''^''^'^^^' • there was a tendency to the development of the dramatic at the expense of the lyric element. As illustrating changes of the first kind, it is easy to imagine how the original stage- platform would develop into a complete Dionysic theatre, with
1 6 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. 1. its permanent scene of stonework, its narrow stage, capacious
orchestra, and auditorium large enough to contain the
population of a city. More complex figures for the dance
enabled Tragedy to keep pace with advance in choral art.
And an increased splendour of outward setting became
an artistic medium for giving expression to the primitive
wildness of Bacchic orgies. But the more noticeable
changes in the later development of Tragedy are those
which increase its dramatic capacity. By far the most
Blank ■ important of these is the adaptation to an organ of poetic
influence of expression more in harmony with dialogue than the lyric
Satire on and epic metres used for it originally. This was afforded
rama. ^_^ Satire, which had, partly from the nature of the case
and partly through the genius of its first great master,
Archilochus, separated itself very rapidly from the original
form of the Ballad-Dance, and early developed that iambic
metre which may be called the ' Blank Verse ' of Greek
poetry \ that is, the metre approaching most nearly to prose.
As these iambic satires were, like epic poems, recited by
rhapsodists, their metrical form easily found its way into
Increase in the dialogues of Tragedy. Again, the successors of Thespis
w^w er of increased the number of actors to two, three, or even four.
speaking
actors. It must be understood that the number of actors affects
only the number of personages on the stage speaking in the
same scene; each actor could take different parts in different
scenes, and the number of mute personages was unlimited.
Realism Once more, the costume and masks of the actors, by means
m costume ^£ y^\^^^ ^^gy varied their parts, became in time more and
more imitative of the character presented, and less and less
^ This metre, the Iambic Senarius, or Iambic Sixes, closely resembles English Blank Verse, differing from it, indeed, only by the addition of a single Iambic foot. How sweet I the moon- I light sleeps | up- on | this bank [
O tek- j n*^ tek- j na sphon | men est- | i dee [ do- mos As to Satire and Archilochus, see below, page 249.
Z YRIC TRA GED Y FULL V DRAMA TISED. 1 7
mere variations in the traditional dress of Bacchic festivals. Chap. I. When a similar imitativeness was applied to the scenery of the stage, — chiefly owing to the invention of perspec- tive by Agatharchus,— the Greek theatre was thoroughly equipped for the vivid presentation of life.
One question remains : where does this process of de- Completion velopment stop, and when is Tragedy, originally lyric and 5^^^^^^ . gradually becoming more and more dramatic, entitled to character- be called drama ? The answer to this question is clear. J^^ ^chorus. Originally the Chorus personated worshippers of Bacchus, Satyrs, and the like. By historical times they have come to take their characterisation from the story of the play ; not that they are individual personages like the actors, but they Ni represent a nameless body of bystanders, friends of the hero, or casual spectators of the events pourtrayed. At z_ that point, whatever may have been the date, where the \^
Chorus ceased to take their characterisation from the festival and began to take it from the story, the origin of Tragedy was accomplished. It continued to have a - doubleness of form, dramatic and lyric, action and medi- tation on the action ; but by this change the lyric per- formers were themselves taken into the dramatic plot, and meditated in an assumed character. In a word, the lyric element was itself dramatised, and Tragedy had become drama.
Such are the stages through which we may trace the Summary. evolution of Ancient Tragedy, from a form entirely lyric, [ . with a latent element of drama, to a form entirely dramatic,; though with a lyric chorus as its most prominent instrument^ of dramatic effect. In the process, Tragedy may be seen to have concentrated in itself the main branches of poetic literature : from a lyric stock it developed a dramatic offshoot, epic poetry gave it actors, and satire furnished the metre for its dialogues. It will be easily understood how Tragedy, so developed and put of such ingredients,
c
1 8 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. I. should come to be the main Hterary interest of Greece and the natural channel for its best thought.
Imaginary The actual poetry in which these different stages of
tion-^^' Tragedy could be traced has long ago perished: for illus-
Legend of trations we are compelled to fall back upon our imagination.
ycurgus. ^yQJ^jjj^g subjects of existing dramas, I select the legend of
Lycurgus. Told in outline the traditional story would run
thus. Lycurgus, a Thracian king, was fiercely resolved
that the Bacchic worship should never be introduced into
his dominions. When in his journeys to extend his worship
Bacchus himself came, in mortal guise, to Lycurgus's
country, the king attempted to arrest the stranger, who
escaped him and leaped into the sea. Then the god sent
a plague on the country, and madness on the king himself,
/who in his distraction slew his own son, and afterwards himself perished miserably. — I propose to trace, in imagina- tion, this story through the principal forms assumed by Tragedy in the course of its development. As a Lyric While Tragedy maintains its purely lyric form, no theatre * is required beyond the simple orchestra. The Chorus
appear as Satyrs in honour of Dionysus, to whose glory the legend is a tribute; they maintain throughout the combination of chant, music, and dance. With the solemn rhythm and stately gestures of choral ritual they lead off to the praise of Bacchus. They sing his glorious birth from love and the lightning flash, his triumphant career through the world to establish his worship, before which all resist- ance went down, as Pentheus driven mad might testify, and Damascus flayed alive. With awe they meditate on the terrible thought of mortals resisting the gods, most terrible of all when the resistance seems to be successful ! So it was with Lycurgus: — and the music quickens and the gestures become animated as the Chorus describe a strange portent, a god fleeing before a mortal man ! In ever increas-
IMAGINARY ILLUSTRATION. 1 9
ing crescendo they depict the scene, and how the mortal Chap. 1. gains on the god \ till at last the agitation becomes uncon- trollable, and the Chorus breaks into two Semichoruses which toss from side to side of the orchestra the rapid dialogue : — What path is this he has taken ? — Is it the path to the precipice ? — Can a god be other than omniscient ? — Can a mortal prevail against a deity ? — So the dance whirls on to a climax as the fugitive is pictured leaping from the precipice into the sea below. The Semichoruses close into a circle again, and with the smoothest rhythms and most flowing gestures the Chorus fancy the waves parting to receive the god, softly lapping him round as a garment, and gently conveying him down to the deep ; there the long train of Nereids meets him, and leads him in festal proces- sion to the palaces of the sea : you can almost catch the muffled sound of noisy revelry from the clear, cool, green depths. The music takes a sterner tone as the Chorus go on to the thought that the god's power can act though he be absent ; and in minor cadences, and ever drearier and drearier gestures, they paint a land smitten with barrenness, — no clouds to break the parching heat, vegetation drooping, and men's hearts hardening. The dance quickens again as the theme changes to Lycurgus's futile rage : friends inter- pose, but he turns his anger on them, clear omens are given, but he reads them amiss. More and more rapid become the evolutions, until in thrilling movements is painted the on-coming madness ; and when, in the midst of his mad fit, they realise Lycurgus meeting his son, again the agitation of the Chorus becomes uncontrollable, and a second time they break into semichoric dialogue : — What means the drawn sword P—What the wild talk of hewing down the vines of Bacchus ?— Is it his son he mistakes for a vine ? — Ah, too late ! — The dance subsides with the calm- ness that comes on the king when he awakes too late to his deed ; and from this calmness it quickens to a final climax
C 2
20 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. I. as it suggests the people inflamed by the god, the crowd of Bacchanals pouring in, the cries for vengeance on the king, the tearing by wild horses. Then, returning to their first strains, the Chorus repeat their reverence for the gods, whose might is irresistible ! Adapted to Taking next an early transition stage, we shall find the atrans'ition ^^^^ variation in the performance required is the suspension stage. of the dance at intervals to admit of dialogue between
the Leader and the rest of the Chorus. These dialogues would be mainly speeches by the Leader, who would personate for the moment one or other of the characters in the legend, and thus develop new scenes for realisation by the Chorus in a lyric form. After the general opening, we can imagine a pause while the Leader assumes the part of Lycurgus, and solemnly forbids the worship of the new deity. The Chorus resume the dance with agitation at the thought of a contest between their king and their new god. The dance stops again for the Leader to speak as a messenger, answering the eager enquiries of the Chorus by relating the god's leap into the sea : whereupon this deliverance is lyrically celebrated, and the scene beneath the waves pictured. Later on the Leader might take the character of a seer, and foretell a plague of barrenness, which the ode would lament when it resumed. Once more , he might be a messenger, describing in narrative the closing
scenes of the story, and the repetition of these in passionate action would make a lyrical climax. As a com- If the legend is to be presented in the form of Tragedy Tragedy. ^^% developed, the theatre must include besides the orchestra a stage fitted with more or less of scenery; the Chorus will personate Subjects of Lycurgus ; the perform- ance will consist of alternate episodes by actors on the stage and odes by the Chorus in the orchestra : moreover, the general treatment of the story must at once maintain rational sequence of events, and show contrivance sufficient
IMAGINARY ILLUSTRATION. 21
to minister to our sense of plot. By way of prologue, Chap. I. Lycurgus might appear upon the stage, announcing his intention of extirpating the new worship, and having the innovator who has introduced it torn by wild horses. In agitated march a Chorus of Lycurgus' s Subjects enter the orchestra^ expressing their hopes that they may be in time to remonstrate with their rash king. The lyric rhythm changes to blank verse for the first episode, when a Soldier of the Guard, speaking from the stage, tells, in answer to the enquiries of the Chorus- Leader, how the king ordered the arrest of the mysterious stranger, and how, when the guard, believing him to be a god, hesitated, Lycurgus himself advanced to make the arrest : the god escaped from him and leaped into the sea. An ode folloivs., zvhich is a burst of relief and elaborately pictures the reception of the fugitive god by the deities of the sea. The interest is again transferred to the stage as a Seer enters, and, calling for Lycurgus, tells a vision he has had that the land is to be smitten with famine. He is going on to tell of yet another woe, but the king will not hear him, and drives him forth as a corrupt prophet. Left to themselves^ the Chorus chant the woes of a land sinitten with barrenness. Countrymen next appear on the stage, come (by a violation of probabilities in time not uncommon in Greek Tragedy) to tell of the famine that has already begun, and how all vegetation is mys- teriously withering. Lycurgus treats this as part of a general conspiracy to rebel ; when his son attempts to mediate, the father turns his passion against him. Gradually it becomes evident that the king has been smitten with madness, and he chases his son from the stage to slay him. In great agitation the Chorus divide into parties : one party is for hurrying to the rescue^ the rest are irresolute. Inaction prevails^ and the Chorus settling down to a regular ode develop the story of Pentheus, and similar stories of mortals 7vho have resisted the gods and been s^nitten with madness.
2 2 ORIGIN OF TRAGEDY.
Chap. I. In the next episode Lycurgus enters, heartbroken : the fit has passed from him, and he knows the deed he has done. In his humihation he sends for the Seer, to hear the rest of the vision. The Seer says that the woe he was hindered from revealing was the sight of Lycurgus himself torn by wild horses. This brings back the king's rage ; he seizes the prophet, and declares that he shall himself le by the death he has denounced. The Chorus are too much overawed by the clear hand of destiny to interpose : they sing the infatuation of those whom the gods are about to destroy. This brings us to the finale, in which a messenger relates, in a long epic narrative, the scene of Lycurgus attempting to carry out his sentence on the Seer, and how the wild horses turned on the king, and tore him to pieces. While the Chorus are lamenting, Bacchus appears as a god, takes the curse of barrenness off the land, and establishes his worship as an institution for all time.
II.
Choral Tragedy.
The ' Story of Orestes ' in the hands of Aeschylus.
II.
In presenting a specimen of Ancient Tragedy as fully Chap. IT. developed, it may be well to recall to the reader some of the more important points as to which he must divest his mind of modern associations, if he is to appreciate the Greek stage. To begin with, as the drama was not an enter- ^ tainment, but a solemn national and religious festival, so the ! tragic plots were not invented, but like the Miracle Plays of! the Middle Ages were founded on the traditional stories of" religion. Thus the sacred legends which enter into the Orestes of Aeschylus would be familiar to the whole audience in outline.
They are concerned with the woes of the House of Atreus : Menm-an-
the foundation of them laid by Atreus himself when, to take V^L^f*;
revenge on his brother Thyestes, he served up to him at a banquet audience is
the flesh of his own sons : supposed to
•' -^ know
His grandsons were Agamemnon and Menelaus : Mene- beforehand.
lau^s wife, Helen, was stolen away by a guest, Paris of Troy,
which caused the great Trojan War :
Agamemnon, who led the Greek nations in that war, fretting at the contrary winds which delayed the setting out oj the fleet, was persuaded by the Seers to slay his own daughter, Iphigenia, to appease the Deities :
Her mother, Clytcemnestra, treasured up this wrong all through the ten years^ war, and slew Agamemnon on his return, in the moment of victory, slew him while in his bath by casting a net over him and smiting him to death with her own arm :
26 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. Then she reigned in triumph with Aegis thus her paramour {hi7nself one of the fatal house\ till Orestes her son, who had been rescued as an infant when his father was slaughtered, returned at last and slew the guilty pair :
For this act of matricide, though done by the command of Apollo, Orestes was given up to the Furies, and driven over the earth, a madman, until at last in Athens, on Mars Hill they say, he was cleansed and healed.
Cassandra too was involved in the fall of Agamemnon : the Trojan princess beloved of Apollo, who bestowed on her the gift of prophecy ; when she slighted his love, Apollo — since no gift of a God can be recalled — left her a prophetess, with the dooiii that her true forebodings should be ever disbelieved. She having thus vainly sought to save Troy, with its fall fell into captivity, and to the lot of Agamemnon, with tvhom she died.
The name of Orestes zvould carry with it a suggestion of the proverbial friendship between Orestes and Py lades, formed when Orestes was in exile and never broken.
Next, the reader should bear in mind the character of the Athenian theatre : its vast dimensions, capable of ac- commodating the population of a city, and admitting of spectacular effects on so grand a scale ; its solid stone scene ; its long and narrow stage ; and its capacious orchestra, with the Thymele or Altar of Dionysus conspicuous in the centre. Lastly, he should remember that a Greek tragedy does not so much resemble our modern drama as our modern opera, with dancing substituted for the music. Or, more de- finitely, it consists of dramatic scenes spoken on the stage alternating with lyric odes in the orchestra : these odes, performed with all the subtle intricacies of choral ritual — that lost art which enchained the mind by its combination of verse, chant, and imitative gesture, the poetry of words, the poetry of sound, and the poetry of motion, fused into one.
THE AGAMEMNON. 27
The * Story of Orestes ' is cast by -Aeschylus in the form Chap. II. of a trilogy — three plays developing a single series of events. The first play, acted in early morning, is entitled
Agamemnon.
The permanent scene is decorated to represent the fagade of Morning Agamemnon's palace at Argos ; the side scene on th6 right ^ agaLem- shows the neighbouring city, that on the left suggests dis- non. tance. A portion of the high balcony immediately over the great central gates appears as a watch-tower. At intervals along the front of the palace are statues of gods, especially Zeus, Apollo, Hermes. The time is supposed to be night ' ■■'■ ■--' verging on morning, which would fairly agree with the time of representation. At the commencement, both orchestra and stage are vacant : only a Watchman is discovered on the tower, leaning on his elbow and gazing into the distance. The Watchman opens the play by soliloquising on his Prologue. toilsome task of standing sentinel all night through and looking for the first sight of the signal which is to tell the capture of Troy. He has kept his post for years, until the constellations which usher in winter and harvest-tide are his familiar companions ; he must endure weather and sleep- lessness, and when he would sing to keep up his spirits he is checked by the thought of his absent master's household, in which, he darkly hints, things are 'not well.' He is settling himself into an easier posture, when suddenly he springs to his feet. The beacon-fire at last ! He shouts the signal agreed upon, and begins dancing for joy. Now all will be well ; a little while and his hand shall touch the dear hand of his master ; and then — ah ! the weight of an ox is on his tongue, but if the house had a voice it could tell a fale ! The Watchman disappears, to carry the tidings to the Queen.
* The spectators' right.
28 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. IT. As if roused by the shout, the Chorus appear in the
"~ orchestra : twelve Elders of Argos, moving in the usual
Chorus- processional order that combines music, chanting, and
entry. gesture-dance to a rhythm traditionally associated with
marching. They enter by the right passage, as from the
city, and the processional chant takes them gradually round
the orchestra towards the Thymele, or Altar of Dionysus, in
the centre.
In this chorus-entry, and the ode to which it leads up, the poet is bringing before our minds the sacrifice of Iphi- genia, which is the foundation on which the w^hole trilogy rests. They have an obscurity which is one of the artistic effects of the piece, as striking the keynote of the action, — a tone of triumph through which is ever breaking vague apprehension of evil, increasing till it finds its justification in the catastrophe. So here, the Chorus, hastening to enquire the meaning of the tumult, are swayed opposite ways, by their expectation of the triumph over Troy, which cannot be far distant now, combined with misgiving, as to misfortunes sure to come as nemesis for the dark deed connected with the setting out of the expedition. They paint the grand scene of that starting for Troy, now ten years ago : the thousand vessels in the harbour, and on shore the army shouting fiercely the cry of war, —
E'en as vultures shriek, who hover, Wheeling, whirling o'er their eyrie, In wild sorrow for their nestlings, With their oars of stout wings rowing.
But this simile of birds crying to heaven suggests the ven- geance this expedition was going to bring on Troy : the
Many conflicts, men's limbs straining, When the knee in dust is crouching, And the spear-shaft in the onset Of the battle snaps asunder.
Already the bias of the Chorus towards misgiving leads
THE AGAMEMNON. 29
them to contrast that brilhant opening of the expedition Chap. II.
with the shadow of a dark deed that was so soon to plunge
it in gloom.
But as things are now, so are they, So as destined, shall the end be.
At this point the song is interrupted. The Chorus, reaching the altar, turn towards the stage. Meanwhile the great central gate of the stage has opened, and a solemn procession filed out, consisting of the Queen and her At- tendants, bearing torches and incense and offerings for the gods ; they have during the choral procession silently ad- vanced to the different statues along the front of the palace, made their offerings and commenced the sacrificial rites. When the Chorus turn towards the stage the whole scene is ablaze with fires and trembling with clouds of incense, rich unguents perfume the whole theatre^ while a solemn religious ritual is being celebrated in dumb show. The Chorus break off their chant to enquire what is the mean- ing of these solemn rites. The Queen signifies by a gesture that the ritual must not be interrupted by speech. The Chorus then proceed to take their position at the altar, as if for a choral ode : but, pausing awhile before traversing the orchestra in their evolutions, they sing a prelude^ — Prelude: restlessness before actual motion — swaying from side to side but not as yet quitting their position at the altar. They have been shut out from the war itself (they resume) strophe but old age has left them the suasive power of song ; and they can tell of the famous omen seen by the two kings and the whole army as they waited to embark — two eagles on the left, devouring a pregnant hare.
Sing a strain of woe,
But may the good prevail !
^ We have no distinct information as to the evolutions of a prelude ; what is here suggested agrees with the necessities of the case in the Pre- lude of the third play (page 55).
30 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. IL And the prophet Calchas interpreted : 'they shall lay Troy
antt-
low, but let them beware of the goddess who hates the
strophe Caglc !
Sing a Strain of woe,
But may the good prevail ! ,
epode. May some healer avert her wrath, lest she send delays on
the impatient host, and irritate them to some dread deed, some sacrifice of children that might haunt the house for
ever!
Sing a strain of woe,
But may the good prevail !
Entry- Ode. This description of splendid spectacle so soon eclipsed by dark forebodings has accentuated the conflict of emotions in the breasts of the Chorus, until they cast off restraint, and break into a full choral ode : sweeping with the evolu- tions of each strophe to the right or left of the altar, and in each antistrophe measuring back their way step for step and rhythm for rhythm. This change marks a change of T strophe thought. It must be Zeus— the Supreme, before whom all strophe Other gods gave way — it must be Zeus alone who shall lift
2 strophe from their mind this cloud of anxiety. Zeus leads men to
wisdom by his fixed law, that pain is gain \ instilling secret care into their hearts, it may be in sleep, he forces the un- willing to yield to wiser thoughts. So this anxiety of theirs may be from the irresistible gods, the way they are being led, through pain, to a wise knowledge of justice. As if relieved by this burst of prayer the Chorus resume the andanu- history : how Agam.emnon, not repining but tempering himself to the fate which smote him, waited amidst delay
3 strophe ^nd failing stores ; and the contrary winds kept sweeping
down from the Strymon, and the host was being worn out with frettings, and the prophet began to speak of one more charm against the wrath of Artemis, though a bitter one to andanti- the Chiefs. At last the king spoke : great woe to disobey the prophet, yet great woe to slay my child ! how shed a
strophe
i
THE AGAMEMNON. 31
maiden's blood ? yet how lose my expedition, my allies ? Chap. II. The Chorus have now reached their fourth strophe, and strophe the full power of Aeschylus is felt as they describe the steps of fatal resolution forming in the distracted father's breast : he feels himself harnessed to a yoke of unbending fate — a blast of strange new feeling sweeps over his heart and spirit — his thoughts and purpose alter to full measure of all daring — base counsel becomes a fatal frenzy — he hardens his heart to slay.
All her prayers and eager callings atidanti-
On the tender name of father, ^/^t;/Ar
All her young and maiden freshness
They but set at nought, those rulers,
In their passion for the battle.
And her father gave commandment
To the servants of the goddess,
When the prayer was o'er, to lift her,
Like a kid, above the altar,
In her garments wrapt, face downward, —
Yea, to seize with all their courage,
And that o'er her lips of beauty
Should be set a watch to hinder
Words of curse against the houses,
With the gag's strength silence-working.
And she upon the ground 5 strophe
Pouring rich folds of veil in saffron dyed, Cast at each one of those that sacrificed A piteous glance that pierced, Fair as a pictured form. And wishing, — all in vain, — To speak, for oftentimes In those her father's hospitable halls She sang, a maiden pure with chastest song.
And her dear father's life That poured its three-fold cup of praise to God,
Crowned with all choicest good,
She with a daughter's love
Was wont to celebrate.
The Chorus will pursue the scene no further. But their andanti-
'■ strophe.
anxious doubt has now found a resting-place on their faith
32
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. in Zeus. There must be no shrinking from suspense ; they must wait for and face whatever issue shall appear when Justice shall turn the scale : so, through pain, will at last come the gain of wisdom.
Episode I. The ritual on the stage being now concluded, Clytaem- nestra advances to the front. At the same moment the choral ode is finished, and the Chorus take up their usual position in episodes, drawn up in two lines between the altar and the stage ; they speak only through their Leader, and use blank verse. In answer to the enquiries of the Chorus, Clytaemnestra announces that Troy has been taken this last night. The Chorus cannot understand how the news could travel so rapidly.
Cho. "What herald could arrive with speed like this?
Clyt. Hephaestus flashing forth bright flames from Ida : Beacon to beacon from that courier-fire Sent on its tidings; Ida to the rock Hermgean named, in Lemnos : from the isle The height of Athos, dear to Zeus, received A third great torch of flame, and lifted up, So as to skim on high the broad sea's back, The stalv^art fire rejoicing went its way; The pine wood, like a sun, sent forth its light Of golden radiance to Makistos' watch ;
and so from Euripus' straits to Messapion, across Asopus'
plain to Kithseron's rock, over the lake of Gorgopis to Mount
Aegiplanctus, until the light swooped upon this palace of
the Atreidae.
Such is the order of my torch-race games ; One from another taking up the course, But here the winner is both first and last.
While the Chorus are still overcome with amazement, Cly- taemnestra triumphs over the condition of Troy on that morning : like a vessel containing oil and vinegar, the con- quered bewailing their first day of captivity over the corpses of husbands and sons, the victors enjoying their first rest free from the chill dews of night and the sentry's call, — and
THE AGAMEMNON. 33
all will be well if^ in their exultation, they forget not that Chap. II. they have the return voyage to make ! Clytsemnestra, thus darkly harping upon her secret hope that vengeance may even yet overtake her husband, returns with her Attendants into the palace, while the Chorus give expression to their joy in a choral ode.
It is the hand of Zeus they trace in all that has happened. Choral In- Now what will they say who contend that the gods care not ^ strophr. when mortals trample under foot the inviolable ? Wealthy Troy knows better, which has found its wealth no bulwark to those who in wantonness have spurned the altar of right. Paris knows better, who came to the sons of Atreus andanti-
strophe
and stole a queen away, leaving shame where he had sat as guest.
And many a wailing cry 2 strophe
They raised, the minstrel prophets of the house,
* Woe for that kingly home ! "Woe for that kingly home and for its chiefs! W^oe for the marriage bed and traces left
Of wife who loved her lord ! ' There stands he silent ; foully wronged and yet
Uttering no word of scom, In deepest woe perceiving she is gone ;
And in his yearning love
For one beyond the sea, A ghost shall seem to queen it o'er the house ;
The grace of sculptured forms
Is loathed by her lord, And in the penury of life's bright eyes
All Aphrodite's charm
To utter wreck has gone. And phantom shades that hover round in dreams andanti-
Come full of sorrow, bringing vain delight ; stropht
For vain it is, when one
Sees seeming shows of good. And gliding through his hands the dream is gone,
After a moment's space.
On wings that follow still Upon the path where sleep gpes to and fro.
D
34 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. II. Such are the woes in the palace : but what among the homes of the people, as they bring to each man's home the
3 strophe ashes of his dead ? War is a trafficker ; in the rush of battle he holds scales, and for the golden coin you spend on him he sends you back lifeless shapes of men, well-smoothed ashes from the funeral pyre. And as the people sing the heroic fall of their kin, they think how it is all for another's
and anti- wife ! So sullcn discoutent is doing the work of a people's curse. Thus, in their last antistrophe, the thoughts of the Chorus have come back to foreboding; and, as they subside into the concluding epode round the altar, their swayings to one side and another figure their distracting
ej>ode. doubts : the courier flame has brought good news — but
who knows if it be true ? Yet it is childish to be turned from the glow of joy by ever-changing rumour — yet it is the nature of woman to believe too soon.
Episode II. Suddenly, through the distance-entrance on the extreme left of the stage, enters a Herald, crowned with olive in token of victory. The Chorus immediately fall into their episode positions to receive him, the leader giving words to their anticipations while the Herald is traversing the long stage. The Herald solemnly salutes the statues of the gods (now bright with the morning sun), and in rapid dialogue with the Chorus confirms the joyful news. He tells how he yearned for his native land, and the Chorus reply that they too have yearned in gloom of heai* : when the Herald seeks to learn the source of their trouble he is met with signifi- cant silence. The Herald, misunderstanding this hesitation on the part of the Chorus, says that all human success has its mixture of trouble : the army had to encounter tossings on the sea and exposure to the night dews till their hair is shaggy as beasts' hair. But why remember this now ? Our toils are over ! — He starts, as with a Greek's sensitiveness to omen he perceives that he has used a phrase consecrated to the dead ; but forces himself to shake off the weight of
THE AGAMEMNON, 35
foreboding. The Queen appears from the palace for a Chap. II. moment to triumph over the Chorus, who had said that a woman beheved too soon. She exults in the thought of her husband's near return to witness her fidelity, stainless ' as a piece of bronze.' The strange phrase leaves an uncomfort- able sensation, which the Chorus seek to cover by enquiring further news from the Herald, and. naturally ask first as to Menelaus. The Herald in vain stops them, shrinking from the dread of mingling bad news with good ; he is compelled to describe the terrible storm in which the sea blossomed with wrecks and Achaean corpses, and the ship of Menelaus disappeared. Thus the forebodings of the Chorus are strengthened by the tidings that already one of the sons of Atreus has been overtaken by fate.
But for the present the thought is of triumph, and the Choral In- Chorus give vent to it in another choral ode. Helen has ^^^^"^f ^^•
^ I strophe
proved a heW^ to men, and ships, and towers. She came out from bowers of gorgeous curtains ; breezes soft as Zephyrs yet strong as Titans wafted her to the leafy banks of the Simois : and yet bloodshed was in her train, and shielded hunters followed on her track. Verily, there is a wrath that ^^nd anti- worketh after long waiting. Then were there shouts of * Paris ' in the bridal song, now in a wedding of death ' Paris ' has been shouted in other tones. They tell of 2 strophe a lion's cub reared in a house, fondled by young and old,
With eyes that brightened to the hand that stroked. And fawning at the hest of hunger keen ;
and yet when full-grown it showed the nature of its sires, and ami- and repaid hospitality with a banquet of slain sheep.
So would I tell that thus to Ilium came -^strophe
Mood as of calm when all the air is still. The gentle pride and joy of kingly state, A tender glance of eye,
^ A Greek pun represented by a different English pun: the name ' Helen ' resembles a Greek root signifying captivity.
D 2
36 • CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. II. The full-blown blossom of a passionate love,
Thrilling the very soul ;
And yet she turned aside, And wrought a bitter end of marriage feast, Coming to Priam's race 111 sojourner, ill friend, Sent by great Zeus, the god of host and guest, — Erinnys, for whom wives weep many tears.
and anti- The Saying is, that prosperity grown big will not die child- less, its offspring will be a woe unsatiable. Nay, it is not j prosperity, it is an impious deed that begets impious deeds
j^ strophe ilike to the parent stock. Recklessness begets recklessness, this is parent to full-flushed lust and god-forgetting daring.
indanti- Justice will dwcU in smoke-stained houses where life is lived by law, yet averts her eyes from golden mansions that har- bour defilement : and it is Justice which is directing the course of things to its appointed goal.
Episode iVll eyes turn to the distance side of the theatre, where
there appears the grand procession of the warriors return- ing from Troy. One line of soldiers, bending under the weight of the trophies they are carrying, march along the stage ; through the passage into the orchestra Agamem- non himself enters in his chariot, followed in another chariot by Cassandra, a captive, yet still in the garb of a prophetess ; more soldiers bring up the rear, leading captive women of Troy. The greater part of the procession traverse the theatre, and pass out on the right into the city; Agamemnon, and his immediate followers, stop at the centre. The Chorus, falling into marching rhythm while the procession is in motion, long to pour out their welcome to their lord ; yet, from very excess of love, avoid that tone of untempered triumph, which to a Greek mind would seem the opportunity a mocking fate would choose for a change of fortune. They speak of their former fear, when, in a single strange deed, their master seemed to them like a face limned by an unskilful artist. But now, — and even as they speak, they
strophe.
in.
THE AGAMEMNON: 37
are checked by the recollection of the palace secrets : and Chap. II. they can only say that he, the king, will soon know who has served him well and who ill. Agamemnon, rising in his chariot, bends first in adoration towards the statues of the gods who have given him victory ; then turns to the Chorus and approves their cautious tone, so well has he learned by experience the difference between professing and true friends. He will deliberate in full council as to the diseases of his state : but first he must offer thanksgiving at his own hearth. Here the central gate of the stage opens, and Clytaemnestra appears to welcome her lord, fol- lowed by Attendants bearing rich draperies of purple and dazzling colours. The rhetorical exaggeration of her speech suggests that tone of untempered exultation which the Chorus had been so careful to avoid. She details her fears and longings, and hails Agamemnon
as watch-dog of the fold, The stay that saves the ship, of lofty roof Main column-prop, a father's only child, Land that beyond all hope the sailor sees, Morn of great brightness following after storm, Clear-flowing fount to thirsty traveller.
The bare ground is not fit for the foot that has trampled upon Ilium : she bids the Attendants strew tapestry on the floor as the conqueror alights from his car. The Attendants commence to lay their draperies along the stage and down the staircase into the orchestra: Agamemnon hastens to stop them, and rebukes Clytaemnestra for the excessive tone of her welcome, and the presumption of her triumph. Clytaemnestra persists, and a strange contest goes on, in which the wife is seeking to entangle her husband in an act of infatuation, which might make him in the eyes of heaven a fit subject for the vengeance she is meditating. At last Agamemnon yields, but removes the shoe from his foot in sign of humility ; and in this strange guise he enters the
38
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II.
Choral In- terlude III in two pairs of stanzas.
Exodus, or Finale : marked by transitions between blank verse and lyrics.
palace, Clytaemnestra's last words being a prayer that heaven may accomplish ' all that is in her heart ! '
Such a scene has strengthened the forebodings of the Chorus until they seem like bodily sensations : woeful strains haunting their ears, pulses of impending fate beating at their heart. They are plunged in gloom, with little hope ever to unravel their soul, that burns with its hot thoughts.
The finale of the play is marked by a notable dramatic device. It was a fixed custom of the Greek Drama that no deed of violence could be enacted on the stage; the dramatist must find some method of making it known indirectly. The device employed in this case is the pro- phetic art of Cassandra, which enables her to see all that is going on behind the scenes ; with the further effect that her doom to be disbelieved forces her to depict the vision with ever increasing vehemence. During the preceding ode Cassandra had remained in her chariot ; at its conclusion the Queen returns to invite her, with forced moderation, to join the family sacrifice of her new home. Cassandra gives no answer, but remains gazing into vacancy. Clytsemnestra says that if Cassandra cannot speak Greek she might give some sign of assent. At the word *sign' a shudder con- vulses the frame of the prophetess, and the Queen hastily returns into the palace. With a cry of horror from Cassandra the crisis of the play begins. Her words fall into the form of strophes and antistrophes, like waves of lyric rhythm, as the prophetic vision comes upon her. She sees all the old woes of this bloodstained house ; she sees the deed of the present — the bath filling, the entangling net, the axe standing ready; then her wailings wax yet louder as she becomes aware that she is herself to be included in the sacrifice. Meanwhile, her excitement gradually passes over to the Chorus. At first they had mistaken her cries for the customary lamentations of captives (and borne their part in the dialogue in ordinary blank verse); then their emotions
THE AGAMEMNON, 39
are aroused (and their speech falls into lyrics) as they Chap. II. recognise the old woes of the family history, and remember ~~~ Cassandra's prophetic fame. When she passes on to the deed in preparation at that moment they feel a thrill of horror, but only half understand, and take her words for prophecy of distant events, which they connect with their own forebodings : thus in her struggles to get her words believed Cassandra becomes more and more graphic, and the excitement crescendoes.
Suddenly a change comes, and the dialogue settles down into blank verse — the calmness of an issue that has been . decided. Cassandra has passed from her chariot to the stage, and, turning to the Chorus at the top of the steps, she says she will no more speak veiled prophecy, her words shall surge clear as wave against the sunlight. Then all the woes of the House of Atreus pass before us in a single tableau. Her vision shows a house given over to the spirits of vengeance, a choral band never absent since the primal woe that brought defilement. Phantom children loom on her sight, their palms filled full with meat of their own flesh. In revenge for that deed another crime is to bring fresh stain on the house : and Cassandra sees Clytsem- nestra as a two-headed serpent, Aegisthus lurking in the house as a lion in his lair, while a brave man is being murdered by a woman. The Chorus, in their perplexity, ask WHO is being murdered : Cassandra names Agamemnon — the Chorus too late seeking to stop the shock of omen which, to a Greek mind, made the naming of a dread event seem like the first step to its fulfilment. Then Cassandra goes on to tell how she also must be joined with her new master in the sacrifice, a victim to the jealous murderers. Bitterly she reproaches her guardian god Apollo, tearing from her head the sacred wreath, and breaking the prophetic wand : in place of her father's altar a butcher's block is awaiting her. Suddenly a new wave of vision breaks over her :
40 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. II. But the gods will not slight us when we're dead ;
Another yet shall come as champion for us, A son who slays his mother, to avenge His father ; and the exiled wanderer Far from his home, shall one day come again Upon these woes to set the coping-stone.
Yielding to inevitable fate, she begins to move towards the palace, praying only for
blow that bringeth death at once, That so with no fierce spasm, while the blood Flows in calm death I then may close my eyes.
As she nears the palace it would seem as if her very physical senses caught the prophetic instinct : brightly as that palace is gleaming in the sunlight, she shrinks in disgust from it, tainted to her with the scent of blood. Arrived at the gate, she turns to gaze for the last time on the loved rays of the sun.
Ah, life of man! when most it prospereth, It is but limned in outline ; and when brought To low estate, then doth the sponge, full soak'd. Wipe out the picture with its frequent touch !
Cassandra passes through the gate into the palace.
The Chorus are wondering what all Agamemnon's glory will avail him if he be in truth destined to an evil fate at the last, — when a loud cry is heard from the palace. The Chorus recognise the king's voice, and for the first time it dawns upon them that it is a present doom which has been foreseen. In great excitement they break out of their choral rank, and each individual urges rescue or doubts : at last they recollect that they have no certain knowledge of what has happened, — and in this hesitation once more the doom of Cassandra to be doubted is fulfilled. Suddenly, by the machinery of the roller-stage, the interior of the palace is discovered : Clytaemnestra is seen standing in blood-stained robes, and before her the corpse of Cassandra, and the corpse of Agamemnon in a silver bath covered with a net. In
THE AGAMEMNON. 41
calm blank verse Clytsemnestra avows her act. Standing Chap. II. where she did the deed, she glories in it : glories in the net by which she entangled and rendered him powerless, in the blows — one, two, three, like a libation — which she struck, glories in the gush of life-blood which has bespattered her. She had waited long : behold the handiwork of her artist hand !
Then a wild scene follows. The Chorus (in lyrics) are denouncing the murderess and passionately mourning over their lord : Clytaemnestra gradually falls into the rhythm of the Chorus as she meets the passion of bereavement with the excitement of triumph.
Chorus. Ah me ! Ah me !
My king, my king, how shall I weep for thee? What shall I say from heart that truly loves? And now thou liest there, breathing out thy life,
In impious deed of death,
In this fell spider's web !
Yes woe is me ! woe, woe ! Woe for this couch of thine unhonourable !
Slain by a subtle death, With sword two-edg'd which her right hand did wield.
Clytaemnestra maintains that not herself, but the Avenger of Blood in her shape, has done this deed : and the Chorus, guilty as they know the queen to be, cannot deny that an avenging doom is here. He slew my daughter, the Queen reiterates, slain himself in recompense he was gone to hell with nothing to boast over ! But the Chorus cry for escape from the pelting shower of blood that is pouring upon the house. Who is to chant the dirge for their lord, and perform his funeral rites? That, answers Clytaemnestra, shall be cared for, and as mourner he may find Iphigenia by the banks of the Styx ! Again the Chorus are unable to deny the justice of blood for blood : but where is the tale of curses begotten of curses to come to an end ? My hand, the Queen proudly replies, has freed the house from its
42 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. frenzy of murder. Thus all seems to be going wrong in the action of the drama : Clytaemnestra is triumphant and the Chorus are cowed. But this is only the Greek idea of infatuation : the spiritual darkening which like a mist hides from the sinner his doom until he has been driven to the extremity of his crime.
The infatuation deepens as Aegisthus enters (through one of the inferior doors of the palace) from his place of concealment. He salutes the happy day which has brought vengeance for his own wrongs, as well as the wrongs of Clytaemnestra. The Chorus note that he confesses the deed : he shall die by stones hurled with the curses of the people. Aegisthus haughtily bids the old men know their weakness, And contemptuous defiances are interchanged. In the heat of their scorn the Chorus suddenly remember the destined future as hinted by Cassandra, the meaning of which now breaks upon them : with a new tone in their defiance, they remind Aegisthus that the light of life yet shines upon ORESTES ! At that word the whole mist of infatuation dissolves in a moment : the nmtie of the fate-appointed avenger has been spoken, and already vengeance seems near. Clytsemnestra realises her doom to perish at the hands of her own son; the audience catch the drift of the remaining plays of the trilogy; Aegisthus is maddened by the reflection that the natural avenger of Agamemnon is out of his power. Enraged he gives the signal, at which through all the entrances come pouring out of the palace the soldiers of his body-guard ; they line the long stage from end to end, their helmets, spears, and shields gleaming bright in the noonday sun. The Chorus— who represent the legitimate authority of the city now Agamemnon is dead — are nothing daunted by numbers, and press forward to ascend the stage. A contest of force seems inevitable, and the metre of the play breaks into a rhythm of excitement. But the tide has too surely turned : Clytaemnestra throws herself between the
THE SEPULCHRAL RLTES. 43
contending parties, and urges that enough ill has already Chap. II. been done ; she beseeches Aegisthus, and hurls alternately warning and scorn at the Chorus. With difficulty the two bodies, exchanging defiances, and each resting on the future, are induced sullenly to separate. Aegisthus allows himself to be forced by Clytaemnestra into the palace, the body-guard filing after him ; the Chorus slowly retire through the right passage into the city, and the first play of the trilogy ter- minates.
The Sepulchral Rites ^
In the second play of the trilogy the permanent scene '^ Midday again stands for the palace of Agamemnon at Argos, the r^^^ 3^.
PULCHRAL
^ Greek : Choephort, or bearers of urns for pouring libations. Rites.
^ The modern reader must understand that the manuscripts of Greek plays contain only the speeches, without stage directions : these, and sometimes the divisions of the speeches, have to be inferred from the text, with the occasional assistance of notes by ' scholiasts,' or ancient com- mentators. Thus it will often happen that totally different arrangements of mise-en-sdne are reconcilable with the same text. For the present play there are two different theories, between which the evidence seems to me almost equally balanced. One arrangement (given in Donaldson's Theatre of the Greeks) assumes a change of scene at the end of the first/ Choral Interlude : the earlier part of the play centering round the tomb of Agamemnon, the latter part taking place in front of the palace. This agrees well with the prominence of the tomb in the earlier part, and the total ignoring of it after line 709 ; also the anapaests of the Chorus, 706-16, suit well with a choral re-entry. On the whole, I have preferred the arrangement in a single scene (as in Plumptre's translation, &c.). (i ) The burden of proof seems to rest with those who suppose a change ; (2) Choral Interlude I suits excellently with the filling up of an interval for Orestes to go out and return, while it fits awkwardly with the other arrangement; (3) the address to the tomb, 709-11, is strongly in favour of its continued presence ; (4) the whole effect of the crisis caused by Clytaemnestra's dim suspicions of the stranger is lost if the Chorus have been absent; (5) there are little touches, such as lines 257, 545 which suggest the vicinity of the palace in the earlier part. In adopting the single scene arrangement I have myself made a variation from (e.g.) Plumptre by supposing the tomb of Agamemnon to take the place of the Thymele. (i) There is the undoubted analogy of the Persians, a drama
44 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. only difference being that the altar in the middle of the orchestra is now changed for a mound representing Aga- memnon's sepulchre. The entrances on either side of the central gates are approaches to the Strangers' Wing of the palace and to the Women's Quarters. The side-scenes represent on the left the valley of the Inachus, on the right, Prologue. Argos. The prologue commences with the appearance of Orestes and Pylades, and the audience know that the day of vengeance has arrived. As they advance from the distance entrance Orestes solemnly cuts off two locks of his hair; one he casts in the direction of the river, the thank-offering to the genius of his native valley that should have been presented when he came of age ; the other is a grief-offering which exile prevented his paying at his father's funeral. Descending to the orchestra he lays this lock on the tomb : he has no sooner returned to the stage than he hears a burst of wailing from within the palace, and the two friends hasten to conceal themselves. Sepulchral From the Women's Quarters appears a melancholy train Oiie as q£ Trojan captive maidens, in attendance on the princess entry Electra, all with dishevelled hair and wild gestures, and
bearing in their hands the urns used for funeral liba- tions. With the exception of Electra, who brings up the rear, they all descend the staircase into the orchestra, and perform a funeral ode round the tomb of Agamemnon. in three The words of this ode simply describe the tearings of cheeks, stanzas and rending of garments, with groanings, which are actually the gestures of the dance, and are proper to such a sepulchral rite as the Chorus have been sent to perform. The Queen
which much resembles the present play; (2) in line 98 the Choras seem to lay their hands on the tomb ; (3) the title of the play and prominence of sepulchral rites fit well with such a centre. No doubt this arrangement causes some little difficulties as to the actors who lay offerings on the tomb, but I hope I have got over these by the arrangements I suggest, and we need go no further than the third play of the trilogy to find authority for passing from stage to orchestra and vice versa.
THE SEPULCHRAL RLTES. 45
has sent them, terrified by a dream signifying how the Dead Chap. II. were wroth with their slayers. But the Chorus Hke not this '
graceless act of grace : what can atone for the slaughter of a hero ? With him awe has been overthrown, and success reigns in its stead.
Yet stroke of vengeance swift
Smites some in life's clear day ; For some who tarry long their sorrows wait In twilight dim, on darkness' borderland ;
And some an endless night
Of nothingness holds fast.
Through this ode Electra, who ought to have taken the Episode I : lead, has remained standing on the stage irresolute : she ^'^^ ^' ^^^^ now addresses the Chorus, who fall into their episode positions to converse with her. Electra's difficulty is, how can she use the customary formulas of such rites : — ' I bring from loving wife to husband loved gifts,' or ' Good recom- pense make thou to those who bring these garlands'? Or shall she, dumb with ignominy like that with which He perished, pour libations as if they were lustral filth, looking not behind her ? The Chorus move to the altar, lay their hands on it in sign of fidelity, and so advise Electra to cast off all disguise and pray boldly for friend and against foe. Electra offers prayer in this sense for Orestes and vengeance ; then calling on the Chorus for another funeral song she short pcean descends in her turn to the tomb. When she returns to the stage after the short paean of the Chorus, her whole manner is changed : as if the prayer had already been answered she has found on the sepulchre mysterious locks of hair, which, bit by bit, she lets out must be those of Orestes. When, in addition, she has discovered the foot- prints on the stage, Orestes and his friend come forward and make themselves known. The Chorus are alarmed lest the noisy joy of this meeting may be overheard in the palace. But Orestes has no fears of failure in his task, so strong
46 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. II. were the sanctions with which Apollo bade him do the deed : — leprosy, madness, exile, wasting death should over- take him if he hung back. With Apollo on their side, the Chorus feel certainty of near retribution ; and the play and elabo- resolves itself at this point into an elaborate dirge, by the Concerto brother and sister on the stage and the Chorus in the in twenty orchcstra, in highly intricate and interwoven ^ strophes and
interwoz'en ' <j j
stanzas. antistrophcs, with funeral gestures. The jaws of flame, they sing, do not reduce the corpse to senselessness : the dead can hear this our rite and will send answer. They sing the sad fate of Agamemnon : not that of the warrior who dies leaving high fame and laying strong and sure his children's paths in life, but to be struck down by his own kin. But there is a sense of vengeance at hand : and the dirge crescendoes till it breaks into the Arian Rhythm, a foreign ritual with violent gestures, proper to the Chorus as Asiatics ; from this it reaches a climax by dividing into two semi- choruses, one of which sings of woe the other of vengeance. By a favourite Greek effect, the passion of this lyrical dirge repeats itself in a calmer form in blank verse; the duett between Orestes and Electra is a sort of Litany to the Dead. Orestes promises banquets to the departed : Electra will be the first to pour the libations.
Orestes. Set free my Sire, O Earth, to watch the battle.
Electra. O Persephassa, goodly victory grant.
Orestes. Remember, Sire, the bath in which they slew thee!
Electra. Remember thou the net they handsell'd so.
They appeal to him to save his children, the voices that preserve a man's memory when he dies.
Their minds composed by these devotional exercises, Orestes and Electra turn to the means of carrying out vengeance. Orestes enquires as to the purpose of these sepulchral rites, and the dream is narrated in parallel verse.
^ See below, page 314.
THE SEPULCHRAL RITES.
47
Orestes. Chorus. Orestes. Chorus. Orestes. Chorus. Orestes. Chorus. Orestes. Chorus.
Orestes.
And have ye leamt the dream to tell it right?
As she doth say, she thought she bare a snake.
How ends the tale, and what its outcome then?
She nursed it, like a child, in swaddling clothes.
What food did that young monster crave for then?
She, in her dream, her bosom gave to it.
How 'scaped her breast by that dread beast unhurt?
Nay, with the milk it suck'd out clots of blood.
Ah, not in vain comes this dream from her lord.
She, roused from sleep, cries out all terrified.
And many torches that were quench'd in gloom
Blazed for our mistress' sake within the house.
Then these libations for the dead she sends.
Hoping they'll prove good medicine of ills.
Now to Earth here, and my sire's tomb I pray,
They leave not this strange vision unfulfilled.
So I expound it that it all coheres ;
For if, the self- same spot that I left leaving,
The snake was then wrapt in my swaddling-clothes,
And suck'd the very breast which nourished me,
And mixed the sweet milk with a clot of blood,
j^nd she in terror wailed the dread event,
So must she, as that monster dread she nourished.
Die cruel death : and I, thus serpen tised,
Am here to slay her, as this dream portends.
Chap. H.
They rapidly arrange their plans to get admission to the palace as foreigners, Electra returning to the Women's Quarters to keep watch within.
The Chorus fill up the interval with an ode, which sings Choral In- the most monstrous of all monsters, a passion-driven woman : ^^^^'^^^ ^•
1 mi • • 1 1 infour pair-
such as 1 hestias, who burnt out the mystic brand that edstamas. measured her son's life ; Scylla, who stole her father's life-charm. They hint of another who slew a warrior-king, a deed which might compare with the Lemnian deed, fore- most of crimes. But the anvil-block of vengeance is firm set, and Fate is the sword-smith hammering.
The action of the play recommences with the appearance Episode II. of Orestes advancing a second time through the distance entrance, followed by Pylades and Attendants. Arrived at
48 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. the central gate of the palace, he calls loudly for admission, telling the Porter that he is a traveller, and must do his message before night falls. Clytsemnestra, who enters from the Women's Quarters, is cold in her offer of hospitality, having heard Orestes' phrase, that he desires the lord or the lady of the house, though a lord is the seemlier ruler. Orestes bluffly delivers to her a message he professes to have received from a fellow-traveller, who begged him to seek out the kinsmen of Orestes at Argos, and say Orestes was dead. Clytsemnestra affects a burst of grief, which the traveller interrupts by remarking that he cannot expect the reception of one who brings good news. Orestes is over-acting his part, and the Queen, with a dim feeling, of suspicion, answers that he shall lack nothing of that w^ich befits ; she then motions the porter to conduct Orestes through the central gates, but signs other Attendants to take his companions into the Strangers' Wing ^ : she herself retires into the Women's Quarters, saying that the master of the house, with no lack of friends, shall share the news. The Chorus catch the critical condition of their project, and, breaking into marching rhythm, invoke Hermes and the Spirit of Persuasion to sit upon the lips of Orestes.
The Nurse of Orestes comes out from the Women's Quarters, sent by Clytsemnestra to summon Aegisthus. She is dissolved in tears at the sad news which has arrived, and details all her petty cares over the boy's infancy, now rendered fruitless. The Chorus give mysterious hints of consolation ; and, enquiring the exact terms of the message to Aegisthus, bid her alter them, and beg him to come
^ This separation of Orestes from his companions is not very clear in Clytsemnestra's own words, though the de of line 700, assisted by a gesture, might be sufficient. The fact of his separation is clear from line 851, and gives point to the speech of the Chorus that follows, especially their reference to persuasion, which must now do the work of force.
THE SEPULCHRAL RITES. 49
alone and come at once. Somewhat reassured, the Nurse Chap. II. proceeds through the right entrance into the city.
The Chorus again fill up an interval of waiting with an Choral In- ode, in which they invoke the various gods worshipped f ^ by the family — as Zeus, Apollo, Hermes — to hold back the interwoven
. r 1 1 stanzas with
rapid course of calamity for the dear son of the house, mesode. Like Perseus, he must look not on the deed while he does it ; as she utters the name of Mother, he must hurl back the cry of Father !
Aegisthus now enters from Argos : as he passes the Episode Chorus, he speaks of the summons he has received ; it may ' after all be but women's fears, that leap up high and die away to nought. The Chorus answer that there is nothing like enquiring. Aegisthus will do so : they will not cheat a man with his eyes open. Speaking these words he dis- appears through the central gate to his doom.
The Chorus, in a short lyrical burst, express the critical moment that gives success or failure. Then cries are heard from within, and the Porter rushes from the central gate to the door of the Women's Quarters, loudly summoning Clytaemnestra : when she appears, he informs her that the 'dead are slaying the living.' She sees in a moment the truth, and is hurriedly looking for aid, when Orestes appears from the central door and confronts her, while Pylades and his Attendants rush out from the Strangers' Wing to support him.
Orestes. 'Tis thee I seek : he there has had enough.
Clytcentnestra. Ah me ! my loved Aegisthus ! art thou dead ?
Orestes. Lov'st thou the man ? Then in the self-same tomb Shalt thou now lie, nor in his death desert him.
The mother bares her breast and appeals to filial instinct, and Orestes' courage all but fails : Pylades speaks (for this one time only in the whole play), reminding his friend that a god had bidden him do the deed, and Orestes rallies to his task, forcing the guilty Queen — now realising the meaning of her dream — to go within and suffer death.
E
50 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. II. As the gate closes on the son and his mother the Chorus "~~ sing how vengeance has come, though late ; on a lover of terlude III guile retribution has descended subtle-souled.
ivcrven ' The will of gods is strangely over- ruled,
stanzas. It may not help the vile.
At last they see the light : all-working Time, with cleansing rites, will purify the house ; Fortune's throws shall fall with gladsome cast : at last they see the light. Exodus or Once more the central gate opens, and Orestes solemnly Finale. advances to the front, his Attendants bearing the corpses of Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra, bearing also the net in which Agamemnon had been murdered : the hero bids them spread the net in the full light of the Sun, the great purifyer, while he testifies before its brightness that the dread deed he has done is a deed of necessary vengeance. He dwells on the cruel device of Clytaemnestra — a deed of one who, had she been a viper, with touch alone would have made a festering sore. But the Chorus, seeing side by side that fatal net and the ghastly slaughter with which it has just been avenged, by unhappy chance can think of nothing but the growth of evil out of evil, which the avenger in his turn will have to prove. Orestes, strung already by the task he has performed to the highest pitch of nervous excitement, staggers under the shock of this untimely utterance. He recounts" again the crime of which this deed is the nemesis : the Chorus cannot help re- peating the unhappy omen. At this moment Orestes feels his brain giving way.
Like chariot-driver with his steeds I'm dragg'd Out of my course ; for passion's moods uncurb'd Bear me their victim headlong. At my heart Stands terror ready or to sing or dance In burst of frenzy.
While reason yet stays with him he reiterates his innocence, and puts on the suppliant's fillet; with this he will go to
THE GENTLE GODDESSES. 51
Delphi, and challenge the god who sent him on his mission Chap. II. to free him from its dire consequences. The madness increases : he can see the Furies in bodily shape, dark- robed, and all their tresses entwined with serpents. . . . they swarm, they swarm, and from their eyes is dropping loath- some blood. . . . they drive him on, and he can bear no more ! — Orestes rushes through the distance-entrance to commence his long career of wanderings, while the Chorus cry that a third storm has burst upon the house of their king : when will the dread doom be lulled into slumber ?
The Gentle Goddesses \
It is the third play of the trilogy which presents the After- greatest difficulties to modern appreciation. One of these play • difficulties is connected with the national character of a The Greek tragic celebration, which made it possible for a qqd^^^ dramatist to substitute poHtical sentiment, and even appeals desses. to party feeling, in the place of strictly dramatic effect. _The_' Story QfQjestes ' was brought on the stage in March of 458 BjC., during the excitement caused by the popular 'attack on the aristocratic court of the Areopagus : it is a leading purpose of the poet to assist the defenders of that institution by associating it with the legendary glories of Athens. To appreciate portions of the final play, the reader must be able to sympathise with the spirit of conflicts between the party of conservatism and the party of reform.
But the play presents an even greater difficulty on the side of art, from the fact that it deals with the supreme horror of ancient mythology, that terror which was a back- ground for all other terrors — the beings called by us the Furies, termed by the Greeks 'Erinnyes' or Destroyers, where they did not avoid altogether uttering the name of dread, and speak of the * Gentle Goddesses,' using a similar
^ Greek : Eumehides. E 2
:52 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. 11. euphemism to that by which in Scotland mischievous fairies are called the 'Good Neighbours.' These Furies were personifications of remorse, or of those unnatural crimes that separate the criminal for ever from his fellows. Ac- cordingly, they are represented as dwelling apart from all the gods ; sprung from darkness, they iremain in the lowest depths of hell till the curses of the victim summon them to earth. Their appearance is too terrible to be otherwise than dimly defined : when they grow visible it is as black forms with serpent hair, they breathe out fire and blood, and foulness drops from their eyes. They were to be worshipped in places which none might approach ; the victims offered to them were black ; and wine — the symbol of comradeship — was banished from their festivals. And of all the details of dread associated with the Furies none was more weird than their mode of attack : — no outward blow or plague, but unremitting pursuit, the stroke of madness, the secret power of their presence to drain the victim of energy and life. These loathly creatures — the supreme effort of crea- tive melancholy — are in the third play of the trilogy brought actually before our eyes : if such an attempt would on the modern stage be doomed to failure, it must be recollected that Ancient Tragedy possessed a weapon we have lost in the choral art, which could reach the mind by three distinct avenues, all producing their separate im- pressions in harmony. It is necessary then to string up the imagination to the conception of these beings, for they form the central interest -of the play, as is clear from the choral and poetic devices the author has lavished on their part, especially the effect of their gradual disclosure, from the first dim sight we catch of them in the background of the dark shrine, up to the point where they actually perform their spell on a victim before our eyes.
The opening scene represents the Temple of Apollo at Delphi ; the central gates are the richly adorned entrance to
THE GENTLE GODDESSES. 53 J
the oracular cave, the side-scenes suggest the landscape of Chap. II. the locality famous in song. From her dwelling, on the left of the central gates, the Priestess of the oracle advances Prologue. towards the cave, offering the morning prayer ; she enumer- ates the various deities who have shared with Apollo the guardianship of the sacred oracle, and prays that her divina- tions that day may excel all she has given before. Inviting pilgrims to come forward, she passes into the cave. In a moment she returns, pale and disordered, flinging wide open the central gates, through which can dimly be discerned dreadful forms in the darkness. She can hardly stand, for the terror of the sight she has seen : the sacred shrine has been polluted by the presence of a suppliant, his sword yet dripping with bloodshed ; and, sitting round him, she saw a yet more dread sight — a troop of women, or gorgons, or wingless harpies, swarth and everyway abominable.
They snort with breath that none may dare approach,
And from their eyes a loathsome humour pours,
And such their garb as neither to the shrine
Of gods is meet to bring, nor mortal roof. She can only appeal to the god to protect his own, and hurries back to her dwelling.
At her word, a bright vision breaks out of the gloom : two deities appear — all the resources of tragic splendour lavished on their figures — leading out of the cave the dejected Orestes. Apollo pledges himself never to desert his trusting suppliant : it is himself who has sent sleep upon these loathly beings, born out of evils, and he bids Orestes seize the momentary respite to make his way to Athens, where a means of escape shall be found. Committing the fugitive to his brother deity, Hermes, the god of escort, Apollo disappears in the cave, while Hermes and his charge pass through the distance-entrance to their journey.
The stage being vacant, the machinery of the roller-stage ^
^ I understand the deutera phantasia of the scholiast's note to mean,
not (as Donaldson) a twofold evolution of the eccyclema, but an ordinary
54 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. brings the interior of the cave to the front, giving a nearer view of the sleeping Furies, poured confusedly over the floor in uncouth attitudes. The Ghost of Clytaemnestra rises from beneath the earth, and towering over the recum- bent sleepers she taunts them with their defeat. They are sleeping, while she remains in disgrace among the shades beneath, reproached as a murderess, yet none will do vengeance on him who murdered her. She shows her heart-wounds and taxes the Furies with ingratitude.
Many a gift of mine Have ye lapp'd up, libations pure from wine, And soothing rites that shut out drunken mirth ; And I dread banquets of the night would offer On altar-hearth, at hour no god might share. And lo ! all this is trampled under foot. He is escaped, and flees, like fawn, away, And even from the midst of all your toils Has nimbly slipped, and draws wide mouth at you. Hear ye, for I have spoken for my life: Give heed, ye dark, earth- dwelling goddesses, I, Clytaemnestra s phantom, call on you.
The Furies moan in their sleep.
Moan on? the man is gone, and flees far off: My kindred find protectors ; I find none.
The moaning of the Furies grows louder and nearer the waking point as Clytaemnestra presses them with her re- proaches, until at last they wake with a yell, and sit up in various postures of horror, still drowsy with their charmed sleep. The Ghost passes amongst them, seeking to rouse each individual : one she praises as a hound that never
use of it at this point, which would constitute the second (and nearer) discovery of the Furies, the first having been the dim vision of them through the central gates left open by the priestess. There remain further stages in their display : (i ) where they wake in sitting postures, (2) where they start to their feet, and perform a prelude (on the roller- stage) ; besides their further appearance on the stage proper and finally in the orchestra.
THE GENTLE GODDESSES. 55
rests from toil, another she reproaches as losing in sleep all Chap. II. sense of loss, a third she urges with vehemence :
Breathe on him with thy blood-fleck'd breath,
And with thy vapour, thy maw's fire, consume him ;
Chase him, and wither with a fresh pursuit.
The Furies at last start to their feet, fully revealed, and Prelude. break into a prelude : crowded into a single tangled group by the narrow dimensions of the roller-stage, they sway to right and left with successive stanzas into fresh varieties of hideousness. Their prey, they sing, is gone ! Apollo has shown himself again as a robber-god ! Earth's central shrine has been polluted ! But not even with a god to help him shall the victim escape.
Apollo reappears from the darkness shrouding the in- most parts of the cave, driving before him with his threatening bow the Furies, who retreat on to the floor of the stage and stand defying him. He bids them begone from his sacred precincts, and seek scenes more fitted to their nature ;
There, where heads upon the scaffold lie, And eyes are gouged and throats of men are cut, "Where men are maimed and stoned to death, and groan With bitter wailing 'neath the spine impaled.
A contest ensues in parallel verse. The Furies reproach Apollo with taking the part of a matricide ; Apollo urges that the mother had first slain her husband ; the Furies retort that the husband is not kin to the wife, which Apollo treats as a reflection on Zeus and Hera and the sanctity of marriage. Neither party will give way, and the Furies fling themselves on the footprints of Orestes and track them through the distance-entrance towards Athens.
At this point, stage and orchestra being empty, a change Change of of scene is effected. The central gate is now the porch of ^^ an Athenian temple — that of Athene, Guardian of the
56
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. City : the side-scene on the left gives a view of the road to Argos, the other displays the city of Athens. Orestes enters from the Argos road, no longer a blood-stained wanderer, but with tragic dignity of mien, and clad in the gorgeous vestments of Bacchic ritual. Advancing to the temple porch he clasps the statue of Athene, and tells how, in his long wanderings, the stain of his deed has been by due rites washed away. Suddenly, by the same entrance, the Furies make their appearance on the stage, their faces to the ground and tracking Orestes' steps. At last the dumb informer is clear again, already they catch the loved scent of blood. They see their victim praying, and silently spread themselves along the stage behind him to bar escape ; in low voice they mock his hopes of staking all on one trial, they will keep him to his doom of suspense, sucking his blood from his living members, and when they have had their fill of this drink undrinkable, they will drag him down alive to Hades, a matricide still. Orestes con- tinues his prayer : details the cleansing rites he has under- gone, vindicates the pureness of the hand he lays on the statue of the pure goddess. The Furies start up : Not Apollo nor Athene can save thee from thy doom ! Orestes clings convulsively to the statue of Athene. — Thou resistest? Then feel our spell ! Parade, They fling themselves exultingly down the steps into the
leading to orchestra, chanting in marching rhythm, and summoning one another to their dance of hate, their office of witnesses for the dead against the sinner : then they form about the altar, and the audience feel a vague thrill of terror as they watch the Chorus moving with no sound of musical accom- paniment through the spell-dance of the Furies, clustering in ghastly groups, weaving weird paces, and with gestures of incantation strangely writhing their shadowy shapes. They appeal to Night, their mother, whose sway like theirs is over living and dead alike; they appeal against the
Choral spell.
I strophe
THE GENTLE GODDESSES. 57
despite Apollo is doing them in robbing them of their Chap. II. cowering victim —
And over him as slain We raise this chant of madness, frenzy-working,
The hymn the Erinnyes love, A spell upon the soul, a lyreless strain
That withers up men's strength.
The Destiny that spun the web of all things spun as one andanti. thread of it that they should haunt the slayer of kin, their victim, till death, and after death their victim yet more : —
And over him as slain We raise this chant of madness, frenzy-working,
The hymn the Erinnyes love, A spell upon the soul, a lyreless strain
That withers up men's strength.
They tell of their birth lot : to be sundered for ever from 2 strophe the deathless gods, from social joys and garments of white : for them was the overthrow of homes in which love and slaughter have met —
Ha ! hunting after him. Strong though he be, 'tis ours To wear the newness of his young blood down —
strophe.
they are jealous for the task they have taken over from all ^'/f^^^^J'' others : heaven must stop the prayer before it reaches them, since, their work once begun, no gods may draw near to strive with them, unapproachable beings of blood and hate —
For leaping down as from the topmost height
I on my victim bring
The crushing force of feet, Limbs that o'erthrow e'en those that swiftly run,
An Ate hard to bear.
So far the Furies have alternated between dejection at their isolated lot and frantic joy in their task; for a pair of stanzas they give themselves up to unmingled exultation in
58
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
3 slroplu
and anti strophe
4 strophe
Chap. II. the sure secrecy of their attack. They laugh at the glory of man, towering so high in the blessed sunlight, and all the while beneath the earth its foundation has been wasting away and dwindhng to dishonour, as they have been approaching and retreating with the dancings of their loathly feet. His guilt reaches the frenzy of ignorance, that gathers round him a cloudy mist hiding that which is coming, even while rumour has begun to sigh all around and tell the fall of the house. In the final pair of stanzas, the Furies fall back into unrelieved gloom, with nothing to vary the irresistible horror of their motions. For ever ! ever finding means, never missing the goal, never for- getting, never appeased, lacking honour, lacking reverence, in no company of gods, in no light of sun, in life, in dim death, pursuing their uphill task, the law imposed on them, given them to fulfil, the law that none may hear and fear not, the task of old which it is their high prerogative to work out, dwellers though they be beneath the earth in the sunless world of shadows.
The spell is broken by a shock of surprise when Athene herself appears aloft in the air, floating as in a chariot of clouds along the balcony of the permanent scene. She has heard the cry of Orestes, and now enquires what is this strange presence in her own city? The Chorus explain who they are, and seek to enlist Athene against the matricide. The goddess answers that she has heard only one side. The Chorus rejoin that their adversary dares not rest his case on oath for oath. We can understand these words producing a stir through the vast Athenian audience, as trenching on current politics : the exchange of oaths was a feature of procedure in ordinary Athenian courts, from which the threatened Court of Areopagus claimed separate jurisdiction. When Athene answers that such a device is a poor way of getting at truth, a burst of applause from the aristocratic party welcomes this as a
and anti- strophe.
Episode I.
THE GENTLE GODDESSES. 59
distinct declaration in their favour. Orestes proceeds to Chap. II. put his case, saying how Apollo sent him on his mission. Athene pauses : murder stirred by wrath (that is, homicide as distinguished from murder, the peculiar province of the Areopagus Court) is too hard a matter for mortal or god to determine ; she will, therefore, appoint jurors on oath as a perpetual institution for dealing w^ith such cases. Let the parties prepare, while she seeks citizens of the best for jurors. Athene in her cloudy chariot floats onward in the direction of the city, amid the long and loud applause of the aristocratic party, who henceforward excitedly turn the whole performance into a political demonstration.
The choral ode that fills up the interval assists this effect. Choral In- being a glorification of the spirit of conservatism. Unless J^^ .^/ the right side wins here, the Furies sing, there will be ai^-Jj^J^^^. outbreak of new customs and general recklessness. Awe is the watchman of the soul, the calm wisdom gained by sorrow : he who dares all and transgresses all will perforce, as time wears on, have to take in sail, while each yard-arm shivers with the blast ; in vain he struggles amid the whirling waves, ever failing to weather round the perilous promontory, till he is wrecked on the reefs of vengeance.
The political effect reaches its climax as another change Change of of scene reveals Mars Hill itself : the centre masonry indi- ^pj^^jj^^^ eating the very spot in which the Court of Areopagus held Exodus. its sittings, while one of the side-scenes displays a portion of the hill — rocky steps, and a wide long chasm, at the bottom of which were the Caves of the Eumenides. Athene enters on foot from the city with her jury of aristocratic citizens. Dramatic effect may be considered to be suspended, and the interest now lies in reproducing exactly the procedure of the Court of Areopagus, with Athene for president, Orestes for prisoner, Apollo as his counsel, and the Chorus to prosecute in person. The spirit of the scene is adapted to gratify the peculiar Athenian
6o CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. love of legal hair-splitting. Instead of deep arguments, founded on morals or religion, we have the Chorus resting their case on the plea that the murder of a husband is a lesser crime than the murder of a parent, affinity being violated and not relationship. This is met by a counter- plea of a similar type : that the mother is not even a relative, but only an instrument of child-bearing :
The mother is not parent of the child
That is called hers, but nurse of embryo sown ;
He that begets is parent.
Apollo puts this his plea with a personal appeal to the judge as one born of father without mother, while no myth tells of a child sprung from no father. This at once wins Athene to his side, and she calls upon the jurors to vote, in a speech which, as an inauguration for the Court of Areo- pagus, makes the safety of the Athenian state rest upon this court to the end of time. Amid an accompaniment of threats and promises from the contending parties, the jurors advance one by one and cast their votes in the urns. Lastu of all the goddess gives her personal voice in favour of?' Orestes, thus affording a mythical basis for a technical term' of Areopagitic procedure, by which, where a jury was evenly divided, the prisoner was said to be acquitted by the ' vote i i "^ of Athene.' This proves to be the case on the present j' occasion, and Orestes, being thus solemnly discharged, after pouring out his gratitude to Athene, and pledging a firm alliance between Athens and his native Argos, quits the scene with his patron Apollo, and the trial is at an end. Lyric The political purposes of the play being now secured, its
dramatic character is resumed, and it rises to the full height of tragic effect in an elaborate choral finale. The Chorus (breaking into strophic lyrics) vow vengeance and a long train of ills on the city for this their defeat : black venom shall drop on the land, which shall smite the earth with barrenness, blight shall come upon the leaves and murrain
THE GENTLE GODDESSES. 6 1
on the flocks. Between each strophe and antistrophe Chap. II. Athene (in blank verse) seeks to propitiate the angry deities. Their cause has been fairly tried, she urges ; moreover, in their wrath they will lose all the good things the city would do for them if friendly : they should have shining thrones in the dark homes they love, the citizens would bring them the first-fruits of a wide champaign, and the offerings of births and wedlocks. Gradually the Chorus calm down, and (their lyrics subsiding into parallel verse) they, as it were, demand reiteration of the pledge article by article.
Chorus. Athene, queen, what seat assign 'st thou me?
Athene. One void of touch of evil ; take thou it.
Chorus. Say I accept, what honour then is mine?
Athene. That no one house apart from thee shall prosper.
Chorus. And wilt thou work that I such might may have?
Athene. His lot who worships thee we'll guide aright.
Chorus. And wilt thou give thy warrant for all time ?
Athene. What I work not I might refrain from speaking.
Chortis. It seems thou sooth'st me ; I relax my wrath.
The lyrics break out again as the Chorus recall their curse. There shall be no tree-blighting canker, no blaze of scorch- ing heat, no plague of barrenness nor dust drinking the blood of citizens : but the earth shall feed fair flocks and bear rich produce for the Higher Powers. Athene makes acknowledgment for the city (in marching rhythm as signify- ing exultation) ; she then offers to conduct the now friendly deities to their homes. At her word, torches are seen on the stage, lighting up the dull March afternoon, and there enters from the city an array of highborn matrons and girls, in vestments of purple, some carrying urns for libations, others graceful baskets, thus providing for the final spectacle of the trilogy the favourite festival of the Eumenidea. The worshippers file down the steps into the orchestra and mingle their brightness with the dark forms of the Chorus : then, all winding round the orchestra in the long line which
62 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. II. Greek art so loves, and raising the festival hymn, while the vast audience of thirty thousand join to shout the burden till the neighbouring hills ring again, the procession passes out towards the Caves of the Eumenides, and the trilogy is concluded.
III.
Choral Tragedy as a Dramatic Species.
1. Structure of Choral Tragedy.
2. The Lyric Element in Ancie7it Tragedy.
3. Motives in Ancient Tragedy.
4. The Dr agnatic Element in Ancient Tragedy.
5. Extraneous Elements in Choral Tragedy.
III.
1. structure of Choral Tragedy.
The form of drama, the origin of which was traced in the Chap. III.
first chapter of this work, while in the chapter immediately
preceding an illustration of it has been presented from the Choral spectator's point of view, is best described by the term Choral Tragedy : its distinctive mark, as a species of the universal drama, being the combination in it of a lyric with the dramatic element.
-Greek Tragedy was not pure drama, but a union ^ oi Dramatic Lyric Odes by the Chorus in the Orchestra in Strophic fj'^ndent form, and Dramatic Episodes by Actors on the Stage in Tragedy. what may be called Blank Verse. The Chorus was the bond between the lyric and dramatic elements : having connection with the dramatic plot as the hero's confidants, and taking part (through their Coryphaeus or Leader) in
^ The structural parts of a tragedy are five : — i. The Prologue includes everything (acted scene or explanatory speech) that precedes the first appearance of the Chorus. (2) Parode, or Chorus-entry, the speech of the Chorus on entering before they take part in an Episode : it often includes a Choral Ode and sometimes (see below, page 178) becomes a scene of dialogue. (3) Episode is the technical name for a dramatic scene upon the stage, the Chorus being present and taking part through their Leader. (4) Choral Interludes are by the Chorus alone, with no action taking place on the stage, and in strict strophic form. The Greek name stasimon describes such a performance as ' stationary ' to distinguish it from the Parode and Ex ode. The bulk of a tragedy consists in Episodes and Choral Interludes, alternating to any number of each. (5) The Exodus or Exode includes all the action subsequent to the last Choral Interlude.— Note : The words Parode^ Episode, Exode have no etymo- logical connection with ode, but are connected with a Greek word hodos applied to entrance and exit.
F
66 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. HI. the dialogue of the episodes, while the lyric parts they had
wholly to themselves. 'Jlie Chorus The Chorus are able to harmonise their double furxtions ^ytjie {.jy ^l^gjj. peeuHar position as ' ideal spectators.' This happy spectator: description is true only if it be understood in the fullest
sense : the Chorus are spectators in the drama, and they are
spectators <?/"the drama. The Chorus As spectators in the dr^ma, the Chorus serves the purpose
as specta- ^ ^^ crowds^ which Shakespeare and other dramatists
tors m the ^
drama. sometimes introduce into their plays to supplement indi- vidual personages'^. Again, two institutions of the modern stage, the soliloquy and the confidant — channels by which a poet can convey matter to his audience more directly than by acted representation — were unnecessary in the Greek Drama, where a hero had always a recognised body of confidential friends to whom he could unfold his train of meditations more naturally than in a soliloquy^. The function of by-standers as distinguished from actors is well illustrated in the Agamemnon^. The Chorus here are well adapted for their part : shut out by old age from the war
^ E, g. the Roman mob in Julius Ccesar.
^ In the technical sense of the term, there can of course be only one Chorus in a tragedy. The term is loosely applied to companies of mute personages on the stage, such as the body-guard of Aegisthus. In two cases, words have been written for such * Secondary Choruses ' : the Ritual Hymn at the close of the trilogy, and the Huntsmen's Chorus in Hippolytus.
^ A near approach to an ancient Chorus is found in Ben Jonson's play, Every Man out of his Humour, where he utilises his prologue to bring upon the stage (that is, upon that portion of the stage reserved in his day for fashionable spectators) two persons of a critical dispo- sition who remain all through the piece and assist the audience with their passing comments. — Note also the school of modern fiction, of which George Eliot is the most prominent type : here, while the main points of the story are developed in dialogue, the action can be suspended at any point for the purpose of making philosophic comments, which are a prose analogue to the lyric meditations of the Chorus.
* Another excellent illustration is in Oedipus at Colonus, 823-86.
FUNCTIONS OF THE CHORUS. 67
itself they are yet Senators, to whom the formal announce- Chap. III. ment of the news received would naturally be made. They are so situated as to take the deepest interest in the incidents that occur without being themselves actually involved in them. Clytaemnestra's announcement they receive in the most ordinary manner possible : at first with amazement, which gives opportunity for the chain of beacons to be described, then with lyric exclamation in an ode which, free from any fixed method of thought, passes from reflec- tion by insensible stages to narration. Like by-standers they receive the Herald, and exchange with him gossip- ing news. But this passive attitude of the Chorus is most strikingly exhibited in the finale, where, in contact with the catastrophe of the piece, they are again and again carried to the verge of active interference, yet always stop short. They are directly told by Cassandra that their beloved master is to be murdered within the palace : but the mystic doom of Cassandra to be for ever doubted operates to produce irresolution till the moment for action is past. Shortly afterwards they have the crime and the criminal before their eyes : but as the violence of their emotions encounters the calm triumph of Clytsemnestra her infatua- tion seems to become infectious, and again action is para- lysed. When at last they have shaken themselves free of their doubts and foreseen vengeance, then they advance, reckless of odds, to arrest Aegisthus : even here they allow themselves to be restrained by irresistible force and the certainty of future retribution.
But the Chorus are also spectators of the drama ; they TheChorus are made, in a peculiar manner, to stand for the public ^/Jfl^j%^ present in the theatre. The very impression which \\\& drama: dramatist wishes to leave in the minds of his hearers he^ outwardly embodies in the words and action of the Chorus :/ the Chorus are the audience thinking aloud. This appears in various ways. For one thing, a tragedy was a religious
F 2
68 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. celebration, and the Chorus are, from time to time, made to
~~~~ catch the religious beariner of the action, just as the chorales catching ^ ^ ^ . ° ^ - \ ^
religious of a modern oratorio draw a devotional lesson from the
lessons, point of the sacred history at which they occur. In connec- vmtional' ^^^'^ ^^^^ ^^^^ religious function an explanation may be style) found for that which is a stumbling-block to many a modern
reader of Greek Tragedy, — the preternatural feebleness of expression which the Chorus so often affect. One form taken by the devotional spirit among the Greeks was a striving after the normal state of mind amidst a tumult of emotions. It is in accordance with this conception of devotion that the Chorus make themselves the moderators in every dispute, and damp every outburst ; they reprove vice and discourage enterprise with equal gentleness ; there is no restraint to their lyric passion in dealing with things divine, but they enter into human emotions — as in the welcojne to Agamemnon — only with chilling qualifications. They have, in fact, contributed a new style to poetic expression — ideal- celebrating ised commonplace. Again, the Chorus is treated as the That cannot representative of the audience when the poet utilises their be actedj odes for the purpose of bringing out any features in his story which he wishes the audience to have in their minds ^ during the play, but which are outside the field of action. The crime of Helen and the sacrifice of Iphigenia — one the cause of the expedition which is keeping Agamemnon absent, the other the motive of the vengeance prepared for him on his return — are both of them incidents which" occurred many years before the action of the play com- mences. Aeschylus can lead the Chorus, and through them the audience, to meditate upon these scenes, and realise them with all the emphasis imaginative poetry can afford, precisely at those points of the plot where they will be most effective. expressing But more than all this, the Chorus reflect the audience in intended to ^be way they are made to meet successive incidents of the
FUNCTIONS OF THE CHORUS. 69
drama with just the changes of feehng which the play is Chap. III.
intended to produce in the spectators themselves. Nowhere , ,
r . tr ^g aroused
is this function fulfilled with more force and subtlety than in in the the Agamemnon. The whole play is the dramatisation of a ^^«^^^'^^- doubt, and the Chorus sway between triumph and misgiving until the doubt is for ever solved in the catastrophe. Odes setting out to celebrate vengeance mysteriously come round to fear; scenes in which the Chorus receive good news lead them, by natural changes, to presentiments of doom ; the anxious caution of the Chorus to avoid in themselves the most accidental touch of presumption is at once neutrahsed when presumption is acted by Clytsemnestra's contrivance before their eyes. The peculiar excitement an audience naturally feel in face of a crisis they must witness while they may not interfere is magnified in the Chorus, who are plainly told of the coming crime, and yet are forced by the spell of Apollo to disbelieve Cassandra until too late. And the total transformation that comes over the Chorus upon the sudden thought of the future avenger fitly conveys the passage of the audience in a drama from the distraction of suspense and pity to the dramatic satisfaction which serves as a final position of rest. We sometimes speak of * trans- porting our minds ' to a distant scene : the operation was literally accomplished in a Greek tragedy, where the Chorus were ambassadors from the audience projected into the midst of the story, identifying themselves with the incidents represented without ceasing to be identified with the public witnessing the play.
2. The Lyric Element in Ancient Tragedy.
The lyric element — or, as it may fairly be called, the The lyric operatic element — in Ancient Tragedy centres around the ^jyapldv^ Chorus, and is two-fold : the odes separating or introducing two-fold.
70 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. the dramatic scenes the Chorus have to themselves, at the " same time when they take part in the episodes they some-
times give these a lyric character. These two functions of the Chorus may be considered separately. I. The Choral Odes of the ancient drama introduce us
Q^^^^ directly to the lyric poetry of Greece. The lyric poetry
Cofnpared most familiar to modern readers will be the Psalms of the ^z" /'^/^^^ Bible : it is interesting to compare these with the odes of Tragedy, so far as literary form is concerned. Two funda- Odes not mental differences at once reveal themselves. The choral ^dent poems °^^^ ^'"^ ^^^ separate poems composed on particular subjects, but arise out of situations springing up from time to time in the course of the plot. A Bibhcal psalm may of course be a description of a situation, just as it may treat any other subject, but it will be an independent poem, complete in and always itself and self-explaining. Again : the associations of iscd '" OJ^^torio lead us to think of a 'chorus' as an abstract musical form, not bound down to any particular performers ; a Greek Chorus never loses its characterisation, but is a definite band of performers — Argive Women, or Elders of Thebes — whose personality enters into all they sing. No doubt many of our Hebrew psalms were composed for priests, or for the king : but characterisation is not essential to this form of composition.
Side by side with these differences there is one striking resemblance of form between Hebrew and Greek lyrics, which resemblance, however, is at the same time a contrast. Both are highly antiphonal : but the antiphonal treatment is Psalms differently applied in each. In the Bibhcal psalm the ?w dames : parallelism relates to the structure of each individual verse \ That which makes a ' verse ' in Hebrew poetry is not, as with us, metre, nor, as with the Greek and Latin languages,
^ The • verse' in Hebrew and Classical poetry corresponds to the ' line ' of English poetry.
CHORAL ODES AND BIBLICAL PSALMS. 71
syllabic quantity, but simply parallelism of clauses. Each Chap. TIL verse must consist of two members —
The Lord of Hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge :
or of three —
He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth: He breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; . He burneth the chariots in the fire :
while various modes of combination extend these fundamen- tal forms into a variety of figures ^, all of them retaining the
effect of parallelism and inviting antiphonal rendering ^ In Odes anti- phonal in stanzas.
^ Thus there may be a quatrain : — With the merciful
Thou wilt show Thyself merciful ; With the perfect man
Thou wilt show Thyself perfect. Or a quatrain reversed:
Have mercy upon me, O God,
According to Thy lovingkindness,
And according unto the multitude of Thy tender mercies Blot out my transgressions.
An example of a triplet reversed is Isaiah vi. 10. Another figure may be made by a couplet of triplets, or even a triplet of triplets, as in the first verse of the first psalm, which speaks of the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way
of sinners, ^
nor sitteth
in the seat
of the scornful.
A rough division into figures is observed in the printing of the Revised Version.
^ Modem chaunting of the psalms is arbitrary, and by no means corresponds to their real structure. I am not aware that any attempt
72 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. Greek there is no such parallelism of clauses, its verses being determined by syllabic quantity. On the other hand, the choral ode is characterised by the strictest parallelism of stanzas, the antistrophe reproducing the measure of the strophe ; and this, it has been pointed out 'f connected itself directly with antiphonal rendering in the dance. Whether such strophic form characterises Hebrew poetry it is difficult to determine. The psalms fall naturally into divisions, to which modern commentators apply the term ' strophes ' ; but the parallelism of such divisions is, as a rule, only faintly marked. " Occasionally the antiphonal effect in the psalms is very strong. In the latter part of the twenty-fourth psalm the summons to the everlasting doors to open is, as it were, met by a challenge from within :
Who is the King of Glory?
to which there is the response —
The Lord, strong and mighty ; The Lord, mighty in battle.
Again — in a manner suggesting the passage from one to another in a series of out-posts — the summons is repeated, and once more the challenge follows : the reply gathers force with each repetition —
The Lord of Hosts,
He is the King of Glory.
But such antiphonal eifect belongs to sense, not to structure ; and has analogy rather with the breaking up of a Greek
has been made to mark the difference between double and triple verses, though it is obvious that musical devices for this purpose would be easy. Attention has been turned of late years to the matter of conveying musically the ' strophic ' structure of the psalms : see Canon Westcott's Paragraph Psalter (Deighton, Bell & Co., u.), The Golden Treasury Psalter (Macmillan, ^s. 6d.), and Dr. Naylor's musical rendering of Psalms Ixxviii and civ (Novello, 4^.). ^ See above, page 9.
CLASSIFICATION OF CHORAL ODES. 73
Chorus into semichoruses, than with the response of an Chap. III. antistrophe to its strophe.
To pass from form to matter, the choraj odes of Tragedy Classifica- admit of a simple classification. By far the larger number ^l^p ^ will be Odes of Situation, conveying the state of affairs in Odes. the play as between the situation just concluded and the Odes of scene which is to follow. All the odes in Oedipus King are ^^^^'^^^°^- good examples of this class, being clear expressions of the several stages in the action of that play. The prologue having been occupied with a suppliant procession to Oedipus, be- seeching him to become a deliverer from the plagtie as he had formerly been a deliverer from the Sphinx, the first ode paints the city crushed beneath its affliction, and the heaps of corpses unburied with none to lament ; while they call on every god for assistance the hopes of the Chorus are in the oracle, which messengers have been sent to bring from golden Delphi. In an episode this response is brought, bidding Oedipus discover the murderer of the late king. The Chorus at once give themselves up to wondering where in the whole world the wretched murderer can be, , flying the wrath of heaven, with immortal hate pursuing him and the snares of destiny spreading him round. In the next episode the investigation is commenced, and it seems to cast doubts on the trustworthiness of the oracle itself : Oedipus cries out that the oracle is doubly false. The Chorus, shocked at this defiance, pray for themselves that they may be kept ever in the paths of virtue, in unbroken obedience to eternal law. Again, the investigation becomes distracted from its main purpose by the light it seems to be throwing upon another mystery — the doubtful question of the king's birth : the chain of evidence is made complete except for one link, and the herdsman is sent for who will supply this. The Chorus fill up the interval with an ode in which they catch the hope that by to-morrow the whole stain will be purged from the origin of their beloved ruler.
74 • CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. But this missing link is found to reconcile the apparent dis- crepancies in the oracle, and to pronounce Oedipus at once the son and the murderer of Laius. Accordingly the Chorus in their final ode fall back from hope to the lowest de- spondency, and see the fleeting state of all human gjory instanced in the change of Oedipus the supremely blest into Oedipus the parricide. Special use An ode of this type is a powerful weapon in the hands of phasis'ino- ^ dramatist who has occasion for making a particular situation a situation, emphatic. In Antigone the opening situation is the victory / of the preceding day. It is a victory in which are latent all j the elements whose conflict is to make up the play : there is the patriotic death of one brother, the fall of the traitor which unlocks again for him the affection of his sister, and the infatuation of the victor which is to carry him beyond humanity and plunge him in a crushing reverse. Accord- ingly, Sophocles concentrates his powers upon a morning song of triumph ^ The sun which the Chorus of Thebans see rising before them is the same sun which yesterday was advancing his quiet course over the current of l)irce, while beneath he watched the headlong flight of the foe : that foe which had come from Argos in such proud array, a flight of eagles lured on by a traitor, their wing-shields aloft like snow, their mane-crested helms hanging over the city's seven portals. But eagle was encountered by dragon ; and Zeus, that never relents to haughty speech, smote the foe even with victory on his lips.
Death-struck, he lies on the earth in an instant down-dashed; Dark is the torch that he flourish'd in hostile fury; He rush'd, snorting with rage. Pressing onward first to engage, Scaled the wall But to fall ! All, soon or late, Bow to their fate !
^ Antigone, loo.
CLASSIFICATION OF CHORAL ODES. 75
They ccntinue to tell how in every gate man met man in Chap. III.
deadly strife : but most dread was the meeting of the two
who owned one sire and one mother, who thrust and fell
and were together in their death. Then came victory and
fame for Thebes : and the Chorus will waken the revel until
every shrine is shaking with the dance and hymn of joy.
A situation will occasionally arise in a drama which is or for a lyrical in its nature, and so lends itself in a special J^^.^ ^inn^ degree to choral treatment. Tn the Rhesus, one of the nature. odes embodies a military evolution, a change of the watch. The words of the strophe may very well have been set to the actual motions of a soldiers' dance, with clash of weapons to bring out the rhythm.
Who now before the camp keeps guard?
Who to relieve me is prepared?
The stars are sinking from the skies, The rising Pleiads show the approach of day;
High in mid-heaven the eagle flies :
Awake, arise : why this delay ?
Awake, the watch forbids repose: See, the pale moon a fainter lustre throws ;
The dawn is nigh, the dawn appears.
See you yon star the heavens adorn?
'Tis the bright harbinger of morn, New risen, his gold-encircled head he rears.
Breaking into two halves, the Chorus in rough dialogue run over the order of the watches, and find that the Lycians are due to succeed them. They close again into a chorus and work through the antistrophe, with softer motions (we may suppose) to express the exquisite mornent when the sounds of night have not ceased and the sounds of day are
beginning.
Where silver Simois winds along, I hear the sweet bird's mournful song: High-seated on some waving spray To varying chords the warbling nightingale Attempers her melodious lay. And pours her sorrows through the vale.
76
CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. III.
Odes of Nature.
The flocks now feed on Ida's height, Loud shrills the pastoral pipe, and charms the night.
O sleep, I feel thy soothing pow'r:
Gently it creeps my eyes to close.
And seal them in a calm repose ; Sweet thy approach in morn's o'erlaboured hour.
Once more falling out of rank, the Chorus exchange fears with one another at the continued absence of their spy ; they then march out in a body to rouse the Lycians, and leave the scene unprotected for the critical moment of the play \
A second class of choral odes will be the Odes of Nature. It must be understood, however, that the influence of nature
^ Rhesus, ^^2*]. — Other Odes of Situation are : Choephori, 770, Prayer at a Crisis and (92 1) Exultation when the Crisis is past ; Seven against Thebes, 78, a Panic Ode; Phcenissce, 202, Travellers to Delphi detained in Thebes by the siege. A peculiar case is Hercules, 874, where the Chorus, having been miraculously granted a vision of Madness on her way to smite the hero, fall into an ode of lamentation which in reality depicts the scene actually going on within. Sometimes the situation is more distinctly moralised upon, as in Eumenides, 468, Glorification of the conservative spirit ; Antigone, 584, A house under the curse of heaven ; Iph. Aul. 544, Moderation in love; Hippolytus, 1102, Longing for a humble lot in life.
Analogous in Biblical poetry are Deborah's Song of Triumph (Judges, chapter v), or David's lament over Jonathan (2 Samuel i. 19-27;. Psalm xviii is put in the Authorised Version as A Song of Deliverance, and a very close parallel to an Ode of Situation is suggested by the heading of Psalm lix, * When Saul sent and they watched the house to kill David.' But as a rule Biblical psalms of this nature convey a double situation, a transition taking place in the course of the poem ; e. g. Psalm Ivi, and especially Psalm Ivii, where the change comes in the middle of the middle verse. — Note an interesting parallel between the thought of Psalm Iv, verses 1-8, and Hippolytus, lines 732-751.
Sometimes it is the General Situation of affairs in the play as a whole, rather than a particular situation, that is conveyed : Prometheus, 406, The world mourning for Prometheus and his brother; Seven against Thebes, 276, Horrors of war sung by women; Helena, 1107, The whole story of Helen and Troy; Iph. Aul. 164, Sightseers describing the Grecian fleet.
CLASSIFICATION OF CHORAL ODES. 77
over the mind of classic antiquity was different from that Chap. III. which dominates modern and Hebrew poetry. We do not find Greek Kterature celebrating the phenomena of nature for their own sake, as in the twenty-ninth psalm, which, with the words ' the Voice of the Lord ' running through it as a burden, is simply a lyric realisation of a thunderstorm in all its stages, from its first rumble on the waters of the north, through its full majesty overhead amid cedars breaking and cleaving flames of fire, till it passes away over the wilderness to the south, and the fresh gleam that follows makes the whole landscape a temple in which everything is crying. Glory. Still less does the ancient mind conceive the unity of nature, which in the hundred-and-fourth psalm gathers up the sights and sounds of the external and human universe — from the curtains of heaven and the messenger winds down to the wild asses quenching their thirst — into one symphony of nature, and presents the whole as waiting upon God : as satisfied, troubled, returning to dust, renewing the face of the earth, according to the varying operations of His Spirit. In classic poetry, on the other hand, the attraction is to particular spots and landscape. Euripides describes his fellow-citizens of Athens as moving through purest air in motion of delight, with the clearest of skies above them and an unconquered ^oil below. And Sophocles in extreme old age immortalised the scenery of his native village : —
Our home, Colonus, gleaming fair and white; The nightingale still haunteth all our woods
Green with the flush of spring,
And sweet melodious floods Of softest song through grove and thicket rmg ;
She dwelleth in the shade Of glossy ivy, dark as purpling wine,
And the untrodden glade Of trees that hang their myriad fruits divine
Unscathed by blast of storm; Here Dionysus finds his dear-loved home,
IS
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III.
National Odes.
Here, revel-flush'd, his form Is wont with those his fair nurse-nymphs to roam.
Here, as Heaven drops its dew. Narcissus grows with fresh bells clustered o'er,
Wreath to the Dread Ones due, The Mighty Goddesses whom we adore ; And here is seen the crocus, golden-eyed ;
The sleepless streams ne'er fail ; ■ Still wandering on they glide.
And clear Kephisus waters all the vale ;
Daily each night and morn It winds through all the wide and fair champaign.
And pours its jflood new-born From the clear freshets of the fallen rain.
The Muses scorn it not ; But here, rejoicing, their high feast-days hold,
And here, in this blest spot, Dwells Aphrodite in her car of gold ^.
National Odes constitute a small but striking section. The parode of the Persians includes a sort of national anthem, celebrating the Persians, the people stout-hearted, and their god-given task of wars, with the crash of towers, and the surge of horsemen, and the fierce sack. It is soon succeeded by an ode of national humiliation, emphasised with all the reiterations of oriental mourning : —
'Twas Xerxes led them forth, woe ! woe ! 'Twas Xerxes lost them all, woe ! woe! 'Twas Xerxes who with evil counsels sped Their course in sea-borne barques.
Their own ships bore them on, woe ! woe ! Their own ships lost them all, woe ! woe ! Their own ships, in the crash of ruin urged, And by Ionian hands ^
^ Medea, 824; Oedipus at Colonus, 668. — Other examples of this class 2Lxe Hecuba, 444, or Troades, 197, Captives wondering to what regions of Greece they will be carried ; Iph. Taur., 1089, Greek exiles fancying the voyage homewards.
^ Persians, 106 and 260. — Another example of this class is the Patriotic Appeal in the Suppliants (of Euripides), 365. National Psalms in Scripture are such as Ps. xliv, cxiv, Ixxx.
CLASSIFICATION OF CHORAL ODES. 79
No lyrics in Ancient Tragedy are more striking than the Chap. JII.
Odes of Human Life. The Chorus in Prometheus take ^ , ~
Odes of occasion by the sufferings of lo to deprecate unequal Human
marriages : love is the theme of many odes ; old age is ^^f^- celebrated in the Oedipus at Colonus, in the Hercules it is contrasted with youth ; if the woes of parentage are detailed in the Medea, its joys are sung in the Ion. But the great type of this class is the ode which, in A ntigone, presents man as the chief wonder of nature. The rapidity of invention in modern times is apt to make us forget that the greatest marvels of all are the familiar things of every-day life : that the electric telegraph is no more than a slight extension to the grand invention of writing, while this writing in its turn must yield in mystery to the foundation-step in all human intercouse, the invention of speech; that steam and the latest triumph of machinery, are insignificant beside the invention of fire or the discovery of iron. The Greeks lived near enough to the infancy of the world to gaze with awe upon the primal mysteries of human civilisation. Ac- cordingly, the Chorus in Antigone can inflame our sense of wonder by merely mentioning one after another the earliest achievements of humanity : — the seafarer's great experiment, the hard-won victory over the brutes and the violence of nature, the agricultural miracle of the buried seed returning in increase, the mystery of speech, of thought, of the social bond, the mystery of death, the marvels of the arts, the mystery of religion, and as a climax the mystery of sin.
Wonders in nature we see and scan. But the greatest of all is Man ^ !
Hymns and Ritual Odes are natural interludes in a form of Hymns composition which is an outgrowth of religious ceremonial. ^"^,j. * ^'^
^ Prometheus, 906 ; Oedipus at Colonus, 1211 ; Hercules, 637 ; Medea^ 1081 ; Ion, 452 ; Antigone, 332. In the Bible, Psalms xc, viii, cxxvii, cxxviii, may be called Psalms of Life.
8o CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. We have already noticed the Spell of the Furies in the third, and the Sepulchral Rites in the second play of Aeschylus's trilogy ; in other plays we find an Ode for the Dying, and an Ode over the Dead ^. The Antigone contains a Hymn to Bacchus, and the Ajax a Dance to Pan ; one of the odes in the Ion opens as a prayer to the goddess of poison. And when the Chorus seek to soothe Admetus in his bereave- ment their consolation takes the form of a Hymn to Necessity.
Of all the Powers Divine, Alone none dares to approach Her shrine ; To Her no hallowed image stands,
No altar She commands. In vain the victim's blood would flow, She never deigns to hear the suppliant's vow**.
Narrative One more class remains to be mentioned : the Narrative Odes: Odes, embodying traditionary legends, the point at which the epic and lyric modes of poetry approach nearest to one embodying another. Sometimes an ode is entirely given up to a single a single gtory : we have seen how the first three odes in Agamemnon present the legends of Iphigenia, of Paris, and of Helen respectively. In other cases a situation arises in a play embodying which suggests to the Chorus a series of similar situations ^fcrendf ^^ traditionary lore. Thus when Antigone, so noble in race and in the deed for which she is to suffer, is led forth to the rock which is to be her prison and her tomb, the Chorus re- call other great ones who have suffered the same cruel fate. They think of Danae, whose brazen tower was to her a cell of death parting her from mankind : yet she was of high lineage, and destined to receive Zeus- himself in a golden shower.
^ Oedipus at Colomis, 1557, and Alcestis, 435.
^ Antigone, 11 15 ; Ajax, 693 ; Ion, 1048 ; Alcestis, 962. In the Bible, Psalms xlv and Ixviii are examples of Festival Hymns, and No. cxviii is usually interpreted as a Ritual Psalm.
STAGE LYRICS. 8 1
What can withstand thy will, O Fate, Chap. III.
The gold, the ship, the shield, the gate ?
Ah no! o'er all thou art triumphant.
They think of the monarch of Thrace, who impiously sought to check the revels of the Wine-god, and in re- tribution wasted drop by drop away in the mountain cavern. And the rough shores of the Bosporus, with their rougher hordes of men, saw the cruel deed of blinding done on the sons of Phineus, while their mother perished in a cave, daughter though she was of the North-wind, and reared in his boisterous caves :
Yet the lot which Fate had decreed
She could not escape, it caught her ^,
So far we have been concerned with those parts of a 2. tragedy in which the Chorus are alone. But they also enter ^°^^^^ as a body of actors into the dramatic episodes ; from their Episodes. first appearance they are regularly present to the end of the play, and all that happens is addressed to them. Now the action of these episodes will often include matter of a lyric nature — public mourning, passionate contests, and the like : hence interaction takes place between the lyric and dra- matic elements, the metres and style of lyric poetry passing over at suitable points to include the actors. We thus get two new literary forms in Tragedy : the Lyric Solo (or Monody) by an actor alone; and the Lyric Concerto (or Com- mos) by an actor (or pair of actors) and the Chorus alternately.
Both may be illustrated from the play of Sophocles which The Lyric covers the same ground as the middle play in Aeschylus's jlf^JfL.
' Antigone, 944. — Compare Choephori, 576, Dread deeds of Women; Alcestis, 568, Story of Apollo as a slave on earth ; Iph. Taur. 1234, the infant Apollo's triumph over Dreams [a parallel to the play itself, in which a prophecy has come true and a dream proved false] ; Iph. Atil. 1036, Nuptials of Peleus and Thetis; Hercules, 348, Labours of Hercules; Troades, 511, or Hecuba, 905, The night of Troy's capture. The Second, third, and fourth odes in the Phoenissa carry on the local legendary lore of Thebes. — There are similar Narrative Psalms in the Bible, e. g. Ixxviii, cv, cvi.
G
82 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. III. trilogy. At the point where (according to both versions) Orestes has made his appearance and again retired, Electra comes (in the version of Sophocles) alone from the palace to breathe the morning prayer by which she daily testifies against the deed her oppressors would fain bury in oblivion. The lyric style of a Monody is the natural medium in which to clothe so formal an act of lamentation, as Electra appeals to the holy morning light, and the air which wraps the whole world round, to be witnesses of her nightly vigils and daily mourning in memory of the father who fell, not by honour- able war, but by a traitor's stroke : —
As they who timber hew Cut down a mighty oak, so him they slew;
And from none else but me
Comes touch of sympathy,
Though thou wast doomed to die, My father, with such shame and foulest ignominy.
Electra protests how she will outdo the nightingale, and pour out her sorrows by day as well as by night. Then she calls on the Powers beneath for vengeance : —
O house of Hades and Persephone !
O Hermes ! guide of dwellers in the gloom,
Thou awful Curse, and ye, Erinnyes, daughters of the gods, most dread,
Whose eyes for ever see Men foully slain, and those whose marriage bed
The lust of evil guile
Doth stealthily defile. Come, come avengers of my father's fate I
Come, send my brother back !,
For I the courage lack Alone to bear the burden of this evil weight.
The Lyric The Lyric Solo passes into a Lyric Concerto ^ as the
Concerto ^horus silently enter the orchestra, and advancing towards
jHos). the altar hail Electra as daughter of ill-fated mother : they
gently reproach her for her unceasing lamentations, cursed
^ The Monody commences at line 86, the Concerto at line 121.
STAGE LYRICS, 83
though the deed be for which she weeps. Electra from Chap. III. the stage carries on the rhythm of their strophe as she hails the Chorus by the name ' daughters of the brave and true,' recognises how they fulfil every office of friendship, yet begs they will leave her to waste in sorrow alone. The Chorus, passing to the other side of the altar, respond in
antistrophe : —
And yet thou canst not raise Thy father, nor with wailing nor with prayer,
From Hades' darkling ways, And gloomy lake where all who die repair ;
meanwhile, the ceaseless lamentation is sinking the mourner herself from woe to deeper and unbearable woe. Electra again responds ; —
Ah, weak as infant he who can forget
His parents that have perished wretchedly; Far more she pleaseth me that mourneth yet.
And *Itys, Itys,' wails unceasingly, The bird heart-broken, messenger of Heaven.
Ah, Niobe, most sad! To thee, I deem, high fate divine was given,
For thou in cavern grot,
Still weeping, ceasest not.
With a change of posture and movements the Chorus in a second strophe remind Electra that she is not the only one who has such a fate to mourn : there is Iphianassa and Chrysothemis, there is another — happier in that he is destined to return as his home's avenger. But Electra sees in Orestes fresh matter for trouble : he mocks all her messages, yearning for home yet coming not. The Chorus pass back to the other side of the altar again, and in their antistrophe strike a note of hope : —
Take heart, my child, take heart ; Still mighty in the heavens Zeus doth reign
"Who sees the whole world, rules its every part; To Him do thou commit thy bitter pain.
They bid Electra trust to the kind god Time, for neither
G 2
84 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Cjiap. III. Orestes will forget, nor the Powers of the world beneath. But Electra complains that the larger half of life is gone and hope fails : no parent, no fond husband to guard her, she is an alien and slave in her own father's home. The Chorus cannot resist the infection of her grief, and, changing for their third strophe to gestures of despair, they paint the scene of Agamemnon's return, and the stern keen blow devised by guile and wielded by lust. Electra, from the stage, out-wails their wailing : —
O day, of all the days that ever came
Most hateful unto me! O night ! O woes of banquets none may name, .
Which he, my sire, did see !
For the foul deed which thus destroyed her father and herself together she invokes a curse from heaven, eternal grievings with guilt-avenging groans. The Chorus — accord- ing to the wont of Choruses — take alarm at this violence, and, passing to the other side of the altar, bid Electra re- member how she has already fallen from prosperity to desolate sorrow, and shrink from further conflict with the mighty. Electra (carrying on the antistrophe) is not blind in her wrath : she would fain be left to her weepings, which shall be endless. The Chorus, pausing in front of the altar, repeat that with all a mother's affection they counsel modera- tion. Electra heatedly cries. What moderation was there in the deed ? All honour and good forsake her, if she ever con- sents to clip the wings of her grief : —
If he who dies be but as dust and nought.
And poor and helpless lie, And these no vengeance meet for what they wrought,
Then truly Awe will die, And all men lose their natural piety.
With this epode the Concerto ends.
The term 'Stage Lyrics' is the generic name for these lyric solos and concertos, and a great variety of action finds
STAGE LYRICS. 85
appropriate expression in this medium. We have already Chap. III. noticed the sepulchral rites carried on between Electra and Orestes and the Chorus in the trilogy. The return from ^^J^^ stage the funeral of Alcestis gives opportunity for a concerto Lyrics : between the bereaved Admetus and his faithful subjects ; the finale of the Seven against Thebes is given up to the public mourning after the battle. In the Ion the Chorus enter the orchestra as sightseers, and in concerto with the priest on the stage have pointed out to them the beauties of the temple. Just as the parode to Electra is a visit of con- dolence, so the parode to Orestes is a scene of visiting the sick, Electra from the stage hushing the voices and foot- steps of the Chorus, and the Chorus at one point performing a sleeping spell. Later in the same play another concerto the Chorus illustrates the degree to which stage lyrics enable the Chorus ^^„f*\^f to be taken up into the action of the play. Electra opens action of a her plan of seizing Hermione as a hostage, and spreads the "^^^'^^" Chorus through the orchestra to watch for the victim.
Electra. Divide, divide ! with careful view
Watch you the street, the entrance you.
The Chorus at once separate :
1 Semicho. Haste, to your stations quickly run t.
My watch be towards the rising sun.
2 Semicho. Be mine, with cautious care addrest,
To where he sinks him in the west. Electra. Now here, now there, now far, now nigh^
Quick glancing dart th' observant eye. 1 Semicho. With fond affection we obey,
Our eyes quick glancing every way. Electra. Glance through that length of hair, which flows- Light waving o'er your shaded brows. 1 Semicho. This way a man comes hast'ning down ;
His garb bespeaks some simple clown. Electra. Undone, undone, should he disclose
These couched, armed lions to their foes. I Semicho. He passes on, suppress thy fear,
And all this way again is clear.
86 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. III. Electra. And that way doth no footstep rude
Disturb the wished-for solitude 1
2 Semicho. This way no rude step beats the ground. But all is still, all safe around.
The concerto continues all through the excitement of the supposed murder within, until Hermione arrives and falls into the snare \ Metrical When, to the regular combination of odes with episodes, ^^Iq'^^^I^ there is added this power of changing in the course of an Tragedy, episode to Stage lyrics, it will appear that Greek Tragedy possesses as a distinctive feature a very wide variety of metres for the purpose of conveying variations of feeling and movement Six metrical styles may be enumerated. Six metri- I. There is Blank Verse ^, which, it has already been ^/^^i^^^ remarked, differs from English Blank Verse only by the Verse, addition of a single foot.
Parallel {or 2. A distinct variety of style is produced when in dialogue ^^^^th'\ ^^"^^^k ^^^ answer are identical in length. In the present Verse, work this will be called Parallel Verse ; the Greek term is Stichomuthic — literally, rows of speech. Parallel Verse usually is made up of speeches each one line in length, and in this form it is, in Euripides, sustained without a break sometimes for more than a hundred lines together ^. In other cases the speeches are each a line and a half, or half a line long : all three kinds of parallelism are illustrated in the following extracts from the recognition scene in the Electra of Sophocles : —
Orestes. Is this Electra's noble form I see?
Electra. That self-same form indeed, in piteous case.
Orestes. Alas, alas, for this sad lot of thine.
Electra. Surely, thou dost not wail, O friend, for me I
Orestes. O form most basely, godlessly misused I
' Alcestis, 86 1 ; Seven against Thebes, 818-1007 ; Ion, 184 ; Electra (of Sophocles), 121 ; Orestes, 140 and 174 ; I846. ^ See above, page 16 (note). ^ An example is Ion, 264-368 ; compare in the same play 934-1028.
METRICAL STYLES IN TRAGEDY. 87
Electra. Thy words, ill-omened, fall, O friend, on none Chap. III.
But me alone. ,
Orestes. Alas, for this thy state,
Unwedded, hopeless ! Electra. Why, O friend, on me
With such fixed glance still gazing dost thou groan?
It is as the scene reaches its crisis that the lines become shorter.
Orestes. Of those that live there is no sepulchre.
Electra. What say'st thou, boy?
Orestes. No falsehood what I say.
Electra. And does he live ?
Orestes. He lives if I have life.
Electra. What, art thou he ^ «
3. A third metrical style, founded on the trochaic foot, Accelerated may be called Accelerated Rhythm ^ ; it is used for sudden ^"-y*"-^' outbursts in dramatic episodes, and may be exactly repro- duced in English : —
Nay, enough, enough, my champion J we will smite and slay no more.
Already we have heaped enough the harvest-field of guilt;
Enough of wrong and murder, let no other blood be spilt !
Peace, old men, and pass away into the homes by Fate decreed,
Lest ill valour meet our vengeance — 'twas a necessary deed.
But enough of toils and troubles — be the end, if ever, now,
Ere the wrath of the Avenger deal another deadly blow. •
4. Midway between blank verse and the full lyrics of Marching a choral ode comes Marching Rhythm, distinguished by the y* ^^> prominence of anapaestic feet, which are banished from the metrical system of choral odes. The name suggests how
' A curious example of Parallel Verse is in the Alcestis (387), where, as the Queen sinks, the responses become shorter and shorter : —
Alcestis. As one that is no more, I now am nothing.
Admetus. Ah, raise thy face ! forsake not thus thy children !
Alcestis. It must be so perforce ; farewell, my children.
Admetus. Look on them, but a look.
Alcestis. r-^ I am no more.
Admetus. How dost thou ? Wilt thou leave us so ?
Alcestis. Farewell
Parallel Verse is much affected by Shakespeare in his earlier plays ; sei Richard III, i . 2 and 4. 4.
^ Trochaic Tetrameter Catalectic.
I
88 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. this is the regular rhythm for a Chorus-entry ; it is also used to convey any passing excitement in the course of a play. The metre does not suit the English language ; some idea of it may be given by the following attempt to imitate the opening lines of the parode to Agamemnon : —
'Tis the tenth weary year since the warfare began,
The great vengeance on Troy: Menelaus the king, and his comrade in rank, Agamemnon, the two who from Heaven derive, Great yoke-fellows both, their sway over men, — These aroused vast hosts with their myriad ships.
From this country to sail. In war irresistible helpers.
Auti- 5. Lyrics, chiefly Antiphonal (with strophe answered by
Lyrics antistrophe), are the regular measure for choral odes, and have been sufficiently illustrated. There remains (6) the Semichoric variety of these which may be called Semichoric Excitement, nunt^' where the Chorus breaks up into halves, or more numerous
subdivisions, to express excitement or anxiety in dialogue. Metrical The literary importance of these metrical styles lies, not ^reflectirT^ in the metres themselves (the analysis of which belongs transitions wholly to the science of language), but in the transitions of feeling: £j.qj^ ^^^ ^^ another as a means of conveying transitions of mood and feeling. One delicate example of such transitions has already been mentioned, the variation in the movements / between of the Chorus itself between marching rhythm and antiphonal "rh^th^ lyrics. When a Chorus is entering or quitting the orchestra, and anti- br when it is irresolute or merely excited, the language falls ^l^Ti'f ^^^^ anapaests ; as soon as it gives itself up to set emotion, such as is proper to an ode, the strophic arrangement pre- vails. This may be illustrated from the parode to Alcestis. The Chorus, old men of Pherae, come to the palace to en- quire for the Queen on this the day fated for her death. They enter the orchestra in two loosely formed bodies, scanning the outside of the palace for signs whether the dreaded event has taken place :
LITERARY EFFECT OF METRICAL CHANGES. 89
1 Semicho. What a silence encloses the palace I Chap. III.
What a hush in the house of Admetus !
2 Semicho. Not a soul is at hand of the household
To answer our friendly enquiry — Is it over, all over but weeping? Or sees she the light awhile longer, Our Queen, brightest pattern of women
The wide wofld through, Most devoted of wives, our Alcestis ?
For a moment they give themselves up to a strophe of woe : — strophe
Listen for the heavy groan.
Smitten breast and piercing moan,
Ringing out that life is gone. The house forgets its royal state, And not a slave attends the gate. Our sea of woe runs high : — ah, mid the waves "^
Appear, Great Healer, Apollo !
They fall out of rank, and exchange doubts in marching rhythm.
1 Semicho. Were she dead, could they keep such a silence ?
2 Semicho. May it be — she is gone from the palace?
1 Semicho. Never !
2 Semicho. Nay, why so confident answer?
1 Semicho. To so precious a corpse could Admetus
Give burial bare of its honours?
They unite again in a set antistrophe : — antistrophe
Lo, no bath the porch below,
Nor the cleansing fountain's flow,
Gloomy rite for house of woe. The threshold lacks its locks of hair, Clipp'd for the dead in death's despair. Who hears the wailing voice and thud of hands, The seemly woe of the women ?
Once more they break into two bodies, and the anapaests recommence : —
2 Semicho. Yet to-day is the dread day appointed —
1 Semicho. Speak not the word !
2 Semicho. The day she must pass into Hades —
1 Semicho. I am cut to the heart ! I am cut to the soul !
2 Semicho. When the righteous endure tribulation,
Avails nought long-tried Ipve^ Nought is left to the friendly— but mourning!
90 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. Accordingly they settle finally into rank and perform a full
ode which concludes the parode. between The transitions thus traced are between one lyric form
l^r^^j and ^^^ another : the interchange of lyrics and blank verse with- verse, in the same episode forms a still more powerful dramatic
weapon for conveying variations of tone ^. Attention has been drawn in a former chapter to the typical example of this effect — the finale to Agametnnon^ in which so many ■ and rapid changes of passion reflect themselves in varying rhythms : in particular, it has been noticed how, as the prophetic vision comes upon Cassandra, the versification bursts into strophes, the Chorus being more slowly drawn into the current of excitement, until, when the vision is complete, the whole returns to blank verse as into the / calmness of despair. Electra, in the version of Sophocles, ^■' 'I after spending her emotion in the lyric solo and concerto, ,, tells over again more collectedly her story in blank verse : / and this is a type of many similar situations ^. The Ajax gives an example of a subtle transition : in a scene of lyric lamentation over the hero's malady there is a sudden change to blank verse after the novel suggestion of Tecmessa, that his recovery of consciousness may prove a greater evil. The dying scene in Alcestis is naturally in lyric metre : when the heroine raUies to make a last request for her children a change is made to ordinary verse. Once more, in the Orestes^ the scene of watching by the hero's sick bed is conveyed in a lyric concerto : the sudden ceasing of the delirium, followed by the awaking of the patient, is in- dicated by blank verse \
between Especially powerful is the transition from blank verse to
blank
'VBfSC (tfld
accelerated ^ Unfortunately, this effect is almost wholly lost in the cheap trans- rhythm. lations, which as a rule translate everything outside the choral odes
in blank verse.
^ Electra (of Sophocles), 254; compare vsx Antigone, 806-82 with
891-928. 3 jijaxy 263; Alcestis, 280; Orestes, 207.
LITERARY EFFECT OF METRICAL CHANGES. 91
accelerated rhythm, as handled by Euripides. The typical Chap. III. example in his Hercules may be appreciated by the English reader with peculiar force in the translation of Mr. Browning. The scene represents the personification of Madness re- luctantly dragged by the messenger of heaven to the task of afflicting the hero. As long as Madness hesitates, she speaks blank verse ; when at last she yields, and abandons herself to her awful work, the metre bounds into the rapid rhythm, which is made still wilder in the translation.
Madness. This man, the house of whom ye hound me to, Is not unfamed on earth, nor gods among; Since, having quell'd waste land and savage sea,
He alone raised again the falling rights •
Of gods — gone ruinous through impious men. Desire no mighty mischief, I advise ! Iris. Give thou no thought to Here's faulty schemes !
Madness. Changing her step from faulty to fault-free I Iris. Not to be wise did Zeus' wife send thee here !
Madness. Sun, thee I cite to witness — doing what I loathe to do ! But since indeed to Here and thyself I must subserve. And follow you quick, with a whizz, as the hounds a-hunt
with the huntsman, Go I will ! and neither the sea, as it groans with its waves
so furiously, Nor earthquake, no, nor the bolt of thunder gasping out
earth's labour-throe Shall cover the ground as I, at a bound, rush into the
bosom of Herakles. And home I scatter, and house I batter, Having first of all made the children fall, — And he who felled them is never to know He gave birth to each child that received the blow. Till the Madness I am have let him go ! Ha, behold, already he rocks his head — he is off from the
starting-place Not a word, as he rolls his frightful orbs, from their sockets
wrench'd in the ghastly race ! And the breathings of him he tempers and times no more
than a bull in the act to toss, And hideously he bellows, invoking the Keres, daughters of
Tartaros.
92 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. Ay, and I soon will dance thee madder, and pipe thee quite
out of thy mind with fear ! So, up with the famous foot, thou Iris, march to Olumpos,
leave me here ! Me and mine, who now combine, in the dreadful shape no
mortal sees, And now are about to pass, from without, inside of the home
of Herakles '.
Analogous The question will suggest itself, whether this »use of Modem nietrical changes to convey variations of tone has descended Drama. Ato the modern stage. There are traces of such effects in /the early plays of Shakespeare : the rhymed lines in Mid- / summer Nighfs Dream seem a sort of lyric contrast to the iblank verse of the play as a whole. But this usage was soon 'abandoned by Shakespeare in favour of the more powerful interchange between verse and prose, which is a fixed feature of his style. In the late Romantic Dramas, such as Goethe's Faust^ every possible variety of metre occurs, including prose. But a truer analogue to the an- cient practice is suggested by Mendelssohn's treatment of Antigone ^ The passages of stage lyrics in that play he has left to be spoken by the actor, but he maintains throughout their recital a low orchestral accompaniment; and such incidental music to highly emotional scenes is a recognised device in a well-appointed theatre. With all this, it must be remembered that the Modern Dramia is only to a partial extent the representative of Ancient Tragedy. Music is the lyric art of the modern world : and in our Opera all possible transitions of feeling, alike the boldest and the most subtle, can be adequately expressed without going outside the ductile medium of music.
^ It will be observed, of course, that Mr. Browning does not use the exact metre of the original, but the literary effect of the transition is maintained and enhanced.
■^ A portion of the play so treated is the concerto between Antigone and the Chorus, when she first appears on her way to her tomb (S06-82)
93
3. Motives in Ancient Tragedy.
Tragedy is a mode of ^thought, as well as a form of art : Chap. III. not only will serious poetry naturally be thoughtful, but it is .
impossible to construct a story on any considerable scale Motives in without its reflecting conceptions of the social framework, -4«"^'^^ and speculations as to the £rinjciples on which the world is governed. Ancient Tragedy is, perhaps, in a degree beyond any other form of drama a vehicle of thought : its representation was connected with religious and politicaj festivals; it included, moreover, a lyric element which gave it the power of direct meditation ih'the choral odes, to sup- plement the more indirect embodiment of ideas in plot. There is thus in the case of Greek literature a special importance in that department of Dramatic Criticism which reviews, the thoughts, feelings, and interests underlying plays : at least, so far as these exercise a real influence on the conduct of a drama, inspiring it or, so to speak, carrying its incidents along. It is to these ' motive ' forces in Ancient Tragedy that the present section is devoted.
Destiny is the main idea inspiring Ancient Drama : yfhdii- Destiny. ^
ever may have been the religion of Greek life, the religion
reflected in Greek Tragedy is the worship of Destiny. This
word embodies the feeling which ancient thinkers carried
away from their speculations into the mysteries of the
universe ; if they formed different conceptions as to these
mysteries, the conceptions are found to be different aspects
of Destiny. First, it is to be noted that Destiny appears as Destiny as
an abstract Power or Force, not clearly coloured with ^" abstract
- ■' Force.
purpose :— Necessity (Anangke), the Irresistible (Adrasteia).
In the Prometheus of Aeschylus this as£ect^ of Destiny is the Prome-,
master thoughfy^the" personages of the drama have signifi- ^ ,""^
cance as they gl:oup themselves around the idea of Power.
This great play seems to fall at a point where two streams of
poetic thought meet — allegory and mythology, and ideas of
94 CHORAL TRAGEDY,
Chap. III. universal interest associate themselves with familiar legend-' ary figures as they are handled in this plot. Prometheus himself includes a host of lofty conceptions. In contrast to the rest, he is the Wisdom that sees the end from the beginning ; he is the Art that contrives and evolves ; Foresight is the suggestion of his name. He is immortal : denied the deliverance of death, he is omnipotent in suffer- ing. He embodies universal sympathy, and is the helper of gods and men : having already succoured the gods against the rude powers that preceded them, he is the only one who in the crisis of the far future can give to Zeus the secret of deliverance ; while to men, when Zeus disregarded their feebleness, Prometheus gave fire — the first step which, once gained, makes progress irresistible. Himself is the sole thing outside the sphere of his sympathy : the taunt hurled at him by Strength is only another rendering of the taunt- He saved others, himself he cannot save. Zeus appears before us as the Power that Is : to most this seems Adrasteia, but Prometheus sees further, knowing the older Powers that Zeus overthrew, and the Power that is to come hereafter. Zeus represents an advance on the forces of the universe that had preceded him ; yet his action is all for self and his own reign, and he would have blotted out man in his impotence. Strength and the messenger god Hermes are the agents of Power, with no horizon wider than the system of which they are the limbs; zeal in executing is their highest wisdom, scorn of opposition their noblest emotion. Hephaestus too is on the side of Power, for he shares the dynasty of Zeus. But his scope is wider : he is not a mere official, but contriving genius ; he remembers his kinship with Prometheus and how Prometheus saved the gods; moreover he vaguely catches the possibility of change in the order of things so surely established —
Not yet is bom who shall release thee.
We have Ocean — the ever-changing Ocean — standing for the
DESTINY AS A DRAMATIC MOTIVE, 95
* trimmer.' As nearer to mankind, he has had a share in the Chap. III. work of Prometheus for men, and has been drawn to him ; even now he comes to sympathise, and offers counsels of submission couched in the form of a wisdom other than that of Prometheus — the wise maxim, Know th)^self, which in his mouth means to know our Hmitations. Yet he yields easily to the advice of Prometheus that he should save himself, and crowns his part in the drama with an unheroic close. In compensation for the father we have the Daughters of Ocean for Chorus — pure womanly sympathy drawn to the side of suffering, their hearts won to the noble work of Prometheus for man. Yet they are unable to reach so far as the daring thought of resisting Zeus : twice they speak of the ' sin ' of Prometheus, and their devout ideal is never to set their strength against the strength of Heaven, nor fail in the service of /easts and offerings, so sweet do they feel life with its strong hope and cheering joy. None the less when Prometheus stands firm, and Hermes bids the Chorus con- sider their own safety, they without hesitation take sides with Prometheus, and are prepared to face all the terrors Zeus is about to send. One more figure appears in the play : lo, the victim of Power, learning from Prometheus the long array of inevitable woes that are to descend upon her from the pitiless gods, learning also the equally inevitable con- solation, that from her progeny alone can come the shadowy Power that in the far future may overthrow Zeus. Thus in this play the human drama of Power is reflected in all its phases on the colossal scale of allegoric mythology. And all the while there is looming dim in the background The Irresistible — the march of events that must be : fore- sight into this makes the helpless Prometheus the real power, before which the omnipotence of Zeus promises and tortures in vain, while for the rest their highest mental act is to bow in blind submission —
Wisdom is theirs who Adrasteia worship. ^
$6 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. When this abstract force of Destiny makes itself felt in
human affairs the ' Irony of Fate ' appears as a measure of
of^Fate'^^ its irresistibility : — a march of Destiny, relentless and mock-
measures ing, through means and hindrances alike, never so sure as
sistibility when it is opposed, using the very obstacles in its path as
ofDestmy. stepping-stones by which it travels forward. The Oedipus I
Oedipus King is a play devoted to this Irony of Fate. The city,
^"^' overwhelmed with the plague, is bidden by the oracle
to discover the murderer of its late king. Oedipus leads
the search, vehement in his curses : — the audience catching
the irony, for they know that he is denouncing himself.
The Chorus in their ode wonder in what distant secret spot
the malefactor can be hiding, unconscious of the irony that
they have him before them in the king they serve. The
/ Seer, wishing for Oedipus's sake to conceal the truth he has
been sent for to reveal, is by the taunts of Oedipus stung to
a sudden outburst : —
Thou art the plague-spot of the accursed land ! But here irony is encountered by irony, for all receive this plain truth as some mystic metaphor of prophecy. There is irony again in the way Oedipus gets plausibly on to the wron^ track, seeing a possible motive for the Seer, that he may be making common cause with Creon ; and Oedipus goes on to press home this suspicion against his colleague in I the sovereignty, adding fresh force to the overthrow he is preparing for himself. Jocasta^ seeking to pacify,^ begins to cast doubts upon oracles_Jn general; telling how her husband Laius was doomed to die by the hands of his son, yet the son himself perished as an infant, and Laius was slain by robbers at the meeting of three roads. Her effort is mocked as a single phrase she has used takes hold ^"■^ — — of Oedipus : he too had slain a man at the meeting of three roads, and he tremblingly tells how the oracle had fore- warned him he should slay his father, and how, to avert the doom, he would not return to Polybus, but avoiding Corinth
DESTINY AS A DRAMATIC MOTIVE. 97
fell in with a traveller whom, in a quarrel, he killed at a turn Chap. III. in the road to Thebes. Jocasta would restrain further enquiry, but Oedipus must search into the story of the robbers; before this can be accomplished, a messenger arrives with fair tidings how the Corinthians have chosen Oedipus for their king, in the room of Polybus who is dead — not dead through any violence, but departed in painless old age. Now the oracles are completely dis- credited, so that Oedipus has courage to speak of the one mystery yet uncleared, how he was to be wedded to his mother as well as to murder his father. But that fear the messenger can himself remove, now that it is safe to speak out : the Merope, wha still lives at Corinth is no mother of Oedipus, nor was Polybus his father; Oedipus is a found- Jing, whom the messenger himself gave to his queen. In spite of Jocasta's remonstrance, Oedipus — stung with frenzy of curiosity — will follow up this link until he draws out the whole truth that makes him the overthrower at once of his father, his mother, and his kingdom. Thus saturated has the story been with irony in all its stages. It was the casting out of the infant to perish which caused the ignor- ance in which this infant grew up to slay its father ; it was the doubting the prediction of the oracle that made Oedipus take the road on which he walked to fulfil it. No effort throughout the play is made to hide the truth but it adds another touch of discovery. The oracles, that became more and more discredited as more and more evidence came in, lead on to th^ final bit of evidence which har- monises all discrepancies in one ghastly truth. And when good fortune was complete but for one small doubt, the reopening of this doubt plunges the whole in irretrievable ruin.
This root idea of Destiny passes readily into two other Destiny ideas : where, on the one hand, design emerges in the P'^^^^^ governing force of the universe. Destiny becomes Providence;
H
98 CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. where, on the other hand, the absence of design in fate is . more prominent even than its irresistibihty we get Fortune, dence : ^^ ^^ motiveless control of events \ Two plays well bring Ion out these two aspects of Destiny. The Ion is pre-eminently
a drama of Providence. Its plot is a weaving together of incidents that are to restore a lost son to his mother through a tangle of fate in which the mother all but takes the life of her son, the audience looking on with calm faith, since they know from the prologue the god's purpose that day to undo an old wrong. The force of providential control is measured by the slightness of the circumstance that can restore the course of events when all is going wrong ; and never did greater issue turn upon slighter accident than in this story. The banquet in honour of the hero is in full course, the guests are standing to drink, the goblets are charged with wine and the poison adroitly slipped into the goblet of Ion : just at that moment a single word is overheard from the crowd of servants in the background and deemed by the fastidious ear of the young priest ill-omened. He bids the guests pour out the wine upon the ground, and ere the cups can be refilled a troop of temple doves flit about sipping the spilt liquor ; and the bird drinking where Ion stands dies fortune, instantly in convulsive agonies, and reveals the deadly plot. Iphigenia The Iphigenia among the Tauri, in its earliest part, might ^Taufi ^ "^ ^^^^ seem a drama of Providence too. Here the audience — though in this case with no divinely revealed purpose to reassure them — have to watch a perplexed scene in which a brother is all but offered up in sacrifice by his own sister, the terrible deed being averted at the last moment by the slight accident of reading the address of a letter delivered to the victim's companion. Again the interest of the audience is fixed upon the long-drawn intrigue of escape, in which, by the finesse of Iphigenia, the barbarian king himself is made
^ It will be seen in the next section of this chapter that one form of tragic plot is founded on the conception of Destiny as Fortune.
DESTINY AS A DRAMATIC MOTIVE. 99
to bear a chief part in furthering the flight of his prisoners. Chap. III. But when all that contrivance can do has succeeded, at that moment — without suggestion of reason or purpose — by sheer accident a contrary wind springs up impetuous, and, in spite of straining oars and strugghng mariners and praying priestess, by dead force rolls back the ship to the shore, until the fugitives are seized by their foes again, and deliver- ance is quenched in ruin. The two plays embody the- two alternatives of the ancient doubters : —
O supreme of heav'n, What shall we say ? that thy firm providence Regards mankind ? or vain the thoughts v^^hich deem That the just gods are rulers in the sky, Since tyrant Fortune lords it o'er the world !
The fundamental notion of Destiny combines, wittij^tlier ly , .'. U)dsa5..jyaaJUie.JJLilie~JJ0Ot-,^o^ appears as \\\^ Destiny as
great moral sanction, and' is identified with retribution. Sanction: The Greeks formed two distinct conceptions of retributioxL — though these were conceptions that could easily coalesce. On the one hand, there was what might almost be styled artistic retribution, the *_Nemesis,' which seems to be di'artistic reaction in the drift of things against excess, even though it ^J ^l^Hn^*^^ be an excess of that which is not in itself evil. Just as in^w; the legend Polycrates perished' simply because he was too prosperous, so the general impression left by the Hippolytiis is that no man can carry the virtue of temperance to such a height as it is carried by the hero of that play without drawing down upon himself rtrin from a' jealous heaven^. On the other hand. Ancient Tragedy is full of the moral moral rc- retribution which identifies the governing power of ^^ ^^ Justice-
universe with Justice (Dike) ; in particular, an ode in V. ^
Agamemnon directly declares for such Justice as against
^ The case is somewhat difficult to state, because Destiny is in this ■play so clearly identified with Deity (see next paragraph).
H 2
lOO
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. Nemesis, denying the old saw that prosperity grown big brings forth woe as its offspring, and contending that it is impiety which brings forth fresh impiety Hke to the parent stock \ But the form of retributive destiny which is most prominent in Greek Tragedy is that which is viewed from the standpoint of the victim. This is the leading dramatic interest of Judicial BHndness.
the txvo combined ill Infatu- ation or Judicial Blindness
Full well spake one of old, That evil ever seems to be as good To those whose thoughts of heart God leadeth unto woe.
Destiny inter- changing with Deity.
Judicial Blindness includes both aspects of retribution : it is an Infatuation, or haughty Insolence (Hybris), that is the natural precursor of Nemesis ; while, as a means of moral retribution, it is claimed by the Furies as their leading weapon in visiting crime — the frenzy born of guilt that hides from the sinner like a mist what sighing rumour is telling all around "^ Such Infatuation dominates the Aga- memnon^ the Oedipus King, and the part of Creon in ■\ Antigone ; scarcely any play is without example of it, and / the constant shrinking from such high-mindedness, even in \ its faintest form, seems to constitute the ' conscience ' of \ a Greek Chorus.
Of course, among the root ideas of religion must be the conception of Deity ; and if the devotion of the tragic thinker was chiefly to Destiny, ordinary life in Greece was permeated with the worship of the different deities. Ac- cordingly, we find in the drama a continual interchange between Deity and Destiny as the controlling force of the
^ Agamemnon, 727.
^ Eu7?ienides, 355, — Althougli such Judicial Blindness or Infatuation is specially prominent in Greek Tragedy, yet in some form the idea is universal ; it even enters into the metaphorical language of Scripture (^e.g. Isaiah vi. 10; Exodus x. i).
DESTINY AS A DRAMATIC MOTIVE, lOI
universe \ The wavering between the two is exactly ex- Chap. III. pressed by Hecuba when facing a great and unexpected vindication of justice : —
O Jove ! who rulest the rolling of the earth, And o'er it hast thy throne, whoe'er thoa art, The riding viijtd, or the necessity Of nature, I adore thee : dark thy ways, And silent are thy steps ; to mortal man Yet thou with justice all things dost ordain.
Often in Aeschylus, and notably in the Prometheus, Destiny appears as a power beyond Deity, to which Deity itself is subject : —
Chorus. Who guides the helm, then, of Necessity?
Prometheus. Fates triple-formed, Erinnyes unforgetting. Chorus. Is Zeus, then, weaker in his might than these?)!
Prometheus-. Not even He can scape the thing decreed. |(
In the trilogy, on the other hand, it is a leading motive to • identify Destiny and Zeus. The ode of triumph over Troy, starting with the thought that it is Zeus whose blow the conquered city is feeling, goes on to set forth the steps in the process of retribution on the familiar lines of infatua- tion : — impulse, secret and resistless, child of far-scheming At^, leading on the evil-doer. And similarly the creed of the Chorus, as it appears in an earlier ode, while in j the main fixing faith on Zeus, is equally inspired by simple f
fatalism : —
For our future fate, Since help for it is none, Good-bye to it before it comes : and this Has the same end as wailing premature ^.
But if this notion of Deity as the supreme power could Deity
pass into the abstract idea of Destiny, it could also sink ^^^^^"^^
Humanity ^ The element of plot known as Divine Intervention (below, page 191) enlarged :
is an identification of Deity with Destiny.
2 Hecuba in the Troades, 884 ; Prometheus, 523 ; Agamemnon, 358-
389 and 24T-248,.
102
CHORAL TRAGEDY.
Chap. III. into the concrete idea of humanity. Humanity enlarged is ( the Homeric conception of Deity, and it is extensively j (though rebelliously) followed by Euripides ^ The great study for it is his Rhesus^ which is simply an incident from the Iliad dramatised. Here Artemis is associated with the game of war as a backer with contempt for fair play : bursting upon Ulysses and Diomede to scold them for giving up their venture, detailing straight out all the in- formation they are seeking, and then, in order to allow her proteges to pillage undisturbed, diverting the attention of Paris, for which purpose she borrows, with a touch of feminine spite, the form of her sister Deity, Paris's pro-/ tectress Aphrodite. From such presentation of divine ( personages we get as an inevitable consequence another j dramatic motive — Rationalism, or criticism of Deity. | Theseus in the Hercules enquires as to the gods : —
Have they not formed connubial ties to which No law assents? Have they not gall'd with chains Their parents through ambition? Yet they hold