11 11 ir i3l, 1\ ( 1~ I, f I) V. tI (:~t)> )U J~lt>( I 11~I ' LV II V NA.D)C V( X,\ \I I - f I TO THE RIGHT REVEREND JOHN, LORD BISHOP OF LINCOLN, THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE INSCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR, IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF HIS INVALUABLE FRIENDSHIP, NOR LESS IN TESTIMONY OF SINCERE RESPECT FOR HIS PUBLIC AND PRIVATE VIRTUES, AND FOR HIS ABLE APPLICATION OF THE VARIOUS AND PROFOUND LEARNING, BY WHICH HE IS DISTINGUISHED, TO THE ILLUSTRATION OF CHRISTIAN ANTIQUITY. - I. - k I I. I %, I % I I PREFACE. IN the following pages a new translation is attempted of the Agamemnon of.Eschylus. The object of the preliminary Dissertation, is to condense within a short compass the principal facts which illustrate the history, the poetical merits, and the moral qualities of Grecian Tragedy. Though, in an essay introductory to a translation of a drama of iEschylus, he naturally forms the prominent figure, it is hoped that the chief alterations or improvements introduced into the tragic art by his two illustrious imitators and rivals will be found in the course of it accurately noted. The author has referred to original authorities ( vi ) for many of his facts. The modern sources to which he is principally indebted are Bentley's Dissertation on Phalaris; the sixth volume of " Voyage du jeune Anarcharsis;" Schlegel's Lectures on the Drama, and a learned compilation published at Cambridge, entitled " Theatre of the Greeks." His general aim has been to convey to English readers a correct idea of the leading characteristics of the higher branch of the Grecian drama. The tragedies of Greece were the homilies of antiquity. They reflect the sentiments, the feelings, and the inspirations of an age, the most brilliant in Athenian history, and even in the history of the human mind. They formed the bright mine of lofty thought, and moral aphorism, to which philosophers and rhetoricians in succeeding ages had recourse for materials wherewith to adorn or illustrate their compositions, and to which even the fathers of the Church disdained not to apply for similar purposes. In our universities and public schools they constitute a prominent object of youthful study; and a series of great scholars, both ( vii ) native and foreign, have poured forth upon them the brightest lights of profound learning and acute criticism. The facts that illustrate their literary history are therefore of general interest. It is only necessary to add, that, although the majority of English readers can hardly be supposed to have time or inclination to peruse voluminous translations of the Grecian dramatists, they may be interested by having their attention directed to the finest specimen of the class, and such the Author has long deemed the Agamemnon. Others of the Greek tragedies might be pointed out, more perfect in their artificial structure, and more faultless in their diction; but in general grandeur of conception, in sublime imagery, in thrilling pathos, and in moral elevation, it perhaps transcends them all. In thus highly appreciating its merits, he expresses himself with the greater confidence, from knowing that this opinion is sanctioned by the authority of some of the first scholars and critics of the day. ( viii ) Although various translations of this drama have been published, distinguished by no ordinary ability, the author deems the path yet open of honorable competition. So great indeed are the obstacles to success, arising out of the peculiar style of certain parts of the original, that, like the bow of Ulysses in the hand of the suitors, it seems destined to invite and to baffle the efforts of successive translators. The difficulty of transfusing the beauties and peculiarities of a Greek or a Latin poet into a modern language, is indeed so great, that he must entertain a most presumptuous notion of his own powers, who can submit such a production to the ordeal of public criticism without unfeigned diffidence and an earnest appeal to the indulgence of his readers. If a close adherence to the literal meaning of the original were alone requisite, every sound scholar might be a successful translator. But mere learning, however ably it may develop the sense, or illustrate the allusions of the classical ( ix ) poets, can no more do justice to the flashes of airy fancy and impassioned feeling, of brilliant sentiment and graceful expression, which sparkle in their pages, than a philosopher could imitate by any artificial means the coruscations of lightning. Literal translation (to quote Dryden) is very similar to dancing on ropes with fettered legs; a man may shun a fall by using caution, but gracefulness of motion is not to be expected. Yet even this extreme is more tolerable than that paraphrastic redundancy which sacrifices the nature and truth, the point and terseness of the original, and transmutes the laconic language of passion or feeling into high-sounding declamation. It is like diluting a fine essence till its peculiar charm and exhilarating qualities are wholly extinguished. Easily described, but rarely attained, is that happy medium between these opposite extremes, by which the sense of a classical poet is faithfully transfused into another tongue, in a style and manner not only poetical, but which recal the original to a critical reader. Occasionally the ( x ) English idiom conforms with singular aptitude to classical phraseology, especially in the more colloquial scenes of the Grecian dramatists; but when conversation becomes elevated into poetry, or when proverbial, humorous, or figurative passages occur, it will frequently happen that the only just mode of conveying any correct impression of their force or beauty, is to search our language for expressions of corresponding spirit and meaning, though often widely distant from verbal resemblance. Any considerable departure from this degree of fidelity can only be justified in the case of such extraordinary conciseness or obscurity as defies all but very free translation. Pindar is known to abound in such passages, and they not unfrequently occur in the choruses of the Greek tragedies. These principles of translation condemn, it is true, one of the finest poems of this description in our own or in any language; for Pope's Homer abounds in exquisite beauties and splendid passages, the creation in a great degree of his own fancy; while the peculiar energy, the venerable a, ( xi ) simplicity, and the expressive touches of nature in the original, are not seldom sought there in vain.* It must be replied, that translators of ordinary mould will never be wanting, but we have only had one Pope, and perhaps never shall have another; and therefore, though his " belle Infidelle" unquestionably wants the peculiar beauties of Homer, she has so many of her own, and those so enchanting, that Criticism in her presence is charmed into submission, if not into acquiescence, by the force of a spell which is felt to be irresistible: "Cessit immanis tibi blandienti Janitor aulam Cerberus: quamvis furiale centum Muniant angues caput ejus."-Hor. The author may perhaps be permitted to state with what degree of strictness he has found it possible to apply the above principles to the follow* A very elegant translation of Homer, in which the peculiar errors of Pope are avoided, and both the scholar and the poet are conspicuous, has lately appeared from the pen of Mr. Sotheby. b ( xii ) ing translation. The dialogue of ]Eschylus, though often figurative or enigmatical, and sometimes turgid, is in general simple and perspicuous. Occasionally it is obscure and perplexing from a confusion of metaphors, or through abrupt phraseology; but as these blemishes are not frequent, it admits for the most part of being translated with fidelity to the sense, manner, and style of the original. The author must entirely refer to the judgment of critical readers the degree of his success. If in this, the main portion of the poem, he has essentially failed, the fault upon the preceding premises is his own. With respect to the choral parts the case is different. Close translation is here out of the question, or, if attempted, would in general issue in riddle or enigma. The truth is, that it is impossible to translate a chorus of JEschylus into English, so as at once to be faithful to the original, and to be intelligible to an English reader. The vagueness and indistinctness in which his images are frequently involved-the abruptness and obscurity of his language-the implication rather than the ( xiii ) development of his moral ideas-the allusions to customs, and habits, and opinions, altogether foreign from our own-render the difficulty insurmountable. In order to be understood it is necessary to be somewhat diffuse, and diffuseness is at variance with the style of JEschylus in his choral odes. That strict fidelity, therefore, to the literal sense and manner of the original which the translator has attempted in the dialogue, he is quite sensible that he has not attained in the choruses. They are, what, after many experiments and much labor, he found to be alone possible, free translations. The class of critics who will receive this candid avowal with the greatest indulgence is that of eminent scholars-should any such be induced to cast an eye upon these pages-who, from being aware of the justice of the foregoing remarks upon the choral parts of the sublime but obscure original, will be the first to pardon inevitable defects, and to make allowance for imperfect execution. In difficult or corrupted passages the ablest commentators have invariably been consulted, and of dif ( xiv ) ferent senses what on the whole appeared the most probable has been followed. The work, such as it is, was not commenced with a view to publication. The admiration with which a first perusal of the original inspired. the author, led him to revert again and again to its classic pages with increasing delight, till some of the finest passages became so interwoven with his memory as to induce him to essay on them, in moments of leisure, his powers of translation. The undertaking thus commenced was subsequently more seriously prosecuted, and after imparting a charm to various intervals of rural leisure, amidst the engagements of an active life, was finally completed some years ago. In this state it was seen by various friends, to whose learning and taste the author has every reason to defer, and but for their favourable opinion it would never have been submitted to the public eye. In making this allusion he owes it to his own feelings to express his obligation to his learned friend the Bishop of Lincoln for several criticisms on the text of _Eschylus, and ( xv ) to Professor Smyth for various suggestions which have removed as many blemishes from the diction of the poem. Nor can he deny himself the gratification of adding that his attention was directed to some interesting points touched upon in the preliminary dissertation by the Bishop of Salisbury, whose zeal in the cause of literature, at an advanced age, is that of an ardent scholar in his youthful prime. The notes added to the poem are chiefly intended for English readers. The general grounds on which a particular sense is adopted in difficult passages are occasionally stated; but to have indulged in a work like this in minute verbal criticism would have been useless pedantry. The accompanying plates are from ancient gems or busts, with the exception of three designs by Flaxman, which will lose nothing by a comparison with the most classical productions of antiquity. * * The mention of the name of this truly distinguished artist recals to my memory a feeling tribute c ( xvi ) For the plan of a Greek theatre, with its picturesque accompaniment, as also for a learned illustration of it, (printed in the appendix,) the author is indebted to his friend C. R. Cockerell, Esq., who has already shown the public, in various instances, how much light may be reflected on ancient sculpture and on classical topography by ingenious conjecture, when restrained and directed by professional science, elegant learning, and accurate local investigation. paid to his genius by the generous and accomplished Canova. " You come to Rome," said he to me, "and admire my works, while you possess in your own country, in Flaxman, an artist whose designs excel in classical grace all that I am acquainted with in modern art." The Plates of HARFORD'S AGAMEMNON to be placed Facing Page 3 Plan of the Greek Theatre-(in the Small Copies, this plate is divided, and the two plates are to be placed facing each other between tlhe Half Title and the first page of DISSERTATION.) 82 IEschylus and tortoise. 86 Euripides, Sophocles and JEschylus. 156 The plate so marked. 158 Do. 160 Do. 168 Do. 173 Do.-Morn springing from the tomb of Night. 183 'pin trao-' 'Appo0s.a-marked " vide note 173. 184 The plate so marked. 204 Do. 207 Do. 210 Do. 229 Do. 230 Do. 246 Do. " What strife." PAGE 30-last line of reference, fo, ' "Rand" read "Ran-e." 113-line 1-f/rr " became" read "become." 128 —fio' "appears" read "appear." i I i i t Ii I i I I i A DISSERTATION ON GRECIAN TRAGEI)Y. B I i. Ir -: rr A P A 2 K H N I A mq CM KWH H YF KOFHIN F YPTOFKMNW KYA I i I I I IIII i OAt NF M A H ' K A K AA Z fl Q A -F, IF I A K ) MA z a m Al r —F t~ PFOMOI1,lL Z HA I AKT H JKA-~~ F - A -AAAASLI,IA~HA A AP AA —=E NIK A A,- AYPAFEIP KFTA A SY PA F$,W IO0A E W A- YPA~ - C, TO A cWI. I iI i I I I i I I A DISSERTATION ON GRECIAN TRAGEDY. To assign with critical accuracy to a particular age or people the origin of dramatic, or interlocutory poetry, is as impossible as to trace to their fountain-head the earliest streams of genius and invention. The researches of Oriental scholars render it probable that this form of poetry existed in the East in times beyond the ken of history,* and * Vide Sir William Jones's third and seventh discourses before the Asiatic Society, and his preface to the Sacontala, in the course of which he says, " dramatic poetry must have been immemorially ancient in the Indian empire." The invention of the drama in India, according to a B 2 ( 4 ) that it was indigenous among various nations. If, however, the claims of Indian or Chinese literature to the honours of remote antiquity should be disputed, those of the muse of Sion cannot be denied. The Book of Job, in which sublime poetry and divine wisdom are so beautifully blended, and the Song of Songs of Solomon, are positive examples of the existence, in the East, of this species of composition, at a period when the echoes of Delphi and of Helicon were mute to the voice of the muses, and the banks of the Ilyssus were trodden only by barbarian tribes. The Asiatic origin of the Greek language may now be regarded as an admitted fact, and a similar origin must consequently be assigned to a large proportion of the first settlers of Greece. Not only their language, but also their mythology, rich later writer on Hindoo literature, Mr. Hayman Wilson, is referred to an inspired sage, named Bharata, but, he adds, some authorities ascribe to it the still more elevated origin of having been communicated to the Vedas by the god Brahma. (5 ) in Asiatic fables, images, and allusions, leads to this conclusion. These popular traditions were probably embodied in oral poetry and music, exhibiting under various forms the initial rudiments of lyrical, heroic, and dramatic composition. Eastern analogies justify this supposition, and so do the incidents and style of many of those fables. The dramatic seems a form of composition almost natural to man as a social, and, as Aristotle calls him, an imitative being,* who delights in all that can most vividly realize to his imagination scenes and sentiments calculated to arouse his feelings, excite his sympathies, or act upon his taste for the marvellous. In the first ages of the world, when the artificial resources favourable to leisure and to study were rare,t and society wore a patriarchal aspect, its circumstances were of necessity pecu* To, rE yap puea'Oa aOVlVTOV ro7c To AOp(Jrroti E 7ra wv ir1.4-Arist. de Poet. cap. iv. t- Philosophy, says Plato in his Republic, commences with leisure. ( (; ) liarly social, and the records of memory must therefore have been in a certain sense dramatic. The poetry of a philosophical and polished age is more strongly marked by a tone of reflection and sentiment,-the results of self-inspection, experience, and refinement; but it is less social in its character, and not equally rich in the display of those simple but vivid impressions, which the grand objects of nature, and the ties of kindred and of country, make upon a primitive and unadulterated people. Thus the earliest poetry and history are in an especial sense dramatic. Homer is more dramatic and less sentimental than Virgil; Herodotus than Thucydides; and the early chroniclers of modern history than the more polished and classical compilers of later date. If we regard the Scriptures of the Old Testament, for a moment, merely in the light of a literary composition, it will be found that the oldest portions are the most dramatic. The history of Abraham, and that of Joseph and his brethren, for example, derive a peculiar interest (7 ) and animation, not merely from their picturesque delineation of ancient manners, and their fidelity to nature, but also from that close approach to the semblance of reality, which their dramatic character produces. The reader is almost ready to persuade himself, that he is present at scenes so graphically described. Among the many illustrations that might be cited, what, for example, can be more impressive, or more interesting, than the conversation in which Joseph, knowing his brethren but as yet unknown by them, anxiously inquires after his aged father? " And he asked his brethren of their welfare, and said, Is your father well? the old man of whom ye spake, is he yet alive? And they answered, Thy servant our father is in good health, he is yet alive. And they bowed down their heads and made obeisance."-Gen. xliii. 27, 28. The artificial beauties of composition,-the lofty declamation, for instance, of Racine or Alfieri,may charm the ears of a Parisian or a Tuscan auditory, but lose their power, when translated ( 8 ) into a foreign dialect; whereas the simple pathos, the tenderness and nature of these and similar passages of the sacred writings, will be felt in every portion of the globe, as long as the human affections animate the human frame. Dramatic composition may therefore be defined in a general sense-imitative narrative. It is a closer approximation in its form to action and reality than mere narrative, and assists the imagination of the reader in depicturing in the most lively manner the scenes and the characters, which it brings before his view. This general definition will include all the various forms of interlocutory composition, as tragedy and comedy, the eclogue, the idyl, and the Socratic dialogue. But though, in a general manner, dramatic poetry may be thus described, the specimens of this species of writing, which have appeared under the form of ancient tragedy, have made so deep an impression on mankind, that the term has insensibly, and by a sort of common consent, been restricted in its ( 9 ) highest and most peculiar sense to tragic composition, and, thus considered, the acknowledged parent of this, the noblest form of the drama, is Greece. The brightest period of Grecian tragedy was coeval with the most brilliant portion of Grecian history. This period commences with the battle of Marathon, and extends itself through the age of Pericles to that of Alexander. The intellectual and the political glory of Greece were at their acme till towards its close; and the stirring energy of mind, the inspiring soul of genius, pervaded her active population, more or less, from the coasts of the ZEgean sea to the foot of Mount Etna. Athens was the centre of this great intellectual movement, and the most eminent individuals on whom it acted were natives of her soil. Thebes, it is true, could boast her Pindar; Halicarnassus her Herodotus; Rhodes her Parrhasius;-nor was Athens backward to do just homage to the kindred genius of other states. She indeed could well ( 1o ) afford to admire and appreciate rival claims; for how brilliant are the luminaries that compose her own galaxy of genius: —Eschylus, Sophocles and Euripides, the great masters of tragic, and Aristophanes of comic art; Thucydides and Xenophon, the former the philosopher of history, uniting the powers of the orator to the penetration of the statesman, the latter a writer of such various accomplishments, that history or philosophy flow with equal ease from his pen, and whose style is so elegant, that it seems to have been woven by the Graces;* Socrates, of whom Tully has finely observed, that he evoked philosophy from the clouds, to take her place in a moral form among the familiar haunts of men; Plato, scarcely less a poet than a philosopher, the parent in Greece of sublime sentiment and lofty speculation, though often so shadowy and subtle in his views as to elude the grasp of comprehension; Aristotle, the profound naturalist and metaphysician, the acute * The remark applied by Plato to the style of Aristophanes. ( 11 ) logician and critic, and the scrutinizing observer of the various forms and principles of government and legislation; Pericles and Demosthenes, those orators, " whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democracy, Shook th' arsenal, and fulmined over Greece To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne."* In this extraordinary period, the muse of design achieved at Athens equal wonders with those of poetry and rhetoric, and tragedy was indebted to her for some of its finest embellishments. It was the happy fortune of Pericles, that his passionate desire to decorate Athens, and to render it the favourite seat of the muses and the graces, was coeval with the existence of artists, whose genius, disdaining the bonds of a slavish imitation of nature, aspired to epic grandeur of design and execution. Among these the most illustrious was Phidias, equally distinguished as an architect and a sculptor * Paradise Regained, book iv. ( 12 ) of the first order, under whom a school of design was formed, which transmitted his masterly principles of art in full vigor to the age of Alexander. The progressive steps, by which the arts of painting and sculpture attained this dignified elevation, cannot now be accurately traced. The approaches were gradual from the age of the Pisistratidae downwards; and the names of Calamis and Miron, of Polycletus and Mycon,* are recorded, as of artists who aimed at ideal grandeur of design before Phidias. But although great correctness, energy, and ease, had been attained in the delineation of the human form, much was left to be achieved in giving due effect to the varied play of the passions in the countenance, and to the high expression of mental dignity. The inspirations of poetry were now united with the most finished correctness of drawing. To use the words of a great artist in reference to this period,t " the countenances and figures became expressive of * Wilkenman, Storia delle Arte, vol. ii. p. 106; and Flaxman's Lectures on Sculpture. f Do. -_ _ ( 13 ) exalted beauty; the action displayed the limbs and body with the greatest variety, energy, and grace; the subjects were heroic and divine. They had a kindred spirit of sublimity with Homer, of patriotism with Tyrtoeus, the noble flights of Pindar, the terrors of IEschylus, and the tenderness of Sophocles." Sculpture and poetry in this way acted and re-acted on each other. The age of their sublime achievements was one and the same. They rose and declined together. Though Painting ran an emulous career with Sculpture, its perishable materials have left us no means of descanting on the style or merits of a Panenus, or a Polygnotus; but many portions of the existing groups of the Parthenon still attest, that the artists, who employed the chisel to imprint on marble the ardent and brilliant conceptions of creative fancy, the lofty and enchanting images of ideal beauty,* were not * The ideal beauty which pervades some of the most exquisite of the ancient statues, is, in the spirit of Virgil's fine lines, Os humerosque Deo similis: namque ipsa decoram Casariem nato genitrix, lumenque juventae 'urpureum, i et laetos oculis afflarat honores. ( 14 ) less poets than those who used the more durable instrument of the pen. These compositions, in which may be traced profound learning in art, imparting decision and truth to the bright emanations of genius,-which are in the highest degree dignified, and yet so true to nature that they almost appear like human beings suddenly converted into marble in the midst of animated action,-are but a few mutilated remnants of the productions of that age of wonders. The sculpture which adorned the temple of Jupiter Olympius at Elis (chiefly the work of Phidias) appears to have been, if possible, still more poetically grand and impressive than that of the Parthenon. According to Pausanias,' it formed a splendid dramatic allegory, in which marble, ivory and gold, were all but animated into being, by the plastic touch of sublime and cultivated art. The intellectual superiority of Athens was recognized throughout Greece. Sparta, though always ready to encounter her at the point of the sword, shrunk with conscious inferiority from col * Pausan. Hist. lib. v. cap. 11. ( 15 ) lision with her orators in public, or deliberative assemblies;* and, being incapable of rivalling her in the elegant arts, either affected to despise them, or sternly asserted the superiority of her own more rigid system. The justice of the praises so lavishly bestowed upon Athens by Pindar,t if listened to with envy by other states, was questioned by none. This homage was the more readily conceded in consequence of the cordiality and politeness, with which strangers in general, and men of genius in particular, were welcomed at Athens. On this point Thucydides makes Pericles expatiate with much force in his celebrated funeral oration,+ and it was so fully counted upon, that men of distinguished ability flocked thither from every part of Greece. If a poet of another state had written a tragedy, ' Thucyd. lib. iv. c. 17; Plut. de Gloria Athen. 'i Pind. Pyth. vii.rdat'aatot yap IroXiErL Xoyoc O6ttiE 'EpexOEoc CATiwvet Not. ad Nern. Carm. iv. 30. ed. Heyne. ' h'ucyd. lib. ii. cap. 39. ( 16 ) says Plato, he was sure to bring it to Athens for representation.* Such were the general features of the brilliant intellectual era, in which tragedy started into being. The series of compositions which it includes, form, with a few exceptions, one of the most delightful walks in the enchanted gardens of classical literature; and at the same time that they present models of genuine pathos and of fine writing, they reflect important light on the superstitions, the prejudices, and the moral feelings of the Greeks. Tragedy, at its first and original outset, corresponded in no degree with the idea which the word suggests to a modern ear, for it included nothing truly dramatic. Its earliest form of celebration was confined to the simple object of singing choral odes, accompanied by music and dancing, at festivals in honour of Bacchus, at the conclusion of the vintage. This custom was not confined to the rites of Bacchus, but was an expression of * Plato, Laches, vol. v. p. 169, Bipont. ed. ( 17 ) festal gladness attendant on many of the religious ceremonies of the Greeks. As poetic contests on such occasions were not unusual, it is probable they might frequently, if not periodically, occur at the Dionysian festival, and that the custom of competing for a prize might thus, together with the chorus, have engrafted itself on tragedy. There is reason to suppose that at these festivals recitations took place of odes very opposite in their character; the one grave and lofty, whence tragedy originated, the other of a licentious and buffo description, which formed the germ of comedy.* In all countries where the worship of Bacchus prevailed, it was strongly tinctured by that spirit of licentiousness and sensuality which more or less * FEvopitrj ovv Ovv' ar apX avrorXELtaartO'Lc'. ical c a (i. e. rpayw3ta) Kai 4/ kwflpEa,, / paE rrio rTV Enapx^OVwv ro3, ctTlpaptov, ' e Lt7 ri TI ri-V h CaXX\Ea:, 'a erL KCl vYv ev 7roXX\Aa riWV 7roXEw)V &CtipEVEL VOLtEOp tf Elar Ka.a tLKp v4irOr, &c.-Arist. de Poet. c. ix. What he says afterwards about the Sicilian origin of comedy is too vague to demand particular notice. c ( 18 ) disgraced the rites of Paganism, and in this respect the refined Greeks differed little from neighbouring and less polished nations. The sacrifice of a goat to Bacchus, which formed a part of the ceremonial, is said to have given birth to the term Tragedy, rvaywo~s, signifying the goat-song. Thespis, of whom we know little more than the name, and who flourished in the age of Solon, added to the interest created by the choral songs and dances by introducing an actor, whose office it was to recite, during the pauses of the chorus, verses in honour of any favourite hero, or in celebration of some popular or ludicrous incident. The face of the actor was bedaubed with winelees, and the simple paraphernalia necessary to the exhibition were conveyed in a waggon, much, we presume, after the fashion of the vagrant showmen who are in the habit of frequenting our public fairs. Ignotum Tragicme genus invenisse Camoenae Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis Quae canerent, agerentque peruncti feecibus ora. Hor. Art. Poet. 279. ( 19 ) Clemens Alexandrinus and Plutarch have introduced quotations in their works from tragedies ascribed to Thespis; but Bentley, the most learned as well as most acute of modern critics, has proved almost to demonstration, that these were forgeries by Heraclides, and that no written drama of Thespis ever existed. The same eminent critic cites the authority of the Arundel marble, to prove that the 61st Olympiad, B. C. 536, was the date of the first exhibitions of Thespis, so that there could only have been about two generations between him and the battle of Marathon. Phrynichus is mentioned as a scholar and successor of Thespis, and from the effects ascribed by Herodotus to one of his tragedies, the subject of which was the capture of Miletus by the Persians, it would appear that he was a poet of no ordinary powers. So deeply affected, says the historian, was the auditory by the representation, that they burst into tears; but the poet, he adds, was fined a thousand drachme for thus vividly reminding c 2 ( 20 ) them of a domestic calamity, and the repetition of the piece was forbidden.* To forbid the repetition of the piece might be sound policy, but to punish the poet for thus drawing from the eyes and hearts of the spectators the noblest homage' to its power which genius can command, or desire, appears a severe enactment, especially on the very soil of taste and poetry. He was in fact achieving the triumph which Horace has described as the climax of the poetic art.t There is no reason to suppose that Phrynichus materially advanced the art, or structure of tragedy, beyond the point at which it was left by Thespis. Upon this simple basis, and with these imper* Herod. Erato. c. xxi. -i~ Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur Ire poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit, Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet, Ut magus; et modo me Thebis, mod6 ponit Athenis. Epist. lib. ii. 210. ( 21 ) fect materials, ZEschylus conceived and framed the regular drama-such, in the main, as it is found in the works of the greatest poets who have acquired in this career the highest reputation. He has, therefore, been justly hailed by succeeding ages, the Father of Tragic, as Homer of Epic song. Time has spared but very scanty particulars of his life, yet, such as they are, the record of them will afford the best opportunity of detailing the special nature of the improvements which he introduced into the tragic art, as well as the peculiarities of his own genius. Eleusis in Attica gave birth to _Eschylus; according to Stanley in the 63d Olympiad, or about 525 years B.C. His family was noble, and highly distinguished in many of its branches by the lustre of superior talents, and by eminent services rendered to their country. A traditionary tale, recorded by Pausanias,* * Pausanias, lib. i. cap. 21. ( 2, ) asserts, that when a boy he dreamt that Bacchus appeared to him while he kept guard in a vineyard, and exhorted him to devote his talents to tragic composition. Youthful enthusiasm is prolific of such forms " as, wove in fancy's loom, Float in light vision round the poet's head." There is, therefore, nothing improbable in the story. According to Suidas, he contended for, and won the tragic prize in his twenty-fifth year, in competition with Pratinas and Chaerilus; but it is doubtful whether, at this early period, he had shaken off the trammels of the Thespian school.* Pratinas was the inventor of the satiric drama, * That the grand improvements introduced by AEschylus are to be referred to a later period, is rendered the more probable from the assertion of Aristotle, that it was long before tragedy rejected the trochaic tetrameter, and assumed the more dignified yet colloquial iambic, in the structure of its dialogue. ( 23 ) a species of burlesque tragedy, to which the Athenians were extremely partial, and of which a specimen is preserved in the Cyclops of Euripides. The next mention of the poet is in the career of arms. He fought at Marathon under Miltiades in his thirty-fifth year, and so highly distinguished himself, as to be one of those to whom the prize of peculiar valour was assigned, after the termination of that conflict, so glorious to liberty and to Athens. Two of his brothers, Cynaegirus and Ameinias, whose bravery had been equally conspicuous, received the same honourable distinction. He no less signalized himself in the naval action of Salamis, and in the decisive battle of Plataea. In the former of these conflicts his brother Ameinias is said to have acquired peculiar glory, by sinking the vessel of the Persian admiral. The era which followed the defeat of Xerxes has already been designated as the brightest in the annals of Athens. Placed at the head of the ( 24 ) Grecian confederacy by her valour and her policy, the neighbouring maritime states became in general either her tributaries or dependants; an enlarged commerce followed, with wealth and leisure in its train, the useful and elegant arts and the severer sciences were assiduously cultivated, and Athens rose again out of the Persian ashes, at once the eye and the ornament of Greece. It was at this period that ZEschylus attained the summit of poetical reputation, and the tragic contest became under his auspices the favourite popular amusement of the Athenians. What he achieved, has deservedly enrolled his name among the illustrious few, to whom the highest honours of genius are assigned. He invented all those prominent attributes in the structure, the spirit, and the accompaniments of tragedy, which have raised it, by the suffrages of the greatest critics, to a rank among the various productions of poetry, second only in dignity to the epopee. He not only succeeded in acting upon the feelings, and touching the passions of his auditory, by ( 25 ) means and for ends consistent with virtue and propriety, but he represented the very objects that he described; he invested them with suitable forms, and placed them in such a manner before the spectators, as should realise to their imaginations the images which tradition suggested of the heroes, the sages, and the deities of Grecian tradition or mythology. Out of upwards of seventy tragedies which he composed, seven only have survived the ravages of time, so that our actual means of judging of the extent of his poetical powers are extremely limited. Among these, however, are some, the Agamemnon, the Seven Chiefs, and the Prometheus, that as long as they exist, will never cease to class among the finest productions of human genius. The strength and energy of fancy with which he conceived his subjects are obvious throughout these dramas. Homer himself has not more strongly individualized his Hector, his Ajax, his Achilles, than YEschylus his Agamemnon, his Clytemnestra, his Prometheus. The lyrical inspiration of his ( 26 ) choruses often approaches the sublime of Pindar, and the Greek language, nervous, comprehensive, and subtle as it is, can scarcely give full expression to the compass and energy of his thoughts and images. In pouring forth the ardent emotions of his mind, recital and narrative are often suddenly converted into picturesque delineation or bold personification. Perhaps there is no poet ancient or modern, Shakspeare and Milton alone excepted, from whose writings more striking instances might be cited of what Horace acutely styles " disjecti membra poetae," that is to say, the shreds of sentences, so finely expressed as to be themselves poetry. The "vermeil tinctured lip," the " tresses like the morn," of Milton, " the spirit-stirring drum," " the eye-train'd bird," "the tender leaves of hope," of Shakspeare, are instances of this description, and may be contrasted with the pOcaQxov o:6pcoTwv eXog, the A&vOuaov pwc0ro, av9oc, the opuTivaxroTs oci p esrFalE-vsrTCa, of iEschylus. "Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." Though Quintilian has dismissed ZEschylus with ( 27 ) too slight a notice, the general suffrage of antiquity ascribed to him the highest powers of creative genius. What Aristophanes says of him shall hereafter be cited. Longinus praises in strong terms the magnificence of his imagery, and quotes, as an instance, the well-known description of the sacrifice at the commencement of the " Seven Chiefs."* The testimony of Dionysius Halicarnassensist is as follows: JEschylus peculiarly excelled in loftiness of thought, and in a just conception of what constitutes dignity in the delineation of the passions and manners. His style is wonderfully adorned by figurative and impressive language, and he is very skilful in the invention of words and circumstances adapted to his particular purposes. Bergler quotes from an epitaph upon him by Antipater the following expressive lines. 0 rpayti' v wbvi7fa, Kat IorpvoEeCaav aotti)v IlvpyJcac tarifapy wrpiroc 'v eVE-i7t. The judgment of the moderns respecting him is: Longin. de Sub. c. xv. 5. 4 Dionys. Hal. vol. ii. ed. Hudson, 69. ( 28 ) precisely similar. To use the language of a great poet and able critic —" At his summons, the mysterious and tremendous volume of destiny, in which are inscribed the doom of gods and men, seemed to display its leaves of iron before the appalled spectators; the more than mortal voices of deities, Titans, and departed heroes, were heard in awful conference; Olympus bowed, and its deities descended; earth yawned and gave up the pale spectres of the dead and the yet more undefined and grisly forms of those infernal deities who struck horror into the gods themselves. All this could only be dared and done by a poet of the highest order, confident, during that early age of enthusiasm, that he addressed an audience prompt to kindle at the heroic scene which he placed before them. It followed almost naturally, from his character, that the dramas of IEschylus, though full of terrible interest, should be deficient in grace and softness; that his sublime conciseness * Sir Walter Scott's Essay on the Drama. ( 29 ) should deviate sometimes into harshness and obscurity; and that his plots should appear rude and inartificial, contrasted with those of his successors in the dramatic art. Still, however, jEschylus led not only the way in the noble career of the Grecian drama, but outstripped, in point of sublimity at least, those by whom he was followed." The term " theatre" suggests to a modern ear the idea of a building devoted to nocturnal amusement, blazing with the splendor of innumerable lights, and replete with objects of the highest excitement. These ideas must either be dismissed, or modified, in order to form a just notion of the " theatres" of the Greeks. They were open to the skies; the representations took place in broad daylight;* and, from considerations of propriety, no female actors were allowed. Occasional annoyance must have been experienced from sudden changes of the weather, or * Barnesii Tract. de Tragoed. ( 30 ) from radiant sunshine; but these were possibly guarded against by contrivances which are not mentioned,* or an occasional interruption was deemed by the spectators of little moment, in comparison of the general delight of inhaling the pure air, and being fanned by the soft breezes of their delicious climate. Again, the modern theatre is a scene solely devoted to pleasure. Nobody goes there with the idea of receiving positive instruction. But tragic representation among the Greeks was a species of religious ceremonial, and, as compared with that of later times, might almost be termed a school of divinity. It commenced with sacrifice,and the professed aim of its poets was to render amusement subordinate to moral instruction. Aristotle expressly contends for this principle,+ and AEschylus is made, by Aristophanes, to rebuke Euripides severely for its occasional violation. Barnesii Tract. de Tragoed. ' Plutarch in Cimone. + Aristot. de Poet. c. 7. ~ Aristoph. Rand. 1043. -~~~ __ _ -_ _ _ _ _ _ ___ _. _ _ _ ( 31 ) We will say nothing in this place about the errors of heathen morality, or the grossness of heathen superstition, even in their best forms. We only assert the fact, that the aim was thus noble, however imperfect the execution. Hence Milton, who, with the exception of the finer tragedies of Shakspeare, justly regarded the modern, in its moral character, as a degenerated scion of the ancient drama, thus expresses himself with regard to the Greek school. " Tragedy, as it was anciently composed, hath been ever held the gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other poems, therefore said by Aristotle to be of power, by raising pity and fear, or terror, to purge the mind of these and such like passions, that is, to temper and reduce them to just measure, with a kind of delight, stirred up by reading or seeing those passions well imitated. * After alluding, in I1 Penseroso, to the pensive grandeur of Ancient Tragedy, he adds, And what tho' rare, of later age, Ennobled hath the buskined stage. ( 32 ) " Hence philosophers, and other gravest writers, as Cicero, Plutarch, and others, frequently cite out of tragic poets, both to adorn and illustrate their discourse. " This is mentioned, to vindicate tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which, in the account of many, it undergoes at this day, with other common interludes." Milton, in composing Tragedy, strictly adhered to the ancient models, and the Samson Agonistes, though defective in dramatic action, is a noble monument of his successful rivalry of their style and spirit. Tragedy, under Thespis, it has already been said, was nothing more than the recitation, by a single actor, of the exploits or adventures of some real or fabulous hero or heroes, which relieved, at intervals, the monotony of the chorus. By the introduction of two, and, occasionally, of more persons of the drama,* and by assigning to each a * It has been a favourite hypothesis with writers on the ancient drama, that Sophocles was the first ( 33 ) distinct part, 2Eschylus gave the representation of a varied and continuous action, accompanied by all the animation of dialogue, and excitive of those peculiar emotions which the semblance of reality produces on the imagination. The illusion of appropriate, though not moveable scenery was added, in giving effect to which the poet availed himself of the assistance of distinguished artists. In this particular Sophocles, according to Aristotle, greatly improved upon the inventions of his predecessor, yet it is obvious that the machinery person who introduced a third actor. But a little reflection on the incidents of the Agamemnon, renders it next to certain that three, at least, were occasionally resorted to by iEschylus. How could it be otherwise, for instance, where Agamemnon presents Cassandra to Clytemnestra, and commends her to her kindness? On this point the authority of Bentley may be regarded as conclusive. 2Eschylus (he says) is generally reported as the inventor of the second actor; and yet several believed that afterwards he invented, too, the third actor; for, in the making of seventy-five tragedies, he had time enough to improve further upon his first model.-Bentley's Phalaris, p. 240. *, D ( 34 ) necessary to give effect to some of the scenes in the existing dramas of /Eschylus, required no ordinary degree of ingenuity and invention. The Prometheus, for example, demanded considerable exertion both of pictorial and mechanical skill. The eye of the spectator was to rest upon the scenery of a savage and rocky eminence on the bosom of the trackless deep, to which the giant rebel was chained: the chorus of sea nymphs, who visit and condole with him, were introduced as if wafted in a winged chariot; and old Oceanus, who followed them, made his entree on what seemed a flying steed, or, as the scholiast will have it, a griffin. These particulars are not merely to be inferred from the incidents of the piece, but are confirmed by the authority of Aristophanes, who alludes in the " Frogs" with much humour to the introduction, by JEschylus, of these and similar mysterious beings in his dramas.* Agatharcus, a painter, is * Aristoph. Rance, 960 and 1320. Ed. Burmanni. ( 35 ) mentioned by Vitruvius as having rendered the poet important aid in these contrivances.* The ancient tragedies were not usually thus fraught with the marvellous, and the requisite scenery was extremely simple. The outside of a temple, a mansion, or a palace, or the interior court of either, sufficed for the greater part of the incidents introduced into these compositions. The privacy in which the Greek women lived, forbade the representation of the interior apartments of houses, and thus excluded from the ancient drama those scenes of amatory intrigue, which supply the modern stage with so much dangerous, and often pernicious excitement. Much taste was displayed by IEschylus in the drapery of his performers, which, according to Athenaeus,t was arranged with such elegance, and at the same time with such attention to propriety, as to have furnished models for improving the habits of the ministers of religion. Vulgarity and * Vitruvius, Praef. lib. vii. t Athen. Casaub. lib. i. c. 18. D2 ( 36 ) grossness had probably marked their gait and attire under Thespis. Horace alludes to this reform, and to the general dignity now impressed upon tragedy: Post hunc personae, pallaeque repertor honestae, IEschylus, et modicis instravit pulpita tignis Et docuit magnurque loqui, nitique cothurno. The costume of the deities whom he introduced was conformed either to some conventional model, or was borrowed fiom that of the most decorous and appropriate of their respective statues. His actors were elevated much above the natural stature by lofty buskins, and they wore sculptured or painted masks, adapted to the characters whom they represented. These were probably a little rude in their execution in the first instance, but they acquired, as the fine arts advanced towards perfection, a high degree of finish and expression. They were shifted as the progress of the action required a change of expression, and they were so constructed as to aid the powers of the voice. ( 37 ) Many imitations of these masks exist in collections of ancient sculpture and painting, and justify the opinion that the talents of the first artists of Athens were employed to give to the originals the most exquisite traits of feature and character. The use of such an expedient can only be accounted for, or defended, by a reference to the customs of the Greeks, and to the magnitude of their theatres. It has already been stated, that no female performers were allowed on the stage of Greece, consequently, feminine beauty, grace, and dignity, could only be imitated by the use of masks. From the vast circumference of their theatres, the majority of the spectators were placed at such a distance from the stage, that few would have been able to trace the varying expression of impassioned sentiment or feeling in the countenances of the performers themselves, whereas the strong relief of the mask conveyed the ideal semblance of each distinct personage; a circumstance which afforded a latitude and power to the dramatic art far more extended than if the same individual face ( 38 ) had been employed to represent a great variety of characters and emotions. The delusion of the masks and of the scene was also heightened from the distance whence they were surveyed. The general aim was, that the actors, by appropriate beauty of drapery or armour, by dignity or grace of form and manner, and by lofty declamation, should communicate to the spectators the same sentiment of ideal grandeur which so peculiarly pervades the language and the incidents of Grecian tragedy, and thus realize to them in every way the images which fancy suggested of the heroic ages. To this end, mechanical means were employed to diffuse, or circumscribe the light, at pleasure, over the stage and the orchestra, as the blaze of broad daylight, by robbing the artificial appendages of all mystery, and bringing them into too close a comparison with the truth of nature, would have been fatal to their effect. The actors thus circumstanced, must have appeared, throughout the changing scenes, like so many successive groups of animated and breathing sculpture, an art, with ( 38 ) which, as it existed in the age of' Pericles, Grecian tragedy has often and justly been compared. The first theatre at Athens was a rude fabric of wood, and was burnt down in the time of Pratinas,* already alluded to as the inventor of the satyric drama. The succeeding building was probably erected under the auspices of _Eschylus, and adapted to his improvements and inventions in the tragic art; but it was either totally rebuilt, or greatly enlarged by Pericles, when it assumed, it is supposed, a magnificence adapted to that age of luxury and embellishment. The general form, and some portions of the masonry of this fabric are still discoverable at Athens, and bear the appellation of the theatre of Bacchus. In it the chef-d'oeuvres of Sophocles and Euripides were represented. A passage from the Symposium of Platot has frequently been cited, to prove that its * Suidas in Pratinas. t Plat. Op. Symp. vol. x. p. 172. Ed. Bipont. The words are ijye 7rapa oa ve8s ovroC oVrTio ao'ppa cr'XaapE ( 39 ) dimensions were so vast as to be capable of accommodating more than thirty thousand spectators, but there is good reason to regard this assertion as hyberbolical. The mode, in fact, of its introduction, in no degree entitles it to be regarded as an historical statement. Agatho, one of the guests supposed to be present at the " Symposium," had recently obtained the tragic garland; and to him Socrates addresses the flattering remark that his fame had been brilliantly displayed on that occasion in the presence of more than thirty thousand of the Greeks. As the charm of the compliment would obviously be heightened by an exaggeration of the numbers, the philosopher may naturally be conjectured to have spoken largely; but this supposition is rendered almost matter of fact by the result of scientific modern admeasurements of the remains of the principal Greek theatres, for the most capacious among them, which appear to have CKat ~&f(Cav)Sc eyevero 7rpwrlpv er paprvL rn'r 'EXX//rfWY,TX\eOV l rpt/l/,ptltc. ( 39 ) equalled in dimensions that of Athens, could not have contained, even when crowded, more than twenty thousand spectators.* The beautiful situation occupied by the remains of many of the ancient theatres justifies the supposition, that they were studiously placed so as to command, and to incorporate with their own architectural features, the finest objects of the adjacent country. The majestic mountains, and luxuriant plains, the groves, and gardens, the land-locked and open sea, in the neighbourhood of many of the principal cities of Greece, presented the finest materials which taste could suggest or desire, for such combinations. But the charm of Southern landscape depends not solely on the romantic or beautiful features which enter into its composition. In that land of the Sun, the purity of the atmosphere, the rich and magical hues of colour, the soft loveliness of the aerial perspective, the powerful relief of light and shadow, produce on the * Mr. Cockerell is the Author's authority for the above statement. ( 40 ) senses, while contemplating the beauties of Nature, impressions of pleasure rarely equalled even on our finest days in these Northern regions. "Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found, Rocks, river, forest, mountain all abound! And bluest skies to harmonize the whole." Childe Harold. Select portions of landscapes thus composed and coloured, viewed through the openings of a fine architectural building, must have feasted the eye with living pictures of exquisite grace and beauty. The theatre of Taurominium, in Sicily, was so placed, that the audience had a fine view of IEtna, in the back ground of the distance. That of Athens comprehended the various declivities of Mount Hymettus, and overlooked the Saronic gulf, and the emporium of Piraeus, with its three ports. Above it towered the Acropolis, crowned by the majestic Parthenon. In point of situation, therefore, it must have been perfect, and in beauty, it ( 40 ) is said by Dichaearchus,* a writer of the age of Demetrius Phalereus, or about 310 B.C., to have transcended all similar buildings. In shape the ancient theatres were not unlike that of a horse-shoe. The seats of the spectators consisted of steps, ranging one above another, round the segment of nearly three-fourths of a circle, which this shape supposes. The lower seats belonged to persons of quality and to magistrates, the middle to the commonalty, and the upper are said to have been appropriated to females.t It has, however, been questioned whether they frequented the theatre. That they did not attend comic spectacles, in the time of Aristophanes, Schlegel has pretty clearly proved; but that they * Leake's Athens, p. 58. The same learned writer has given an engraving of an ancient Athenian coin which illustrates the above particulars. It represents the great Athenian theatre viewed from below. Above it rises the wall of the Acropolis, over the centre of which towers the Parthenon, and to the left is the Propylaea. t Potter's Archaeologia, vol. i. p. 42. ( 41 ) were present at tragedies may be inferred from an anecdote, hereafter mentioned, connected with the representation of the Eumenides of IEschylus, which could not otherwise have obtained the slightest credit. Scalse, or flights of steps, diverging in equidistant radii from the bottom to the top, formed the communications with the seats. What is called in modern theatres the Pit, was termed the orchestra, though relatively much contracted, and was occupied by the chorus, a band of performers whose function it was to recite or sing the lyrical compositions or odes which occurred between the different acts of the piece. In the centre of the orchestra, and on a level with the stage, was an altar, called Thymele,* on which sacrifice was offered before the tragic contests commenced: there were steps round it, on * Suidas in,/cVu) says —z';t pera rlv pXilspav Ifwop( rT AtLO^V'u, 5I KCXEtrctI OUv\PXr' TrapA TrO OEtV'-Vid. et. Jul. Pollux, lib. iv. 123, Eurip. Ion. 161, et Plut. in Cinmone. ( 41 ) which the chorus stood when they joined in tile dialogue of the actors. Though there is great difficulty in reconciling and in reducing to clearness many of the assertions of Julius Pollux, Vitruvius, and other ancient authors respecting the parts which composed the scene and the stage of the Greek theatre, it is hoped that the following statement may reflect some light upon this subject, so interesting to classical scholars, and which has been so much agitated by antiquaries. The scene, 2Exv), was a solid architectural building of considerable elevation, presenting a highly ornamental faqade, with three principal and two minor gateways.* It was often decorated with costly columns and statues, and to it were suspended such painted and moveable scenes as the piece to be represented might require.t In front was a permanent stage, a portion of which was covered * Julius Pollux, iv. 124, et Vitruvius, lib. i Kafra Ijr',ltlara ) ei v'rluc par, 'a T'rrvYCKt'rS t]trav, i XOl'riE 7.lfo hcz, r,1, [a rfJ, T pt lor,, f,. — tlitnts t)(olbt,,l', iv. 131. ( 42 ) by a temporary roof or awning, which served to conceal the mechanism of the scenery, and to suspend the aukXela, or curtain. This was termed the proscenium. The stage on which the actors stood, called Xoyliov, and in Latin pulpitum, occupied the width of the orchestra, and was placed in front of the permanent stage. Its shape was varied according to the purposes of the representation, and it was moveable.* Vitruvius has described, with much detail, vases of brass and sometimes of pottery placed under the seats or precinctions of the theatre to promote the transmission of sound:* it may be inferred from his description that the aid they rendered was important, but this portion of his work has never been sufficiently understood to allow of its application to the construction of any modern buildings; nor, except at Scythopolis in Syria, have the smallest traces of them been found in the remains of ancient theatres.t If the facts he states are authentic, it * Vitruvius, lib. 5. t Mr. Cockerell, who unites an accurate knowledge ( 43 ) must follow that the moderns are much behind the ancients in the science of acoustics. The ancient theatres were not only used for scenical representations, but for contests in music and in other departments of genius or of skill. Various festivals,* and not unfrequently political assemblies, were also held in them. That of Megalopolis is supposed to have been constructed of larger dimensions than would otherwise have been requisite, in order to accommodate the great Arcadian council.t At Athens the assemblies of the people were originally held in the Pnyx, a place of concourse venerable from its antiquity, and interesting from its associations with the noblest of what the classical writers have said of the theatre of Greece to an intimate acquaintance with its architecture acquired during his travels in that country, has favoured me, in reply to various inquiries which I put to him on this subject, with an answer so calculated to clear up its difficulties, that, with his permission, I have printed it in an Appendix to this volume. * Demosthenes in Meidiam. Ed. Taylori, p. 106. -- Leake's Morea, vol. ii. 40. ( 44 ) recollections of her history; but towards the close of the Pelopponesian war, they more frequently took place in the theatre of Bacchus.* In the age of Philip and Alexander the custom had become frequent at Athens of honouring with a crown of gold any citizens who had rendered signal services to their country, and on such occasions proclamation was made in the theatre during the grand festival of Bacchus, when the new tragedies were exhibited, and the throng of strangers as well as of citizens was great, of the name and merits of the individual thus highly honored. The rival orations of Demosthenes and sEschines, de Corona, are fraught with allusions to the custom. IEschylus not unfrequently acted a part in his own dramas, and animated the performers by his example and instructions. He skilfully adapted the embellishments of the chorus to the incidents of the piece, though in this respect he sometimes overstepped, through the fervour of his fancy, * Thucyd. lib. viii. 92. _ ( 45 ) the bounds of propriety. An example of this description occurred, it is said, at the representation of the Eumenides, a drama still extant, in which Orestes, after taking vengeance on his mother for the murder of his father, is represented as haunted and pursued by the furies. These infernal deities were introduced upon the stage, their hair braided with serpents, torches and other emblems of terror in their hands, and accompanied by a numerous train of kindred attendants, when the effects produced by fear upon some of the females and children of the auditory were such, that the magistrates interfered, and restricted, by a legislative enactment, the number of the chorus to thirty. It was afterwards reduced to fifteen. An extravagance, akin to that which has just been noticed, occasionally marked the action of his dramas. He has been ridiculed by Aristophanes for placing and retaining on the stage, through the successive periods of a long action, mute personages, who, after sustaining this part till towards the close, broke forth into one or two piercing exclamations, and then disappeared. Thus ( 46 ) Achilles,* after the death of Patroclus, and Niobe, after that of her daughters, were introduced in two of his tragedies, with their heads veiled, and fixed in speechless grief till the conclusion of the drama. Whether the dialogue of tragedy was delivered in a tone of appropriate declamation, or in a style of impressive recitative, regulated by an accompaniment of the flute or pipe, has been a subject of much learned discussion. It is clear from the testimony of Horace, that the colloquy of Roman tragedy proceeded in the latter way; and Burney, in his History of Music, has adduced various passages from Aristotle and Plutarch, to prove the same of that of Greece. Schlegel, on the other hand, opposes the inferences drawn from those passages. They are in fact of very ambiguous import, and at the utmost afford nothing beyond a plausible colouring to the hypothesis. The colloquial though dignified style of the Grecian drama, its fidelity to nature, its simplicity and pathos, api 7PrTSaCL pEIv 1Y ip 7 U'VC TtV EKaOct01EV yic iX(AUbaC, A'xXXLEa XTi,?), No6i3v,, TO Trpow6Troi' ovyi xCEl c Vv add%'.^rffcI ri]v, Adtoaiiac,, o pv567orf HOVXL HEI TOZV. WP9CrX7I21ta }t' T7,Ci''CIt, }p114')TCd 8C TOVT7. Rialto, '. ( 47 ) pear directly opposed to the supposition of a highly artificial mode of delivery; yet a measured and impressive recitation, and an elevated tone of voice, must have been essential to the due transmission of sound over a vast area; and some slight musical accompaniment to regulate the pitch of the voice would not be at variance with an easy yet lofty style of declamation. Under Thespis and his immediate successors little or no relation appears to have existed between the subjects of the chorus and that of the accompanying monologues. The latter had merely been introduced as episodes or interludes between the pauses of the chorus. The case was now exactly reversed; the dialogue formed the main body of the piece, and the chorus became no more than an interlude. The choral songs formed in their subject an impressive comment on the incidents of the drama, giving utterance in sage and solemn strains to the moral or religious sentiments, or to the patriotic emotions which it was supposed the passing scene ought to excite in the spectators.* * Arist. de Poet. c. x. 2(;. ( 48 ) It has been said, in allusion to the lofty style and the lyrical inspiration of these compositions, that if in ancient tragedy the performers spoke the language of heroes and kings, they spoke in the choruses the language of the gods. The place occupied by the chorus, and the number to which it was restricted, have already been adverted to. The individuals composing it represented any character that best suited the purpose of the drama, whether it required that they should personate a band of aged men, or of sage matrons, or of priests, or virgins, or of attendants on festal mirth or funeral solemnity. While singing or reciting the part assigned them, they danced in time to the measure and cadence of music, in bands of equal number, moving from right to left as they repeated the choral strophe, then back from left to right during the antistrophe, and facing the spectators as they recited the epode. The style of the dances was grave or lively, _P- 1 _ _ _ ( 49 ) according to the nature of the poetry which they accompanied. Indelicate movements or gestures are expressly reprobated by Aristotle, as totally at variance with the moral character of tragedy.* Some idea may be formed of the skill with which the dancing was accommodated to the subject from the testimony of the same author, as quoted by Athenaeus,t who states that Telestes, a performer in the Seven Chiefs of Thebes, was so accomplished in this particular, that the course of the action was perfectly expressed by his movements. The musical instruments which served as an accompaniment to the voices of the chorus were few and simple. As the poetry directly related to the incidents of the piece, to which it served as an explanation or comment, it required distinct articulation; consequently, the music was not to overwhelm the voices of the singers. The flute, the pipe, and the lyre, the instruments almost ex-! Arist. de Poet. c. xviii. - Atlen. lib. i. c. xviii. E ( 50 ) elusively used, were precisely of this character. Yet in martial choruses, such as those of the Seven Chiefs, the occasional introduction of the trumpet was probably permitted. Of the wonderful effects produced by modern orchestras in giving to the compositions of the poet the united aid of exquisite singing and music, in the most complex, yet most harmonious combination, and with a power that electrifies and astonishes even unscientific ears, the Greeks appear to have known nothing. Yet, after all, what combinations of this description can touch the feelings like the tones of the human voice with a simple accompaniment, provided those tones be of a very fine quality. Here lay the true source, it is probable, of that wonderful power ascribed to Grecian music in melting, or exciting the passions. In this way Demodocus in Homer draws tears from the eyes of Ulysses.* The early attention which the Greeks paid to vocal, no less than to * Odyss. lib. viii. 8(;. ( 51 ) musical science, their high degree of natural taste, and the favourable influence of their exquisite climate, conspired to give to the human voice among them, a compass, a sweetness, and a flexibility, unknown in countries less polished, or more distant from the sun. The culture of musical science, the study of dialectics, and the exercises of the palaestra, formed the prominent features of education at Athens in her best days. Anaxagoras introduced there a taste for philosophical speculation; and, under his instructions, Pericles, it is said, acquired that dignified and polished style of rhetoric of which he was the first who set his countrymen the example. In what way music was rendered by the Greeks subservient to moral discipline is not very intelligibly explained, though it is strongly asserted by their greatest philosophers. Pythagoras delighted in its study, and inculcated it on his disciples. Plato ascribes much of the growing degeneracy of his countrymen to their abandonment of the simple, severe, and grave character of the ancient music, E 2 ( 52 ) for a style effeminate and sensual. Similar complaints are made by Aristotle. In all the principal schools of philosophy music was cultivated, and innumerable treatises on it emanated from them. " go, view The schools of ancient sages: his who bred Great Alexander to subdue the world. Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next: There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power Of harmony in tones and numbers hit, By voice or hand, and various-measured verse, }Eolian charms and Dorian lyric odes." Par. Reg. book iv. There is a curious passage in Thucydides, in which he states that the Spartan troops were carefully taught to march upon their enemies to the measured sound of flutes or pipes, which not only animated their courage, but was specially designed to regulate the movement of their limbs, and to restrain within due bounds their natural impetuosity.* Polybius has recorded some very curious de * Thucyd. lib. v. 70. ( 53 ) tails of the musical education of the Arcadians, and particular instances are related of Solon, of Terpander, and of Timotheus, in which, by accompanying impassioned strains of poetry with the lyre, or the flute, they produced an overpowering influence on illustrious individuals or on large auditories. The expense of getting up the chorus was considerable. It was defrayed by the government for every poet whose piece, after undergoing the scrutiny of appointed judges, was deemed worthy of being admitted to the tragic contest. Great pains were taken, by diligent rehearsals, to prepare the performers for an able discharge of their allotted functions. Athenaeus records an instance in which Sophocles sung to the music of his lyre in the chorus of one of his own tragedies.* However deep was the interest which the Greeks took in the dialogue of tragedy, the chorus appears to have been their peculiar delight. Its lyrical * Athen. lib. i. c. xvii. ( 54 ) inspiration, the rhythm of the verse, its thrilling appeals to their patriotic or religious feelings, the mystic solemnity of its dances, and its musical attractions, styled by Aristotle the principal embellishment of tragedy, sufficiently account for this preference.* To native Greeks, enthusiastically alive to these various attractions, and intimately acquainted with the traditions or customs, whence originated numberless allusions unintelligible to the acutest modern scholars, the time occupied by the chorus was a sort of continued enchantment. To the modern student indeed, who is embarrassed by its difficulties of construction, and the obscurity of its allusions, who surveys it stripped of its appropriate embellishments, and who can at best but imperfectly appreciate the grace and harmony, the swell and pomp, of its high-sounding lays, it is apt to * paCl OTL OV tKL)OV p'fpo TiPO lVy Uovat'}l;J K Cat TrjV o i;t 'X~l, 1eta rTc JtoyaC ETiar(tvraTC evrcpyiT1Tar. —Arit. de Poet. c. xviii. ( 55 ) appear a tedious suspension in the development of the plot, an unnatural separation between kindred portions of the dialogue. Nor can it be denied that in the case of iEschylus it often swelled into prolixity, since its restriction within narrower bounds is one of the improvements ascribed by the ancient critics themselves to his successors. But to do real justice to the chorus, the critic must forget himself and the modern world, and realise as nearly as possible the feelings, the prejudices, and the tastes of an ancient Greek; he must reflect on the variety and the perfection of its various embellishments: what he has felt or thought in his closet, with his lexicon on one side and Hermannus de Metris on the other, after some severe hours spent in combating the knotty difficulties of a chorus, ought, if possible, to be altogether discarded from his memory. What poetry to English ears can sound more musically harmonious, for instance, than the choral parts of Milton's Comus? Were the English to become a dead language, and a foreign student to ( 56 ) occupy himself with those compositions after a lapse of many centuries of ignorance and barbarism had clouded over the meaning of their local or learned allusions, and, by introducing a false pronunciation, had broken the spell of their harmony, or dissolved the charm of " their linked sweetness long drawn out," what a different judgment would he probably pass upon them from that which a correct knowledge of all these particulars now produces. It will be obvious from the preceding statement that the chorus, with its various accompaniments, formed the striking peculiarity of the ancient as opposed to modern tragedy. The subjects, moreover, round which the former revolved, being principally derived from poetic history and marvellous tradition, imparted to it a mien and port peculiarly stately, corresponding to the expressive touches of Milton's portraiture: "Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine. ( 57 ) This restriction of subjects was a necessary consequence of the circumstances in which Greece was at this time placed-isolated by superior refinement from the rest of the world, confined therefore to her own resources, and only just beginning to be enriched with the expanding treasures of authentic history. Considering how similar, nay, often, how identical, are the subjects of the three great tragedians, we cannot but admire the richness of invention, and the ingenuity, displayed in the variety of their treatment. Occasionally the persons composing the choral band descended from the heights of Empyrean poetry, and took part in the dialogue itself, by means of their xopvufca7o (Coryphaeus) or leader. He spoke according to circumstances, either as a single person, or for the whole band, or aided the progress of the action by brief explanations, or uttered expressions of pity for suffering virtue, or in condemnation of crime or impiety. At such times the choral band advanced to the front of the ( 58 ) orchestra, so as to be brought within the sphere of the action. The style of speaking and sentiment, to which the chorus is confined when thus passing the limits of its more official functions, proves that the expedient of the Coryphaeus was resorted to only when circumstances called for remarks, or explanations, which could not properly proceed from the persons of the drama. Nothing in fact can be more tame or puerile than the style of speaking to which he is restricted. Father Brumoy, in allusion to it, calls him, with laughable quaintness, ( I'honnete homme de la piece." When the incidents that elicited these commonplace remarks were of a nature to excite the strongest emotions of terror or pity, of surprise or admiration, there must have been something extremely ludicrous in the contrast between the feelings of the spectators, and the cold truisms quaintly uttered by the chorus. These and similar absurdities were a necessary consequence of that law of ( 59 ) Grecian tragedy, which permitted not the chorus to quit the theatre throughout the progress of the drama, and yet never allowed of their active intervention. They were consequently auditors of all supposed soliloquies, privy to all plots, spectators of all impending dangers, and at the same time condemned to passive quiescence. Sir Walter Scott, in his Essay on the Drama, has placed this portion of our subject in so humorous a light, that we must indulge in a quotation. " When a deed of violence was to be acted, the helpless chorus, instead of interfering to prevent the atrocity to which the perpetrator had made them privy, could only, by the rules of the theatre, exhaust their sorrow and surprise in dithyrambics. This was well ridiculed by Bentley in his farce called the " Wishes," in one part of which strange performance he introduced a chorus after the manner of the ancient Greeks, who are informed by one of the dramatis personae, that a madman with a firebrand has just entered the vaults beneath the ( 60 ) place which they occupy, and which contains a magazine of gunpowder. The chorus, instead of stirring from the dangerous vicinity, immediately commence a long complaint of the hardship of their fate, exclaiming pathetically -' Oh! unhappy madman-or rather unhappy we the victims of this madman's fury-or thrice, thrice unhappy the friends of the madman, who did not secure him and restrain him from the perpetration of such deeds of frenzy-or three and four times hapless the keeper of the magazine who forgot the keys in the door!' " The above is of course a humorous caricature of the extra-official functions of the chorus, yet many instances might be pointed out of the complete apathy with which they are made to survey scenes of crime, or danger, or terror, which would almost justify a literal application of the satire. Before the subject of the chorus is dismissed, the light which it reflects on the religious and moral opinions of the Greeks deserves to be adverted to. ( 61 ) The mystic lore of Pythagoras, the lofty speculations of Plato, the logical subtleties of the schools, were for the philosophical few. The tragic poet was to arouse or touch the feelings of the multitude of Athens: he therefore selected those topics to which the understandings and the hearts of his auditors would most surely and sympathetically respond. A tone of ideal grandeur, it is true, was diffused over his characters, and pervaded his sentiments; yet not in such a degree as wholly to lift them out of the sphere of ordinary humanity. Making, therefore, due allowance for the exaggeration of poetry, we may derive from these dramatic writers a tolerably correct idea of the moral resources of their countrymen, under the pressure of the sorrows and trials inevitable to humanity. It is impossible to peruse the choruses of zEschylus without acknowledging that his moral aim was lofty, and that, according to his imperfect light, his piety was sincere. Reverence for the gods —respect for the sanctity of an oath, and of ( 62 ) the conjugal tie-inflexible justice-moderation in prosperity- patience under sufferings —devoted love to our country - generous hospitality; - these are the moral principles which he inculcates, and to which his countrymen, however defective their practice, listened with applause. Nothing that is licentious or impure stains his pages, or leaves it doubtful, as in the case of Euripides, whether the parade of morality, rather than a real moral feeling, inspired the apparent indignation with which he lashes vice or impiety, or does homage to suffering virtue. It is interesting to trace in these particulars a verification of the scriptural assertion, that even among the Heathen " God left not himself without witness;" for we clearly recognise in these choral strains, no less than in the principal schools of Grecian philosophy, the power of conscience, the restless stirrings of the immortal mind, and a clear perception of the essential difference between vice and virtue. Where then does the poet fail? He fails, in the ( 63 ) first place, by that meagre, imperfect knowledge of the depth and extent of moral obligation, which is obvious in every system of Pagan ethics; but he particularly fails, where Heathens or Deists ever must, in the attempt to fortify even the moral principles for which they do contend, by sanctions practically efficacious. How could it be otherwise? In the absence of the light of Revelation there can be no certain knowledge of the nature of the true God, and therefore no unhesitating appeal to the authority of a Supreme Ruler, infinite in wisdom and power, in justice and mercy, whose will, emanating from these perfections, forms the necessary and eternal rule of right and wrong. Neither can there be any but glimmering notions of a future life and a future judgment, the certainty of which invests the precepts of Christianity with such awful force and such controlling influence. A settled darkness rested on the religious horizon of the great mass of the Heathen world, from the confounding influence of the follies and crimes which their mythology ascribed to the gods whom ( 64 ) they adored;* and even their philosophers, many of whom soared above these vulgar superstitions, were staggered on the very threshold of inquiry by their inability to reconcile the origin and prevalence of moral evil with any satisfactory notions of the divine justice and benevolence. Why Sin and Evil were permitted to enter into the world, and mar the works of a Being to whose perfections they are infinitely opposed, is a * How the vices ascribed to the gods operated on morals, is keenly illustrated in numberless passages of the dialogues of Lucian, a writer, who, though belonging to the later periods of Grecian literature, thought and composed, as it has been justly observed, in the spirit of the age of Pericles. Aristophanes often touches with caustic force on the same subject: thus in the Clouds, as translated by CumberlandAdiceol. What is justice? There's no such thing-I traverse your appeal. Dicceol. How, no such thing as justice? Adicceol. No: where is it? Dicceol. With the immortal gods. Adicceol. If it be there, How chanced it Jupiter himself escaped For his unnatural deeds to his own father? (65 ) question, which, though partially cleared up by the light of Revelation, is in many of its relations beyond the grasp of human intelligence. Even the most obvious phenomena of nature are a mystery to man the moment that he attempts to penetrate their final causes. To a capacity so limited, the secret counsels of the Great Eternal, and the stupendous scheme of his moral government of the universe, embracing, as it probably may, the relations of past, present, and to come, must consequently, in a transcendently higher degree, prove an unfathomable depth. It is enough for man to know that the nature of that Almighty Being is essential Truth and Goodness; that Evil originated in rebellious opposition to his holy will, and shall finally exist only in its penal consequences. Revelation, though it repels the searchings of vain curiosity, illustrates these particulars, so essential to human happiness and to moral ends, with a plenitude of light. In the great scheme of Redemption, in particular, it opens to the eye of Faith such refulgent manifestations of the love of God to a lapsed world, and such bright prospects of the immortal felicity which awaits his faithful servants, as ought to dispel every shade of doubt, ( 66 ) and all anxiety but that of pleasing Him " in whose favour is life," " and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore." In the absence of this celestial light, the most fanciful expedients were resorted to for cutting the knot, which it was found impossible to unloose. Hence, throughout the East, the Magian hypothesis of two eternal, supreme, and conflicting Principles-the one evil, the other good, each of whom was to be worshipped and propitiated. Hence, among the Grecian poets, especially the tragedians, the ascription of Supreme power to a blind Destiny, of which gods and men were more or less the victims. Nothing in their Olympus like stability, nothing like eternity is to be found. The throne of Jupiter himself was founded on the ruins of the dynasties of a race of elder gods, and he is represented as harassed by fears lest Destiny had decreed the subversion of his own. 2Eschylus propounds this doctrine in the Prometheus; it occurs in Homer; and Lucian, in later times, made it in his dialogues the subject of his caustic irony and wit. How merry in his pages is Momus at the expense of the father of the gods, whom he represents as a limited being, subject in all respects to the blind and inscrutable decrees of Fate I ( 67 ) On this same principle, persons eminent for the very virtues which these writers most enforced, are represented as liable to become, by the decrees of Destiny, miserable victims of uncontrolable misfortunes, unwilling perpetrators of dreadful crimes. It was Destiny, or Necessity, (another word for it,) which stifled in the bosom of Agamemnon the feelings of a father when he sacrificed Iphigineia at the bloody shrine of Diana. It was Destiny that guided the steel of Orestes to the breast of his guilty mother, and yet left him, in punishment of the parricidal act, to be haunted and maddened by the Furies. Even Clytemnestra palliates her guilt by the plea, that a relentless demon, the instigator of the crimes of the house of Atreus, had irresistibly acted on her will. The sacrifice of black cattle to Infernal Jupiter, to Night, and to the Furies, originated in these bewildering views, which supposed the existence of an undefinable, but supreme power, inimical to human happiness. Under the withering influence of such a system, F. ( 68 ) what moral virtues could fairly expand, what hope could cheer or animate afflicted humanity, or suffering virtue? Yet there are not wanting modern writers of eminent popularity, who, in contrasting the features of Grecian Paganism with Christianity, have painted the former as joyous, festive, and attractive, the latter as gloomy, melancholy and repulsive. What is called the gloom and severity of Christianity, is but the discipline necessary to restore a fallen creature to his original dignity and happiness. What is called the joyousness of Heathenism, is but a set of expedients to drown present reflection, and to strew with flowers the path of moral corruption, and ultimate misery. From these remarks, produced by the theological and moral strains of the chorus, we return to the more immediate tenor of our subject. The tragic contests principally took place at the great festival of Bacchus, in part of March and April. Athens was then crowded with strangers, ( 69 ) anxious to view these " dramatic Olympia," and with deputies from her dependancies, who came to pay into her treasury their annual tribute. When trilogies were acted, the contest must often have extended through successive days. A trilogy consisted of three tragedies, the subjects of which were not necessarily allied and continuous, though they often were. Occasionally a tetralogy was produced, by adding to the three tragedies a fourth piece, which was usually a satiric drama. The prize was not awarded to the victor by the suffrages of the assembled multitude, though their impressions naturally influenced the decision. It was committed, by the presiding archon, to the award of a select number of judges, who were bound by a solemn oath to observe the most rigid impartiality, though their virtue, it appears, was not so stern as to be always inaccessible to a bribe. The victor was crowned in the presence of the assembled multitude, and hailed by their enthusiastic plaudits. Glory was the real prize, for a ( 70 ) wreath of ivy was the only visible fruit of the triumph. Horace probably had a special eye to this fact in designating the Greeks " praeter laudem nullius avaris." The name not only of the victor was proclaimed, but those also of the one or two who approached the nearest to him in merit. It appears from the Symposium of Plato, in which Agatho, a tragic poet who had gained the prize, is introduced, that it was usual for the victor to offer sacrifice for his success in the presence of his friends, and his choral performers, at the earliest opportunity after the contest. The prize of the victorious chorus was a tripod, and it was usually dedicated by the choregus, or chorus-master, in a particular street or quarter adjoining the theatre, and thence denominated " Tripodes." To these tripods were attached the names of the presiding archon, of the poet who composed the piece, and of the choregus. Most of the choragic inscriptions at Athens arc of the ( 71 ) latter part of the fourth century. Many of the tripods were placed on temples dedicated to Bacchus; others on columns and rocks near the theatre, as their remains still testify.* These monuments are not only in themselves interesting, but fix beyond doubt the site of the Dionysian theatre. " Among them is the beautiful little temple of Lysicrates, in honour of the victory of his chorus, with a roof rising to a triangular apex, for the support of the prize tripod. It answers exactly to one of those temples mentioned by Pausanias as standing in the quarter of the tripods, between the Prytaneum and the sacred inclosure of Bacchus."t The number of festivals and processions at Athens requiring the services of a chorus, was such, that each tribe was obliged to provide a choregus, who was maintained, if the tribe was poor, at the expense of the state. The first duty of the choregus, after providing a set of singers and musicians, selected in general from his own tribe, was to ap * Leake's Athens, 1. 153. t Id. ( 72 ) point a teacher (Xoposco-cxa;os) to instruct them in their parts. Their diet was regulated with a view to strengthen the voice. He had also to furnish the sacred clothes adorned with gold, and all the other ornamental appendages of the performers. At festivals and pompous processions he appeared at their head, wearing a gilt crown and a splendid robe. From this account it will be evident that the office of choregus involved a considerable expense, and, although the standard was limited by law, it was often exceeded through vanity and the desire of distinction. In subsequent times, when tragedy was propagated from Athens into the courts of princes, the splendour of the tragic chorus was exceedingly magnificent, as at Alexandria and Rome, which led Horace to complain that the beauties of the poetry attracted far less attention than the gaudiness of the accompaniments. The choregi appointed by the tribes were allotted by the archon to the rival poets, which was called giving a chorus." ( 73 ) Contests between rival choruses were not confined to tragic representation, but occurred at various public festivals. A tripod appears to have been the customary prize; but in earlier times, when a goat was the prize of tragedy, the Cyclian choruses, according to Bentley, contended for a bull, and the harpers for a calf. The famous Simonides won fifty-six of these victories, as appears from an epitaph on his tomb, recorded by Tzetzes. "E t TrEvl 7r KOvraT,,TLtWVKiJr p l)(to vil't( Kcdt TplTwro'C. His great contemporaries, Themistocles and Aristides, disdained not to undertake in their turn the office of choregi. Aristides (says Plutarch) dedicated in the temple of Bacchus choraic tripods on * " Fifty-six victories and as many tripods, oh Simonides, thou didst obtain." The above facts are collected from Voyage d'Anacharsis, vol. ii. c. 12; Boeckh's Economy of Athens, vol. ii. 207; Bentley's Phalaris, 254. 289; and "T Theatre of the Greeks," p. 202. ( 74 ) account of his victory, which still exist with this inscription. " The tribe Antiochis gained* the victory, Aristides was choregus, Archestratus composed the piece." The same author states that Themistocles, when choregus at a tragic representation, won the prize, and put up a tablet in memory of his triumph, with this inscription. " Themistocles was choregus, Phrynichus wrote the piece, Adimantus was archon." Plutarch enumerates, among various other choregi, the illustrious name of Plato. The commonalty of Athens were admitted to the theatre, by a decree passed through the influence of Pericles, at the rate of two oboli per head, which sum the magistrates were directed to pay for every applicant unable to pay for himself. The public treasury of Athens, supplied in a great * 'Avrtoxic ivbKac 'ApLtarEic ~Xop'ly~t, 'ApXaorpTaro EticaaKE-Plut. in Ar s. He says of Themistocles, fvirqte ~ Kat Xop71'yY v eV 7payio7oc, &c.-Ktrt rtvaKa Tric vyLcj CtViOYrIE, TOLIavUrV ETrrypalCi/V EXOJCTU 0)7pltLTOfKrA) EXOPrCL —pVVLXoc icciCaaLKELt-ACEi/ulyTOc riPX)e' ( 75 ) measure by the contributions levied on her allies, was prodigally drawn upon for this purpose. Severe censures were occasionally flung out against the dishonesty of the practice by public orators, but the people were so tenacious of their privilege, that even the eloquence of Demosthenes, when directed against it, proved unavailing. A remarkable instance is recorded of the degree in which their imaginations were absorbed by the fictitious events of the drama. The dreadful intelligence of the complete destruction of the Athenian fleet and army under Nicias in Sicily, towards the close of the Peloponnesian war, reached the city when its numerous population was assembled in the theatre, entirely absorbed by the representation of a drama half tragic, half comic, by Hegemon. The messenger announced the fatal news. Scarcely a person there but had lost a son, or husband, a brother, or a friend. A moment's pause gave expression to a thrilling sensation of general grief. The next moment a signal was given to go on with the piece, and, wrapping ( 76 ) their heads in their mantles, they continued to survey, or listen to it, to the end.* TrIe latter days of LEschylus corresponded not in prosperity to those of his youth and manhood. It is certain that he incurred voluntary exile from Athens, though the exact cause is involved in obscurity. Probably a concurrence of disappointments had soured his lofty and ambitious spirit, and he had to encounter in the Athenian mob a people whose caprice was proverbial. On one occasion popular indignation was excited against him on a charge of' his having been * The passage in Atbenwus is so curious that learned readers will thank us for its insertion. zv U r Ftyavropa~iq o~rw c4-3p To 'AOipj~'at toc,jJ' EK&Y?) T ' j IJL Ep~ XL aVTOcyXi Kat ot CtyyrXOf'7(V v G7TOL EV' 7(5 Oear7ff 7T47 EVOPE'YOl' 7r,-pt -WXYCTx7XLwv, ovC- aic IrTTj -r ot CX'- V 7TCLOL TWY~ oLKEit(ol '7~oXwX6Trwv E~iXatoy ovy E7-/KXXv4~dpEvol, OVIC Avf'oT-yo-ar, cE, tva [iL) )/16'WV7C(L ciad~aVET!C 70tf a'7o' ri-o a"XXW;)' WOXE10 OEwpovoitV AXI0h'OE1 7f/ rUVIItpopq C'EJAEI~aY ipvt izat rot Kai CLVTOI 7o 'Hy, tI'oC, Jc frKovot;', atLwx(Lv CLy' 70T!-dib. ix. 407. ( 77 ) guilty of violating in a tragedy the sanctity of the Eleusinian mysteries. Clemens Alexandrinus,*who notices the charge, says that he escaped by proving to his judges that he was not initiated, and that his fault was therefore unintentional; but IElian,t who touches on the same topic in the fifth book of his history, asserts that he would have been capitally condemned, had not his brother, Ameinias, averted the fury of the judges and of the people, by stepping forwards, and appealing to their feelings in favour of ~Eschylus by displaying the stump of the arm which he had himself lost in the action of Salamis. This story is probably founded in fact; for the Greeks became furious when any indignity, either real or supposed, was offered to the objects of their superstitious worship. Thus Aristophanes introduces in his " Frogs" an imprecation of vengeance on one Cynesias, who had offered insult to the bust of Hecate. Thus also Thucydides paints * Strom. lib. ii. c. xiv. -i- ZFlian, lib. v. c. 19. ( 78 ) in vivid colours the popular fury excited against Alcibiades, when suspected of mutilating, or causing to be mutilated, the Hermae, fixed upon the side of the public ways in and about Athens; and similar instances of popular superstition might be multiplied from Grecian history. The retirement of IEschylus from Athens has also been ascribed to resentment at the preference bestowed upon a tragedy of his rival Sophocles, in the case of a contest, instituted on a memorable occasion. According to Plutarch,* Cimon, in obedience to an oracle, commanding the Athenians to bring back the bones of their ancient hero Theseus to Attica, had diligently sought, and successfully discovered these remains in the isle of Scyros, whence he transferred them with great pomp to their native seat. In celebration of this popular act, public games were instituted, and the tragic poets were invited to a contest. When it took place the prize was awarded in a more solemn P' t Plit. inl Cimone. ( 79 ) manner than usual; for, at the request of the presiding archon, the judges were named by Cimon and his officers, who graced the occasion with their presence. The prize, after much deliberation, was assigned to Sophocles, which JEschylus was so little able to brook, that he quitted his country for Sicily, where he was hospitably received by Hiero of Syracuse, a prince of literary tastes and great munificence, and whose name has been immortalized by the muse of Pindar. The fame of Eschylus had already been established on so firm a basis, and the generosity of his disposition is so imprinted on his poetry, that it would scarcely be just, to credit on evidence no better than that of a writer so late as Plutarch, a story thus derogatory to the moral qualities of his mind. Whatever concurrence of circumstances made him leave Athens, it is certain that he never returned thither, and that he settled in Sicily. Literature and the arts were cultivated at this period with distinguished success in that island. The court of Hiero was the resort of men of ( 8 ) genius from various parts of Greece, among whom the names of Xenocles in philosophy, and of Simonides and Bacchilides in poetry, are particularly recorded. Pindar also was a cherished visitant at the court of Hiero, and the expatriated poet, in case they met there, must have found in him not only a kindred genius, but one who, from his intimate acquaintance with Athens, was peculiarly qualified to enter into his feelings. How long he survived his self-banishment is not certain. Sicily, notwithstanding its local and literary attractions, must have appeared insipid, compared with Athens, to so ambitious and ardent a spirit; and a constant though involuntary recurrence to the scenes and circumstances of his early friendships and triumphs, and to the rupture of the ties which linked him with them, diffused probably a pensive, if not a sombre tinge over his latter days. But if, as Plutarch asserts, his feelings were wounded, his language and reasoning were philosophical. Athenmus quotes with great encomium ( s8 ) his having said, in allusion to the preference shown to his rival, " that he dedicated his own tragedies to Time."* He also ascribes to him the following saying, very modest as to his own productions, and full of reverence for the Mneonian bard, " that his pieces were but scraps from the magnificent banquets of Homer."t This acknowledgment, though couched in terms which none but himself would have applied to his own splendid poetry, was fundamentally just; for there is no doubt that he had studied Homer deeply, that he had regarded him as his model, and that the orientalisms which, as Fabricius has remarked, more frequently occur in him than in any other Attic writer, were a result of this preference. That he composed tragedies in his retirement is certain, for Athenaeus accuses him of having fallen into Sicilianisms in some of them; and one is par* Athenaeus, viii. 8. - Ibid. G ( 82 ) ticularly recorded as having been composed out of compliment to Hiero, shortly after he arrived at his court. The cause to which his death is ascribed, though mentioned by various authors, and made the subject of ancient gems, wears a fabulous aspect. An eagle, it is pretended, as it hovered over a rocky spot where he was seated, wrapt in meditation, let fall from its talons a tortoise, which, lighting directly upon his bald head, fractured the skull. It is added, with ludicrous gravity, that the eagle mistook the crown of his head for a piece of rock, and intended to break upon it the shell of the tortoise. His death is assigned to the eighty-first Olympiad, when he was in his sixty-ninth year. His remains were honoured by Hiero with a distinguished funeral, which was signalized by tragic contests. Resplendent as was the poetic fame of IEschylus, he valued himself still more on the glory he had acquired at Marathon, and there / Nl ( 83 ) fore ordered the following Epitaph to be inscribed upon his tomb.* AitaXvXou Eiq)op(iwtoc A0rqvclov rTOE KEEOet.Mrl/iu(L KaraOt00/'ipov 7rvpoJopolo FrXca' AXk'lj c'EVOK'tior MacpaOy'itolv Xaoc aiJ' EirtOt, Kai /)aOOvXCai(T)jtc Aicoc Et&rTLrT(cifoc. THIS TOMB COVERS TIIE REMAINS OF AESCHYLUS THE ATHENIAN, THE SON OF EUPHORION, WHO DIED AT GELAS, FERTILE IN CORN. TIE GLADES OF MARATHON WOULD ATTEST HIS DISTINGUISHED VALOUR, AND TIE LONG-HAIRED MEDE WHO PROVED IT. * There is scarcely an Athenian oration in Thucydides, but refers to Marathon, either directly or by implication; and in much later times the well known apostrophe of Demosthenes to the heroes who had perished there, proves that the Orator well knew he was touching a chord in the bosoms of his countrymen, the sympathetic vibration of which was certain. Even modern patriotism thrills at the mention of Marathon. Johnson's fine passage need not be quoted, because it is stored in the memory of every cultivated Englishman. In this point of view, Pericles spoke with the force of prediction when he said, in the course of his noble funeral oration, " the whole earth is the sepul ( 84 ) The distinction acquired by Eschylus in the sphere of the drama, naturally fired the ambition of men of genius to enter on the same career. Allusion has already been made to Sophocles as a successful rival of iEschylus. He was just rising into notice when the fame of the former approached its maturity. The first mention of him is coupled with the fact, that he was selected, fiom his personal accomplishments, to form one of a chorus of distinguished youths, who sung a paean round the public trophy which was erected in Athens in honour of the battle of Marathon.* IEschylus was one of the most distinguished of the heroes who were then hailed by the grateful plaudits of their countrymen. If his eye lighted chre of illustrious men, nor is the epitaph, engraven on tomb-stones, in their native land, the sole guardian of their fame, but the memory of their actions in other countries, forms a more faithful record in the heart, than any that human hands can fabricate."- Vidc Thucyd. lib. ii. 43. * Vita Soph. Ed. Brunck. ( 85 ) on the graceful youth, how little did he think that he beheld in him the most formidable rival of his fame. Inferior to iEschylus in those qualities of genius which tend to the sublime and the terrible, and seldom rivalling his coruscations of lyrical splendour, Sophocles excelled him in the judicious selection of his incidents, in a more correct delineation of the workings of the passions, in the skilful development of his plots, and in producing, by a train of circumstances apparently natural in their connection, the most startling coincidences. He also restricted within more judicious limits the choral interludes, which, in the dramas of lEschylus, often ran into prolixity. Aristotle refers to great improvements introduced by him in scenical decoration and invention. His style was dignified, and, at the same time, so mellifluous, that it procured for him the appellation of the Attic Bee. He was extremely popular with his contemporaries, to whom he was endeared by the fine qualities of his heart, as well as by his distin ( S6 ) guished acquirements. His life was prolonged to the great age of ninety-one, and when, after attaining eighty years, he had to defend himself against a charge of mental imbecility, he put his accusers to the blush by publicly reading his CEdipus Colonceus, one of the most perfect of his tragedies, and then recently composed. His judges, at the close of this remarkable defence, dissolved the assembly, and conducted him home in triumph. About the time that _Eschylus quitted Athens, appeared Euripides, the last in order of time of the illustrious trio of the Greek tragedians. He enjoyed every advantage of education afforded by that accomplished age. In philosophy, Anaxagoras was his instructor, and in eloquence, Prodicus, the most celebrated sophist of the day. According to Aulus Gellius he entered on the tragic contest at the early age of eighteen, but the higher authority of the Arundel marble fixes it at the eighty-first Olympiad, when he was in his twenty-fifth year. During a period of forty-six years lie proved a ( 87 ) powerful rival to Sophocles, and soared far above the competition of other contemporary poets, though the unjust caprice or venality of the judges occasionally bestowed the prize on rivals far his inferiors. To the improvements already engrafted by Sophocles on the tragic art, it was his ambition to add by higher degrees of dramatic effect, or scenical illusion, by all the artifices of polished diction, and by a greater variety in the music, and the lyrical measures of his choruses. In the loftier qualities of the tragic muse he was unequal to either of his predecessors-to IEschylus, in the strong delineation of individual character, in masculine vigour of style, in fervour and sublimity of imagination-to Sophocles, in the texture of his plots, in majesty of sentiment, and of language; and to both in the able adaptation of his choral odes to the peculiarities of his subjects; but he was eminently successful in depicturing scenes or emotions of tenderness and feeling, in the easy and natural conduct of his dialogue, in an oratorical flow of style, and in a felicitous admixture of ( 88 ) moral reflections with the course of his subjects. These he brought into his tragedies from the school of Socrates, and the philosopher, it is said, took pleasure in witnessing their representation. His dramas frequently exhibit strange contrasts of exquisite beauties, and revolting absurdities. After deeply touching the heart by the devotion, the delicacy, and the tenderness of conjugal affection in his Alceste, for instance, he disgusts the taste of his readers towards the conclusion of the piece, by the low buffoonery with which he has invested the character of Hercules. Often he is betrayed by his oratorical powers into a redundancy unsuited to the language of passion, which is broken, short, and exclamatory. On some occasions he approaches the elevation of IEschylus. The scene which paints the feelings of Orestes (in the tragedy bearing his name,) when haunted and pursued by the furies, is one of the finest pieces of sublime poetic painting in any language. He has been severely censured for violating the ( 89 ) original dignity of tragedy, by seductive effeminacy of language and sentiment, by the occasional introduction of amatory descriptions deficient in delicacy, by painting in some of his dramas the progress of incestuous attachments, and by the unrestrained use both of musical and metrical arts, excitive of sensual passions. After a long career of active, and often successful competition, he incurred, like JEschylus, voluntary exile, and ended his days at the court of Archelaus, king of Macedon, from whom he experienced the kindest and most distinguished reception. Domestic infelicity, and disappointed ambition, are conjectured to have concurred in leading him to renounce Athens. His death is ascribed to a cruel cause, laceration by ferocious hounds, which are said to have seized upon the unfortunate poet, as he rambled through the recesses of a solitary wood. The renown of this poet pervaded Greece in an extraordinary degree, and a remarkable instance ( 90 ) of it is mentioned by Plutarch* as having occurred after the total defeat and capture of the Athenian army in Sicily, under Nicias, when every soldier who could repeat a line of Euripides was excepted from the cruel fate which befel his comrades in arms. The respective merits of these three great tragegedians was a favourite subject of discussion at Athens. With the lower classes, Euripides seems to have been the favourite. The simplicity of his dialogue, and the triteness of his moral aphorisms, brought him within the level of their capacity. But with men of cultivated taste, the lofty inspiration of _Eschylus, and the chastened grandeur of Sophocles, secured them the preference. Peculiar reverence was also felt towards the former as the acknowledged father of tragedy, and a signal instance of it was given after his death by a law forbidding the repetition of any pieces in the theatre, * Plutarch in Nycia. ( 91 ) excepting those of ]Eschylus. In process of time the same honour was paid to his two rivals. A very witty and animated debate on the respective merits of JEschylus and Euripides is preserved in the latter part of the " Frogs" of Aristophanes.+ The scene is laid in the Pagan world of spirits, by one of the customs of which, it is feigned, that men, illustrious in any art or profession, occupy there a rank and station, conformable to their genius and acquirements in the world above. The question in debate is, which of the two above named bards has the best claim to the seat * Since the first pages of this Dissertation were committed to the press, the Quarterly Review, for February, was published, in one of the Articles of which, on the Greek Dramatic Poets, this self-same scene from the " Frogs" is ably described; and illustrated by a spirited translation of some of its most remarkable passages. It is flattering to the author to find himself on various points in accordance with the learned writer of that article. ( 92 ) of honour, or president's chair, in the Prytaneum* of the shades. Till the arrival of Euripides, 2Eschylus had held it in undisputed supremacy, but it is now confidently claimed by the former; the discussion becomes warm, and in order to put a stop to the growing confusion, Pluto orders that the question shall be gravely debated in his presence. Sophocles upon this, gives notice that should the prescriptive claims of JEschylus be no longer allowed, he himself will contend for the post of honour, for though he reverently yields it to the father of tragedy, he entirely disallows the pretensions of Euripides. Much of humorous and mock preparation for the encounter takes place, after which the chorus breaks forth thus:T The Prytaneum was a large public hall at Athens, in which (among other uses to which it was applied) it was customary to honor any citizen who had rendered signal services to the state with a public entertainment. ( 93 ) hlow will the bard of furious soul, Swell with indignant rage, His glaring eyes in phrenzy roll To see his wily foe preparing to engage! Grand shall now the contest be Of glittering phraseology: While one shall every strained conceit refine, Paring each thought, and polishing each line, The other, scorning art's dull track to try, Shall pour his genuine thoughts in loftiest poesy. His bristly neck aloft he'll rear, And shake his shaggy mane, A low'ring frown his brow shall wear, Fierce emblem of disdain. While he in furious mood along, Shall roll his complicated song, &c. &c. i- s, -b O With powers of pliability, And tuneful tongue the other fraught, Studious of smoothest harmony, Shall twist and torture ev'ry thought, While with superior subtilty, In many a nicely laboured phrase, Champing the bit of envy, he Retorts upon his rival's sounding lays.* * Dunster's Translation of the Frogs. ( 94 ) Then follows a scene in which Euripides taunts his rival with his lofty and turgid phraseology, his swelling conceptions, and his imaginary monsters. IEschylus retorts upon him as dealing in notorious plagiarisms, artificial conceits, and demoralizing subjects. Several successive scenes occur, in which each criticises with much wit and irony the subjects, characters, and diction of the other, and parodies with great felicity some of the prologues and choruses in the most celebrated tragedies of his rival. The comedian is evidently, throughout, the partisar of IEschylus, and therefore gives him the advantage in this war of words. As Euripides was a friend of Socrates, to whose party Aristophanes was most inimical, he never appears disposed to do him common justice, but frequently introduces his name in his dramas, in a tone of ridicule or sarcasm. No translation can do justice to the lucid beauty of style, and the pointed wit of the original in the scenes alluded to, but the scholar, ( 95 ) who studies them with a competent knowledge of the tragedies of the contending poets, will be greatly amused and interested. One of the accusations urged by JEschylus deserves to be adverted to, on account of its moral force and dignity. He charges Euripides with having degraded tragedy from the elevated sphere in which he had fixed it, "High actions and high passions best describing;" and of rendering it the vehicle of exciting amatory and licentious feelings. Euripides defends himself by the trite remark, that he had only painted such stories as he found them; upon which ZEschylus asserts, in lofty strains, that instruction is the proper end and aim of poetry, and that it behoves a poet rather to hide tales of infamy, than to corrupt the public ear with their pernicious details. The moment of decision at length arrives. Bacchus, who is present, and who, as the god of tragedy, is appealed to as judge between the poets, ( 96 ) passes sentence in favour of iEschylus, and commissions him to repair again to the upper world, to vindicate the original dignity of the tragic muse. The poet prepares to obey, and desires that in his absence the seat of honour may be occupied by Sophocles. What is called the old comedy, discharged in those days at Athens some of the functions which the public press now assumes in England. It dealt in bold and biting satire upon public men and measures; it zealously embraced the interests of one or other of the rival factions which divided public opinion, and it panegyrised, or censured with the utmost freedom, poets and philosophers, magistrates and senators, military or naval officers, according to the opinions or prejudices of the writer. Thus far, it may easily be conceived, that, in a country where no reviews or newspapers existed to give vent to public opinion, comedy might often exercise a useful and wholesome influence on passing events. __ 1_____1_ ___ __ Li ( 97 ) But it went still further in point of license, for not only were prominent individuals thus attacked, but they were brought upon the stage by their names, without any ceremony; and even their features, dress, and gait, were so mimicked by masks, and other scenical devices, that none could possibly mistake them. The tyranny thus exercised became at length so generally odious, that a law was passed making it highly penal to introduce any person by name into such pieces; but what could no longer be effected by direct means was brought about by allusions and approximation. A new era of comedy thus arose, in which imaginary characters, often intended as representatives of real ones, were introduced, and on such occasions the ingenuity of authors in framing was responded to by that of the public in tracing out the intended resemblances. Hence it follows that comedy casts a very distinct light upon the state of manners, parties, and politics at Athens in the most interesting period of her history. Aristophanes, the writer from whose pages this light is principally reflected, was an ex ( 98 ) traordinary compound of qualities the most opposite, and of talents the most diversified. Of some of his dramas such is the acknowledged licentiousness, that it can argue no false delicacy in the author to avow his ignorance of their details. Lewd ribaldry ceases not to be polluting and detestable from wearing the livery of a learned language. Even in the most unexceptionable, many passages of great coarseness and low buffoonery occur. The dignified style and the moral tone of tragedy among the Greeks, were the very antipodes to the license of their comedy, which, regarded as a comment on Athenian manners, indicates their extreme corruption. But whilst reprobating with a just indignation the coarse language, and the revolting indecency of the ancient comedians, do we sufficiently remember that the thin veil under which the licentious allusions of the modern stage are affected to be concealed, is only another, and a more insidious mode of communicating moral pollution, and that the insinuations of vice are often the most fraught with danger, when the most studiously divested of heathen grossness? _ __ __ _ __ __ ( 99 ) It ought, however, to be added, that this grossness was partly caused by the want of female influence on manners in Greece. Custom condemned the ladies to a species of Oriental seclusion, and society was thus not only deprived of its greatest charm, but also of that salutary restraint, which a due regard to their feelings imposes upon language in modern company. But the qualities which entitle Aristophanes to attention, in spite of these dark blemishes, belong only to genius the most brilliant, and to an intellect the most superior. He is not merely a poet of the most diversified powers, but a statesman, a satirist, and a critic of great acuteness and penetration. To students of history, or of man, his political and satirical dramas cannot fail to prove highly interesting, from their minute and expressive portraiture of the manners and habits of the Athenians of all orders; whiles the politician may trace in them the fatal consequences, both to social order and to rational liberty, from the struggles of factions and parties, in a government purely democratic. Hence it was 2.:-J. * ( 100 ) that Plato, in reply to various inquiries of Dionysius of Syracuse relative to the constitution and manners of the Athenians, sent him the works of Aristophanes; and to the same redeeming qualities must be ascribed the predilection for his writings, said to have been entertained by St. Chrysostom. Though corrupted by familiar acquaintance with vice and profligacy, and hurried down the tide of dissoluteness by conformity to general custom, he recurred in imagination with keen regret to the examples of a purer age, and appealed, in this spirit, to the honor and patriotism which rendered Athens illustrious in the age of Conon and Miltiades.- The poetry of elevated sentiment, of graceful ease, of elegant playfulness, and of brilliant fancy, mingles in his pages with that of wild buffoonery and cruel personality. From low ribaldry his dialogue often emerges into a style polished and graceful, elegant and simple, seasoned with Attic salt, enlivened by wit and pleasantry. Occasionally he even soars in his choruses into the sublime of sentiment and de+., e ( 101 ) scription, or gives the rein to his sportive and luxuriant imagination in depicturing scenes of ancient mythology, or fiction, with a richness and glow of colouring somewhat akin to the playful and charming effusions to be found in Milton's Comus. The boldness and variety of his allegories, and his ingenious personifications of abstract qualities, are curious features in his poetry, and form the vehicle of some of his most biting satire. So close is the connection of many of his dramas with the state of parties and manners at Athens, in the age of Pericles, that a brief analysis of two among them, which more peculiarly reflect light on these topics, will be rather in the nature of an episode, than a digression. The " Knights" and the " Clouds" are the two selected for this purpose. The first is a political satire upon the evils of democracy, the last is a playful criticism on the fashionable system of education and philosophy at Athens. It must be borne in mind that the Athenian ( 102 ) constitution, as organized by Solon, was a democracy, in which the sovereign power was vested in a popular assembly, where every freeman had an equal right to speak and vote. To guard against the excesses of popular license under such a form of government, he formed an aristocracy, based on property, to whom all civil offices were restricted, and who exercised great controlling powers in the administration of affairs, as members of two councils, the one the court of Areopagus, the other a senate, subsequently termed " The Five Hundred." These mixed principles of government were in many respects unskilfully blended, and, as a natural consequence, fierce struggles for preeminence often occurred between the popular and the aristocratic factions. The qualification of property for office, established by Solon, was abolished by Aristides, soon after the close of the Persian war, and the honors of the state indiscriminately opened to the ambition of citizens of every degree. Thenceforwards the populace assumed a more active part in the business of the ( 103 ) general assembly, and the government became increasingly democratic. The privileges of the aristocracy were still further abridged by Pericles, who courted popular favour as a stepping stone to the supremacy at which his ambition aspired. Though the democratic faction was, in general, kept at bay by the influence of his commanding talents and sage policy, popular license not unfrequently vented itself, through the comic poets, in coarse jokes upon his person and manners, and in bitter invectives on his public measures. After his death, that faction gained an entire ascendancy. The workshop and the manufacture were deserted for the general assembly; property and rank lost their due control, and political influence was only to be obtained by pandering to the passions, or flattering the vices of the populace. The deference which had formerly been paid to a Miltiades, and a Cimon, men equally illustrious for rank and talent, was usurped by factious demagogues, of coarse but ready eloquence, of levelling but selfish principles. From Lysicles and Eucrates, the one ( 104 ) a seller of tow, the other a dealer in cattle, the democratic sceptre at length descended to Cleon, * a tanner, who, for several years, was the popular idol. Of extraordinary impudence, but little courage, fluent in the assembly, but irresolute in the field, boastful of his integrity, yet skilled in all the arts of peculation, a vehement asserter of popular rights, and a fierce calumniator of men of rank and property, in profession a patriot, but practically the slave of selfishness, he became, by force of caballing and intrigue, the head of a formidable party, and hur* Some of the leading features in the description of Cleon are from Mitford's Greece. For his reference to the above-named demagogues the author is indebted to Mr. Mitchell, the learned translator of some of the comedies of Aristophanes, and he gladly avails himself of this opportunity of acknowledging that the Preliminary Discourse to that work has much aided his researches on various particulars connected with the dramatic literature of Athens. Its portraiture of the philosophical coteries of that capital, and of the state of manners and parties, is fraught with elegant and profound learning, and with the touches of a vigorous and expressive pencil. ( 105 ) ried Athens, by his infatuated councils, into measures which reduced her to anarchy, and proved the precursors of her political degradation. To attack such a man with effect in the meridian of his power required no small degree of skill and courage. The task was undertaken by Aristophanes, and successfully accomplished in a drama entitled the " Knights," or, as Wieland calls it, the Demagogues, the object of which is to expose the profligacy and baseness of Cleon, and to incite the Athenians to assert their independence. The sovereign people itself is personified by the appellation of Demus (i. e. people), in the character of an irascible and capricious old man, vicious and credulous, the dupe of charlatans, and governed at the present moment by this very Cleon, who is introduced as one of his domestics. Nicias and Demosthenes,* the leaders of * It is scarcely needful to state that the Demosthenes alluded to, was not the orator of that name, but a general of considerable reputation. ( 106 ) the aristocratic party, are also introduced as slaves of Demus, and impatient of their sufferings under the caprices of Cleon. An oracle informs them that their oppressor is to be put down by a sausagevender, and happening soon after to meet with one, they intreat him to undertake their cause, assuring him that he is the destined head of the Athenian republic, and all its dependencies; that he shall trample under foot the senate, cashier generals, and revel in luxury, undisputed Lord of the Prytaneum. The astonished sausage-seller at first declines the dangerous pre-eminence, and honestly avows his utter ignorance and incapacity; but is at last persuaded that to act the statesman is a much easier task than he had been led to imagine. The scene in which this discussion occurs is so amusing, and in a style of such biting sarcasm upon the levelling tendencies of democracy, that we will attempt a translation of some parts of it. Speakers-SAUSAGE-vENDER and DEMOSTHENES.* S. V.-I should like to know how it is possible for me, a mere sausage-vender, to become a great man. * Aristoph. Equites, 180, &c. ed. Brunck. ( 107 ) D.-Why, you possess the very qualities that fit you for it; you are unprincipled, you are of the canaille, and a desperado. S. V.-I really deem myself unworthy to fill a place of such power. D.-Pooh, pooh! why proze about worthiness? - You appear to me conscious of being something superior. Surely your parents were honourable and upright. S. V.-On the contrary, they were infamous. D.-Well then, you may bless your stars-that every qualification for a statesman centers in you. S. V.-But my good friend, I know nothing of learning beyond my letters, and even these very imperfectly.* D.-So much the better. Learning is needless for a demagogue, and good principles an incumbrance. 'Tis better to be ignorant and brutish; therefore dont reject that which the gods have decreed to you by oracles. S. V —The oracles call me! I am astonished it should be thought possible for me to govern the country. D.-Nothing is more easy; go on exactly as you T The Greek literally says, " I know nothing of music beyond my letters;" but music is here put for education in general, which at Athens began with musical science, accompanied by grammar. ( 108 ) do now; embroil state affairs just as you chop up meat for your sausages, win over the mob at all hazards, cajole them by high-seasoned words; nature seems to have destined you for a demagogue. You have a deafening voice, you are a scoundrel-born; you have all the slang of the forum. In short you are a ready furnished politician. The oracles, even that of Apollo, fix their mark upon you. Assert then the garlandpour out a libation to folly-and have at your adversary.* Presently Cleon appears, and terror seizes the sausage-seller, but reassured by the knights (an order of men between the high aristocracy and the people who form the chorus to the piece) he proves, * When democracy was at its height in Athens, the ordinary state of society very much resembled that of a town in England on the eve of a fiercely-contested election. The first impression, observes Mr. Mitchell, of a reader of the " Knights," would naturally be that a state so circumstanced could not exist a single week; but the earlier events of the French revolution prove that the poet may have been within the limits of truth, caustic as he is; for " the Demus of Aristophanes then became a real person," and the parts of Cleon, &c. were played with an easiness and suppleness that fully justify the portraits of the comic writer. Try democracy in your own house only for a week, said Lycurgus to one who censured the Spartan constitution, and then judge for yourself how far it is suited to the purposes of good government. ( 109 ) in a fierce war of words, an overmatch for him both in the senate and in the assembly of the people. The dialogue between them is a tissue of wild wit, fierce invective, and coarse buffoonery. At length the sovereign people is disabused. Cleon is turned out of office. Demus is delivered from thraldom, and reassuming the habits, sentiments and manners of ancient times, towers in the dignity of pristine virtue. The piece concludes with a splendid apostrophe to what Athens was when she won the laurels of Marathon, and reverenced the institutions of her ancestors. Much of Attic salt, and many brilliant passages, occur in the " Knights," particularly one in which the poet describes the fates and fortunes of his predecessors in the comic art. As respects the wit of Aristophanes, it may in general be remarked, that more than half of it must be lost to the moderns from their ignorance of the sources of innumerable allusions, on which the edge of his irony, or the flashes of his fancy depended. Cleon was so great an idol of the populace that ( 110 ) when the drama was brought upon the stage, no artist dared to form a mask of his features, nor any actor to personate him, upon which the poet himself, disguising his face with wine lees, as in the ancient days of tragedy, performed the part with a courage equal to the spirit of the satire. The consequences were curious. General attention being thus directed to the public conduct of Cleon, he was fined for peculation; but such was his empire over the mob that he quickly became their darling again, and rode buoyant on the waves of popularity. The next drama, of which we shall offer a brief analysis, is "the Clouds," on which the heavy charge long rested of having caused the cruel fate of Socrates, by directing against him, as an atheist, and a demoralizer of the youth of Athens, popular odium. But the charge, as respects any formal or direct influence of this description, has been rebutted by evidence demonstrating that its representation took place twenty-three years* before the * Vide Brunckii, Not. at Aristoph. Nubes. ( ll ) philosopher's trial and condemnation. The supposed coincidence of these events was probably a consequence of the grave reply to the witty sarcasms of the comedian, which Plato in his " Apology" puts into the mouth of Socrates, but the proper inference is, that the wit of the " Clouds" was so fresh in the recollection of the Athenian public, even after a lapse of many years, as to merit the passing notice of the philosopher. -Elian, the most credulous and careless of historians, furnished the groundwork of the story in question. The " Clouds" is a higher class of drama than the " Knights," both in the general art of its construction, and in the disposition of its parts. It attacks, in the person of Socrates, the doctrines of the sophists, who were at this time the fashionable instructors of the Athenian youth. The incidents are amusing. Strepsiades, a rich gentleman farmer of Attica, is brought into great pecuniary difficulties by the extravagance of a high-born wife, and the prodigality of a son who cares for nothing but horse and chariot-racing. Dunned ( 112 ) and harassed, he bethinks himself at last of applying to Socrates to be instructed in the art of circumventing his creditors, as well as to be initiated in the mysteries of a philosophy in which he gives him credit for being an adept, which can prove evil good, and good evil. He finds the philosopher too much absorbed in hypermundane speculations to listen to his queries, and all le can extract from him is an offer to summon the Clouds, the only deities whom he professes to revere, and by which the poet intends to personify the abstractions of a visionary mind, to unfold to the applicant the resources of wisdom. The invocation addressed to them, and the description of their descent, are happy examples of burlesque sublimity, and glow with the brilliant tints of the richest poetic colouring. The ensuing dialogue is very amusing. The head of Strepsiades is full of his debts and difficulties, that of Socrates of airy abstractions, and logical subtleties. They interrupt, contradict, and misunderstand each other continually, till both ( 113 ) parties became highly impatient. Brunck, on the authority of Fontenelle, notices the similarity between this scene and some of those in Moliere's Bourgeois Gentilhomme, " Le dessein de cette piece, (says Fontenelle,) est fort plaisant. Strepsiade est le vrai Bourgeois Gentilhomme, par la difficulte qu'il a d'apprendre; par ses meprises continuelles, et par la naivete avec laquelle il rend ce qu'il a appris. I1 resemble fort aussi a George Dandin, quand il se plaint d'avoir epouse une femme de la ville, lui qui etoit un homme de la campagne." It has already been observed that the intellectual ferment which prevailed at Athens soon after the termination of the Persian war, more or less pervaded all Greece. The most celebrated of the sophists were natives of the neighbouring states or islands, and came to Athens either in the quality of Ambassadors, or to give lectures on rhetoric and philosophy, for attendance on which very high fees were exacted. Masters of a subtle and bewildering logic, they professed to argue with equal facility on either side of a question, while they charmed ( 114 ) the ear by the antithetical brilliancy of a meretricious eloquence. When they appeared in public they were encircled by admiring followers, and were petted and courted in the convivial circles of Athens with the most flattering marks of distinction. Of one of the most celebrated among them, Hippias of Elis, it is said that he courted applause by appearing at the Olympic games, and astonishing the spectators not only by an imposing display of his skill in argumentation, his literary acquirements, and wonderful memory, but by the splendour of his robe, and by all the little arts of personal vanity and pretension. Of Prodicus of Ceos, Plato often makes mention, and so great was his celebrity that, wiser than Prodicus, had grown at Athens into a proverbial expression. To the pernicious influence of the doctrines and tastes inculcated by this school, Aristophanes ascribes the growth of a general disregard among the higher classes for the institutions of their ancestors, and the prevalence of an ostentatious personal vanity, and a disgraceful effeminacy of ( 115 ) habits and manners. The dialogue of the Clouds, at its outset, is of the burlesque description, but with the further progress of the drama a grave discussion occurs between the personified spirits of the ancient and the modern system, under the titles of ixaicos and &asxos, in other words, the " Just" and the " Unjust." With the exception of some coarse expressions, the part of the " Just" is sustained throughout this dialogue with a moral force and dignity, and a poetical beauty, which place it among the finest passages of didactic composition in the whole circle of classical poetry, though with a strange perversity, the poet, after giving the victory to him in argument, makes him avow that he is confuted.* The force of the original is considerably diluted by the verbosity of Mr. Cumberland's translation, * There is some reason to conjecture that the contradiction is to be ascribed to the carelessness of transcribers, as no less than three out of four of the manuscripts quoted by Brunck, assign this confession of defeat to Strepsiades, not to the "( Just." i 2 ( 116 ) but the following extracts will at least give an idea of the spirit of some parts of the passage. The " Just" praises in eloquent terms the education of ancient times, founded in modesty, temperance and justice, and connected with manly and martial exercises and habits, tending to invigorate both mind and body. To which the " Unjust" replies, Why these are maxims obsolete and stale; Worm-eaten rules, coeval with the hymns Of old Ceceydas and Buphonian feastsJust.-Yet so were train'd the heroes that embru'd The field of Marathon with hostile blood; * * * s* * Therefore be wise, young man, and turn to me, Turn to the better guide, so shall you learn To scorn the noisy forum, shun the bath,t The scene impure detest, the taunter spurn, And yield precedence due to hoary age; t The warm bath is meant, as explained in the verse 1040 of the original. KaLLTOL riva yYvWpJrIyv Ov, ^yeyiVQ 7rt Oep/pa X8rpa; In this passage I have taken the liberty of substituting for seven lines in Mr. Cumberland's translation, four, which appear to me to express more perfectly the sense of the original. ( 117 ) Nor wound a parent's heart, nor stoop to ought Which purity, and virtuous shame condemn. * * X* *e Unj.-Aye, my brave youth, do follow these fine rules, And learn by them to be as mere a swine, Driveller and dolt as any of the sons Of our Hippocrates. Just.-Not so, but fair and fresh in youthful bloom Among our young athletics you shall shine; Not in the forum, loit'ring time away In gossip prattle, like our gang of idlers, Nor yet in some vexatious paltry suit, Wrangling and quibbling in our petty courts; But in the solemn academic grove, Crown'd with the modest reed, fit converse hold With your collegiate equals; there serene, Calm as the scene around you, underneath The fragrant foliage, which the ilex spreads, Where the deciduous poplar strews her leaves, Where the tall elm-tree, and wide-stretching-plane, Sigh to the fanning breeze, you shall inhale Sweet odours wafted on the breath of spring. This is the regimen that will insure A healthful body and a vigorous mind, A countenance serene, expanded chest, Heroic stature, and a temperate tongue. But take these modern masters, and behold ( 118 ) These blessings all reversed: a pallid cheek, Shrunk shoulders, chest contracted, sapless limbs, A tongue that never rests, and mind debas'd By their vile sophistries, perversely taught To call good evil, evil good, and be A mere Antimachus-the sink of vice. Chorus.-Oh sage instructor, how sublime These maxims of the former time! How sweet this unpolluted stream Of eloquence, how pure the theme! &c. &c. Now this and much more in a similar strain, which might be quoted, would have well befitted the lips of Socrates, and is in the spirit of the advice which Plato in his " Apology" makes him say he often gave to the young men of Athens; so that Aristophanes in classing him with the sophists, and ascribing to his philosophy a demoralizing influence, either wilfully sacrificed truth to malevolence, or, which is far more probable, very imperfectly understood his real opinions. So much indeed did the rancour of party virulence envenom the satirical shafts of the comic poets, that it would often be impossible, in the absence of other lights, to distinguish between ( 119 ) truth and falsehood; but here, contemporary writers prove of signal service. -A Plato and a Xenophon, for instance, have secured to Socrates the homage of posterity, in spite of the cruel invectives of Aristophanes; while Cleon is scarcely less condemned by his coarse satire, than by the dignified and calm invective of the impartial and philosophic Thucydides. Aided by these various sources of evidence, we are introduced into an intimate and minute acquaintance with the moral and social condition of the most extraordinary people, whether they are regarded in their literary or political relations, which the world has ever beheld. The peep thus obtained into the every-day life and habits of the Athenians, tends to dissolve the delusive spell with which the magic of their genius and taste might otherwise dazzle the imagination and pervert the judgment. We behold by way of contrast to the dignified orator, the brilliant poet, the almost creative artist, a busy multitude jostling and contending with each other on the arena of avarice, ambition, ( 120 ) or pleasure, in all the littleness of selfish and sordid views, in all the frenzy or the craft of political contention, and in all the unrestrained grossness of sensual depravity. While we trace in their history the potent influence of free institutions in exciting the energies of the mind, and in nourishing ennobling sentiments of national and individual freedom, we are no less impressively taught that the excesses of liberty tend to a tyranny even more galling than despotism itself. The general inferences to be drawn from this contemplation are not flattering to the hopes of those who fondly dream that moral excellence and social order are the necessary handmaids of augmenting knowledge and refinement. If advancing science, if the culture of taste and genius, if the possession of the purest standards of both in the works of those immortal writers and artists who will draw back to Greece to the latest periods of time the admiring and accumulated homage of posterity, if all this could secure to a nation ( 121 ) the prevalence of moral excellence, or produce human perfectibility, Athens would have been the very sanctuary of virtue. But, however much these advantages may tend to polish and adorn our species, to heighten the charms of social intercourse, or to minister to the delights of lettered solitude, they may co-exist (and the state of Athenian society at this particular period is a signal proof of it) with deep moral depravity, and with unbridled dissoluteness of manners. Their beneficial influence affects the surface of society only, they cannot renovate or purify the heart. This is the province of the divine philosophy of Christianity alone, which, coming from God, is pregnant with power to enable its sincere votaries not only to believe what he promises, but also to obey what he commands.* * The learned historian of Greece thus forcibly comments on the atrocious inhumanity of the polished Athenians about this period, in exterminating, on the capture of the isle of Melos, its peaceful and unoffending inhabitants. "This act, which would have been horrible even if perpetrated by a tribe of savages, took ( 122 ) Out of more than seventy tragedies composed by iEschylus only seven are extant, but among these are three of the most celebrated-the Prometheus, the Seven Chiefs before Thebes, and the Agamemnon. Of the remaining four, the Coephora and the place in the peculiar country of philosophy and the fine arts, where Pericles had spoken and ruled-where Thucydides was then writing-where Socrates was then teaching-where Xenophon, Plato, and Isocrates, were receiving their education-and where the paintings of Parrhasius and Zeuxis, the sculpture of Phidias and Praxiteles, the architecture of Callicrates and Ictinus, and the sublime and chaste dramas of Sophocles and Euripides, formed the delight of the people." —Mitford's Greece, c. 17. Mr. Mitchell's portraiture of the Athenians at the same period is as follows. " Cruel and capricious, alternately tyrants and slaves-at once sharpers and dupes-devoted to the lowest of their appetites-gluttonous and intemperate-idle amid all their activity, and sensual amid privation and poverty, the life of the common Athenians exhibits a picture at once ridiculous, loathsome, and fearful, and shows the extreme corruption to which a state may be rapidly conducted by the united influence of republicanism and demagogues." ( 123 ) Eumenides formed parts of a trilogy, of which the Agamemnon was the first member. The Persae was also one member of a trilogy, and the same may probably be true of the Suppliants. The plot of the Prometheus is extremely simple, but it is throughout a splendid poem. The interest entirely depends upon its original and expressive delineation of the individual character of Prometheus, a giant of the Titanic race, who forms a prominent figure in the earlier traditions of Grecian mythology, and in whose history some obscure references may be traced to the scriptural account of the fall of Man, or of the dispersion at Babel. The scene is laid on the borders of the ocean among the crags of Caucasus, to one of which Prometheus is chained, by order of Jupiter, in punishment of rebellious opposition to his will. Strength and Force, whom the poet has boldly personified, are the instruments of his sufferings, which he endures in a spirit of stern independence, and of lofty defiance of the powers of the Thunderer, " With courage never to submit or yield." ( 124 ) The sombre character of this picture is relieved by the entry of a chorus of sea-nymphs, and of old Oceanus, who condole with the sufferer and recommend submission. His anguish on the one hand, and unbending fortitude on the other, are placed in powerful contrast, and his colloquy with the chorus is fraught with passages equally sublime and poetical. The character of Prometheus is sustained to the last with undiminished force of colouring. Even when the thunders and lightnings of vengeance roar and flare around him, and the earth gapes at his feet, his voice is still heard, as he descends into the abyss, uttering amidst the convulsions of nature defiance to his tormentor. The episode of Io ought not to pass unnoticed as an indefensible violation of the unity of action in this tragedy. The " Seven Chiefs before Thebes," founded on the story of Eteocles and Polynices, was a very favourite piece both with the Grecian public and its author. It is rather a melodrama than a regu ( 125 ) lar tragedy. In glowing lyrical inspiration, in energy of sentiment and expression, in picturesque imagery and description, it is not surpassed by any drama ancient or modern. Perhaps the spirit and energy of Dryden's Alexander's Feast may best convey to English readers an idea of the fire, and life, and varying style of its choruses, which, with the aid of appropriate voices and music, must have produced on the auditors no ordinary impression and excitement. Plutarch quotes a saying of Gorgias the sophist, that Mars not Bacchus inspired this splendid drama.* The subject of " the Suppliants" is the landing of Danaus and his daughters in Argos, and the incident principally turns upon the question, whether or not Pelasgus and his subjects will receive them hospitably. The descriptive passages are picturesque, and the dialogue is animated. The daughters of Danaus compose the chorus, and their supplicating strains are fraught with fine poetry and pious sentiment; but, on the whole, it * Plut. Symp. Queest. decima. ( 126 ) is a drama devoid of nice art in its construction, and a tragedy without a tragical conclusion. Schlegel conjectures, and with much plausibility, that it is a disconnected member of a trilogy, the other parts of which were the Danaidae and the Egyptians, two dramas the names alone of which are preserved. If so, it might probably be intended by the poet as introductory to the tragical action of the piece which succeeded it, in which case we are devoid of the just materials of candid criticism. There is more of nice art in the development of the plot of the Coephorae than in most of the dramas of Eschylus. But a close comparison between it and the Electra of Sophocles, of which the subject is the same, will forcibly illustrate the improvements introduced by the latter into the structure of tragedy. In that of /Eschylus, Orestes and Electra recognize each other almost immediately, and this discovery made, the catastrophe ensues with obvious facility; but in that of Sophocles, the interest of the reader is deeply excited by the suspension of this recognition, which leads on ( 127 ) to that well-known scene over the supposed ashes of Orestes, the pathos and tenderness of which are truly exquisite and defy translation. The concluding scene, in which /Egysthus on lifting the veil from the supposed corpse of Orestes is petrified at beholding the features of Clytemnestra, is one of the most tragic incidents that can well be imagined. The introductory description in the Eumenides of Orestes seated as a suppliant at the altar of Apollo, at whose instigation he had slain his adulterous mother, yet haunted by the Furies in vengeance of the matricidal act, forms a most terrific picture, and illustrates the strange theology of the Greeks, who represented hapless mortals as the puppets of destiny, and yet punished them as though they were free agents. The aspect and demeanour of these terrible daughters of night are sketched with a spirit and a mystery that recalls Shakspeare's wierd sisters. Popular superstition in classical, as in Gothic ages, conjured up the ghosts of the murdered to 128 ) haunt the steps of the murderer, so that the apparition of the stern shade of Clytemnestra invoking vengeance, is by no means out of keeping in this appalling picture. The Eumenides, like the Suppliants is without a tragic close. It greatly flags towards the conclusion. The presence of so many mysterious beings prepares the imagination for a corresponding catastrophe, so that the good humour into which the Furies are finally soothed by Minerva, and the polished style of panegyric in which they hail the land of Attica, and celebrate its fame, however gratifying to Athenian vanity, appears to all impartial criticism misplaced and incongruous. The subject of the Persie is the triumph of confederated Greece over the vast force collected by Xerxes for its subjugation. The scene is laid in Persia. It commences by a fine description of the magnitude of the invading host, and the splendor of the armies and chiefs composing it, mingled with expressions of the deepest anxiety as to their fate. This strain is interrupted by the appearance of a 129 ) Persian messenger, who announces the dreadful catastrophe of its complete rout. Atossa, the mother of Xerxes, and widow of Darius, and the chorus, break forth upon this intelligence into expressions of grief and lamentation. In the depth of their despair, they invoke the shade of Darius to appear, and to give them counsel. Magical rites are employed to raise the spirit of the departed monarch, who obeys the summons, and, after uniting in their sorrows, advises that no further attempt be made to subjugate Greece. But his entry and departure, though not wholly devoid of mystery and thrilling accompaniments, are too much in the style of an ordinary mortal, and nothing results from the incident sufficiently important to account for resorting to such supernatural agency. The arrival of Xerxes, who gives vent to furious grief, concludes the piece. There is no great art in the construction of this drama, nor any particular merit in the dialogue. But it has one passage K ( 130 ) fraught with the highest interest, from its giving a more spirited and lively description than is elsewhere to be found of the great naval victory of Salamis. The main facts closely accord with the narrative of Herodotus, but they are here invested with the bright hues of poetry, which has seldom kindled into enthusiasm in memory of a martial exploit more glorious or more momentous in its consequences. The war song of the Greeks, supposed to burst forth simultaneously from the commingling voices of the heroes who crowded their ships as they approached the Persian line, so much resembles in spirit and sentiment those heartstirring appeals to national patriotism and valour of which there are such striking examples in their historians and orators, that we can hardly doubt that it was the very song of that memorable day. Potter has translated it with spirit, and the following is a specimen. " Night advanced, But not by secret flight did Greece attempt ( 131 ) T'escape; the morn, all beauteous to behold, Drawn by white steeds, bounds o'er the enlightened earth; At once from every Greek with glad acclaim Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes The echo of the island-rocks returned, Spreading dismay through Persia's hosts, thus fallen From their high hopes: no flight this solemn strain Portended, but deliberate valour bent On daring battle, whilst the trumpet's sound Kindled the flames of war: but when the oars (The paean ended) with impetuous force Dashed the resounding surges, instant all Rush'd on in view, * * * * * * * and now distinct we heard From every part the voice of exhortation' Advance, ye sons of Greece, from thraldom save ' Your country,-save your wives, your children save, ' The temples of your gods, the sacred tombs, ' Where rest your honoured ancestors: this day ' The common cause of all demands your valour.'" The only tragedy which it remains for us to notice is the Agamemnon, a translation of which is attempted in the following pages. Not only does it manifest the powerful sway of K2 ( 132 ) its author over the sources of pity and terror, but the superior skill which he occasionally displayed in the construction of his dramas, for it exemplifies by strict unity of action the grand law of Aristotelian criticism —in other words, it exhibits a marked beginning, middle, and end. The opening speech of the watchman, invoking the fiery signal, so long expected, of the fall of Troy, and its sudden appearance, form a highly picturesque introduction to the subsequent scenes. The arrival of the herald, which dissipates all doubt as to the import of the signal, and his feelings of pious delight at finding himself again on Grecian soil, which deny utterance for some moments to tie glorious intelligence, give continuity to the preceding action, and are in themselves touching incidents. The return of Agamemnon, the illustrious head of the Grecian confederacy, covered with glory, to tie city and throne of his ancestors, forms an imposing central point in the drama, and renders the speedy occurrence of his ignominious death ( 133 ) doubly tragic, by the striking contrast of a rapid transition from the pinnacle of fortune to its lowest degradation. He is painted as the dignified monarch, and the wise man, no less than the heroic chieftain. His experience of the fickleness of fortune, and of the trials of life, has chastened every proud or haughty feeling in the retrospect of his triumphs, communicating to his sentiments a wise moderation, which blends affection with the awe inspired by his loftier qualities. Clytemnestra's character wants a little softening to bring it within the verge of human sympathies. She is too implacably hypocritical and perfidious. Even the Lady Macbeth of our great dramatist appears human when she shrinks for a moment from her stern purpose at the sight of features which remind her of her father, and after the bloody deed has been perpetrated at her instigation, she pines beneath the stings of a guilty conscience; but in Clytemnestra there are no such relentings-even her allusions to Iphigeneia have nothing in them of real tenderness, and to the ( 134 ) last she glories in her crimes with a savage ferocity. But the part of Cassandra forms the surpassing beauty of this drama. It is as original in conception as it is perfect in execution. Plato has said of Homer that he was the first of tragedians,* by which he meant that many of the characters and incidents of his poems furnish fruitful subjects for the finest tragedies. But neither the Iliad nor the Odyssey could have suggested to IEschylus the materials of his Cassandra. They emanated from the glowing conceptions of his own brilliant and excited fancy. As a beautiful and captive princess, the daughter of Priam and the sister of Hector, we are prepared to take a deep interest in her fate, but that interest becomes blended with awe, admiration, and terror, when she is viewed in her loftier character, that of the frenzied and inspired prophetess, whose eye glances on the dark * calt 4VYXWPE~v Ofl0rpov 7roL'lrwTKarov e-vat, Kai 7rpbirov TrV rpaytoLWroi7v.-l Plato de Repub. lib. x. ( 135 ) page of destiny, and who sketches what she reads there by appalling figures and by expressive imagery. When attention is first excited towards her, she appears dejected, statue-like, and overwhelmed by sorrow. Clytemnestra, after vain endeavours to extract answers from her to various questions harshly put, irritated by her inflexible silence, disdainfully retires, when, after a few moments, the tongue of the prophetic princess becomes unloosed, and she petrifies or thrills the chorus by her wild and boding exclamations. The past crimes of the house of Atreus, depictured in terrific visions, throng her excited imagination, and she points, by enigmatical allusions, or expressive imagery, to its future fortunes. The bloody banquet given by Atreus to his brother Thyestes, at which the flesh of his own children, murdered by Atreus in a spirit of implacable revenge, was served up among the festive meats, draws down on Agamemnon according to the retributive ideas of the Greeks, that vengeance ( 136 ) which his father had escaped. The spectral forms of those children exhibiting to view their entrails and their hearts, flit before the eye of her fancy, and hover over the parapets of the palace. Cassandra addresses their hapless forms in a strain of wild invocation; and at the same moment the mournful dirge of the Furies sounds like the knell of death in her ears, andforebodes the approach of new woes. A change comes over the spirit of her dream. Fresh images, shifting in their form, and portending the approaching assassination of Agamemnon, by turns excite and terrify, animate and subdue her. Mingled with these dreadful allusions, are various touches of tenderness and feeling, "softening the rugged brow Of darkness till it smiles." The cadence of the verse in these plaintive passages assumes the flow of elegy, while the workings of the prophetic rage are depicted by impetuous language, by sudden transitions, and by ( 137 ) daring images. At length, exhausted by the violence of her own feelings, Cassandra quits the scene, when the cries of the dying Agamemnon from within, alarm and agitate the chorus. After a short pause they approach, and discover Clytemnestra standing over the corpse of her husband, still holding in her hand the bloody instrument of his death. Her haughty, implacable spirit is finely painted, so also are the indignant feelings, and resolute loyalty of the free-born Greeks. But from this point the tragedy degenerates into a prolixity of dialogue unexpected and tiresome. On the whole it may justly be asserted of the Agamemnon, that had it been the sole production of its author, it would justly entitle him to a place in the foremost ranks of genius. Perhaps the Bard of Gray has more of the rapt and inspired character of the Cassandra of JEschylus than any similar creation of poetic fancy in ancient or modern times. Johnson and Algarotti have supposed the Bard to be an imitation of the Nereus of Horace, and there is an obvious ground of comparison as respects the form in which the ( 138 ) respective prophecies are delivered, for in the one case, the fleet of Paris is arrested in its course by the prophetic warnings of the Sea-God, in the other, the triumphant march of Edward the First, by that of the Bard; but the prophecy of Nereus, though delivered in a dignified style, is a tame performance, compared with the Bard of Gray; the affinity between which and the Cassandra, though not formal, is, in more essential points, sufficiently striking, consisting in a strong resemblance between their daring transitions, their figurative allusions, their dark, but expressive hints, and their picturesque visions of past or future events. The familiarity of our English Pindar with the Greek poets is well known, and the train of thought, in one of the finest of his odes, that on Adversity, may be resolved into a chorus of iEschylus, as he has himself indicated by the prefixed motto. A striking affinity might also be traced in various particulars between the exquisite portraiture of the frenzy of Dido, in Virgil, and that of Cassandra, though the obvious diversity of the class of feelings (.139 ) under which each labours, allows not of a close or detailed comparison. The French critics, appealing to Aristotle, have laid down such rigid rules for the strict observation of the unities of action, time, and place, and have been so severe on those who have neglected them, on Shakspeare especially, that it might naturally be supposed the Grecian philosopher had clearly and pointedly defined these to be essential canons of the drama. But nothing is less true. His mind was too liberal, and sagacious, thus severely to cramp the march of genius. He does contend for unity of action as indispensable-by which he means the selection of one leading incident or subject, to the able development and impressive conclusion of which all the events introduced shall be subordinate. But on the unity of place he says nothing, and, as respects the unity of time, he recommends, not insists,* that the action of a drama X 'j uEV yap (rpaywtia) rit /afiXtora T7rtpiraTa VirTO pia WrEpioO jov eXiov yvat, 1) itpoV eaXXoTrrEt.-Ardnst. Id Poet. sect. 12. ( 140 ) should appear to be comprehended within one revolution of the sun. iEschylus, though not an undeviating observer of the unity of action, in proof of which the episode of Io in the Prometheus has already been cited, appears by his existing dramas to have in general conformed to it: he seldom transgresses the unity of place, but he disregards the unity of time, when it can only be maintained by an undue sacrifice of the needful and impressive coincidences of his subject. Thus in the Agamemnon, a series of picturesque circumstances usher in the august return of that monarch to the palace of his ancestors; their succession does not strike the imagination as extravagant, though upon reflection it is obvious they could not have been crowded within the circle of Aristotle's allotted hours. It is the prerogative of such a genius as AEschylus or Shakspeare to exhibit the standard of allowable deviation from the arbitrary enactments of frigid criticism. Having now detailed the principal facts which illustrate the rise and progress of Grecian Tragedy, ( 141 ) the author will take leave of his subject, by expressing an earnest hope that an accurate acquaintance with the Greek and Roman classics may never cease to be regarded by his countrymen as one of the most essential branches of a liberal education. They are the purest standards of taste and judgment in literary composition. No productions of mind, however ingenious, can command permanent admiration, or exercise a really useful influence, which conform not in their leading features to universal reason, truth, and nature. This conformity forms the talisman, by means of which those illustrious writers have satisfied the judgment, and delighted the imagination of the greatest men, in distant and in recent times, in the most civilized countries, and under every form of government and manners. Nature, it is true, may be represented under various, or even contrary aspects, and yet be nature still. There is a low and disgusting nature, which is the object of reprehension and abhorrence,-there is an ordinary degree of polish and cultivation to which she may ( 142 ) be raised by education and good society; but the idea is also present to every cultivated imagination of a nature purified from vulgarity and grossness, and elevated by all that is dignified, graceful and attractive, which is the just object of admiration and esteem. This is equally the case with respect to character, to art, to language, and to sentiment, and every approach to it is an approach to true taste, the first principles of which resolve themselves into refined nature and moral fitness. Now making all due allowance for the errors of heathenism, it was with this elevation of purpose and of aim that the most illustrious of the writers and artists of Greece thought and composed. It glows in their finest poetry, it animates their noblest oratory, it is imprinted on their most admired statues, it is the union of taste and learning with genius and invention, it is the ro xtAxov of the antient philosophy, the beau ideal of the finest writers on modern poetry and art. Experience has fully proved the necessity of deferring to some such standards of authority as ( 143 ) the classical writers, in order to oppose an effectual check to that tendency towards literary barbarism, into which the public taste will be occasionally betrayed by the fatal splendor of brilliant but perverted genius. There was a time when the glittering conceits of Cowley were more admired than the beautiful or sublime of Milton, and the antithesis of Hall or Donne than the graceful energy of Dryden. France has had its hotel of Rambouillet, as England its aera of German sentimentality and French metaphysics. Each of these examples of perverted taste produced in its day, on a considerable portion of the reading public, a temporary hallucination, and each had its train of imitators and admirers-but as the influence which they exercised was at variance with sound reason, and genuine passion, the spell by which the truth of nature was counteracted could not long subsist; the public recovered from the delusion, and if the works of any such writers are still buoyant on the stream of time, it is by the ( 144 ) force of distinguished excellence, separate from and in spite of the particular defects which have here been censured. It forms not the least of the many advantages of true taste, that when its principles are once acquired, they communicate a corresponding charm to the exertions of the mind, wheresoever directed, and, like those tests in chemistry which discover the hidden qualities of bodies, detect as it were instinctively, the true and the false in the various compositions of genius. Finally, it is not to be forgotten that our religion, and much of its history and its evidences, are enshrined in the learned languages, and that when the fundamental truths of Christianity were to be asserted and illustrated, the strenuous efforts of the great reformers were instantly directed to the cultivation of Grecian literature. ( 144 ) ADDENDA. IN the list of authorities cited p. 73, relative to the mode of appointing choruses, the Oration of Demosthenes against Meidias ought to have been included. Besides confirming the general statements on this subject in the preceding pages, it contains a passage by which it appears that, in addition to the reward of a tripos conferred on the victorious chorus, its choregus was crowned and offered sacrifice: —EiXov 6rL Tas VEY lILfpac EKeivag aC avvepXoiceOa i7ri roy ayfvCa Kcara ra' uaCLvrIa TraVrac, 7rept avr7Ov Se0aav8qpOa, 1iaoiwc O, TE E\\XXW vt.Cav, Ka C 7r vrTWv TCaro e 7er'laeaOat' Trv 3S TWV' ETw/YKiWtv vT7p avr- TOT ij}1) re7catrat 0 V'tKWv.Demosthenes Tlylori, v. iii. p. 107. The orator also (p. 94 & 109) refers to the possibility of bribing the judges, (vid. Dissertation, p. 69 & 87,) and to the ruinous prodigality of expense with which some of the choregi discharged their finctions. Page 76. In transfusing into the text the substance of the remarkable passage quoted from Athenmus, p. 76, the Author finds he has omitted an interesting fact stated in it by that author-viz. that the Athenians wrapped their faces in their mantles on the occasion referred to, in order to conceal their sensations of grief from the foreigners who were present. Page 128, line 14. An accomplished scholar has remarked to the author, that the apparent contradiction (noticed p. 124, line 14) was probably in harmony with the Athenian belief of the real character of the Eumenides. .0 AGAMEMNON. L I SUBJECT OF THE DRAMA, TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK SCHOLIAST. AGAMEMNON, on his departure for Troy, promised Clytemnestra, that, if he took the city, he would signify the event to her by a fire-signal. Clytemnestra, therefore, stationed a sentinel, hired for the purpose, who should be on the watch for the signal. On beholding it, he proclaims the intelligence. She sends for a number of the elders of the city, who compose the chorus, and informs them of the appearance of the signal. They immediately sing a triumphal hymn. Not long after Talthybius (the herald) arrives, and relates what had befallen the Greeks during the voyage. Soon after Agamemnon appears in a chariot: another chariot follows him, bearing the spoils and (the captive) Cassandra. He enters his mansion with L2 ( 148 ) Clytemnestra. Cassandra, before she enters the palace, breaks forth into prophetic strains, predictive of her own death, of that of Agamemnon, and of the murder of his mother by Orestes. She then rushes forward, like one about to die, casting away her prophetic fillets. This portion of the drama is greatly admired, as highly calculated to awaken terror and pity. Eschylus is peculiar in this respect-that he has represented Agamemnon as slain on the scene.* He does not particularise the murder of Cassandra, but alludes to her as dead. He introduces Egysthus and Clytemnestra summarily defending themselves concerning the murder; the one, on account of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the other, on account of the miseries brought upon his father, Thyestes, by Atreus. ' Stanley conjectures tle original reading was, under or behind the scene.._ PERSONS OF THE DRIAMAA. WATCHMAN. AGAMEM4NON. CLYTEMNESTRA, 1his Wife. CASSANDRA, Daughiter of Priamn. HERALD. AL'GYSTHIUS, first Cousin Of A~gamnemnion, and Paramiour of Clytemnestra. CHORus of Old Men. I SCENE I. TIE piece opens with the soliloquy of a watchman, who laments his hard fate in being forced to look out year after year for the appearance of the signal-fire. WATCHMAN speaks. GRANT me, ye gods, deliverance from these toils, This annual watch, which, like a dog, I keep, Placed on the summit of the royal house Of the Atridae-whence my eyes survey The choir of nightly stars, and those bright orbs, Regents* in heaven, whose daily changes bring * The expression " regents in heaven"-Xapwrpoiv wvvcTarac-literally shining rulers, as applied to the sun and moon, is in the bold style of Oriental imagery, and has been imitated by some of our greatest poets. Thus Milton " First in his East the glorious lamp was seen, Regent of day." The Pythagorean principles of.Eschylus, no less than ( 152 ) Winter and summer in their course to man. The torch symbolical, the herald flame, Long-promised signal of the fall of Troy, I now look out for-so a woman wills Of manly counsels,* anxious for th' event. that taste for the sublime which his poetry displays, led to the contemplation of the celestial luminaries. In the Seven Chiefs he expressively calls the moon VVKTro oQOaXioc,, the eye of the night. In the same spirit Shakspeare, in Richard II., calls the sun, " the searching eye of heaven," and Milton, in the Morning Hymn, " the world's eye and soul." It is interesting to trace these parallelisms of language and feeling between the great poets of ancient and modern times. * Of manly counsels. The corresponding words in the original, ava6ofovXov Keap, have been variously interpreted, but Bishop Blomfield has so clearly established the sense given in the translation by parallel expressions from other Greek authors, that no farther defence of it is necessary than a reference to his note. Schutz adduces a line from the Againe mnon, in which the same idea respecting Clytemnestra is conveyed in other words: ) i~~;l:(( ~cr: i~lr":,cln~c~yn' t~i~~c~c;~wr~ X~tLS. - f "I ( 153 ) When on my toilsome dew-bespangled couch I lie, unvisited by dreams, pale fear Chases sleep's airy form, who fain would steep These weary eye-lids in forgetfulness. And if to sing or hum some soothing tune My lips essay, to charm the live-long hours, Sighs then oppress me; and, with tearful eyes, The altered fortunes of this house I mournNot now, as heretofore, by wisdom governed. Oh! that the signal of my finished cares, The joy-difiusing light would cleave the gloom. ['lTe promised sigwial suddeltly appears. Torch of the night, thrice hail! thy rays emit A splendor like the morn; at thy behest The Argive youth, oblivious of past woe, Shall thrid with airy feet the mazy dance. From my own lips great Agamemnon's wife Shall hear the tidings, that, with eager haste Her couch deserting, she may bid these walls Ring with triumphal songs in glad acclaim Of the b)right beacon: if, as it proclaims, ( 154 ) Ilion be prostrate, I myself will dance As in the prelude to some festival. Fortune at length upon our rulers smiles;* The die is cast of glorious victory. Oh! may I greet the master of this mansion On his return, and clasp his hand in mine. The rest unuttered be-my tongue is chained;t * " Fortune at length upon our rulers smiles; " The die is cast of glorious victory." The words in the original may be thus translated:I shall prosperously conclude the business of my employers, this blazing forth of the torch being to me like a lucky throw of three times six-a metaphor taken from a game in which three dice were used, and the lucky throw was when they all turned up with six upon the face. Such allusions, it is obvious, admit not of literal translation. t The expression " my tongue is chained," if rendered literally would be, a great ox has mounted on my tongue-poiVc irW yXWaan Peayac P/3pKEV. Commentators have differed much on the origin of so strange a proverb or metaphor. Some have derived it from a species of money current in Attica, bearing the impression of a bull or ox, and suppose the watchman ( 155 ) Could these walls speak, they'd tell a fearful tale; My thoughts 'mid those who know the fatal truth Seek not concealment, elsewhere I am mute. CHORUS I. I. The tenth year rolls awayt Since Priam's vengeful foes, th' heroic pair From Atreus sprung, (who the dread symbols wear, Jove's gift, of sovereign sway,) Great Menelas, and Agamemnon, bore To Ilion, from Achaia's shore The hurricane of war; their martial train, Freighting a thousand ships, rode proudly o'er the main. to hint, that, if he spoke out, he should be fined; others that he was bribed to be silent.-Menander, as quoted by Athenaeus, uses the same proverb.-Fide Schutz. * He alludes to the adulterous crime of iEgysthus and Clytemnestra, of which he was not ignorant. t The chorus, composed of old men of Argos, and who as yet are not made acquainted with the intelligence of the fall of Troy, indulge throughout this introductory chorus in desultory allusions to the events of the war, and lament the listlessness of their own existence. ( 156 ) I. II. Like vultures, that on high, With clamorous grief the rifled nest above, Where long they watched their young with tenderest love, In eddying circles fly.@ But sylvan Pan, or Phoebus god of day, Or Jove, supreme in sovereign sway, Touched by their plaintive wail and piercing cry, To scourge the guilty bids the fury fly. I. 11I. Thus th' Atridae's might Jove, guardian of each hospitable rite, Against the perjured Paris sent, To Greece and Troy awarding furious strifeFor the oft-wedded faithless wife, With shivering of spears, and knees in contest bent. * In eddying circlesfly-literally rendered, the Greek is, " rowing round with the oars of their wings." I I I I I ( 157 ) II. I. Relentless Fate combines Her schemes, which nought can alter-tears are vain. Nor cries, nor offerings, pardon can obtain For the neglected shrines. But we, who now her dread decrees proclaim, When blazed war's carnage-waking flame, At home were doomed the tedious hours to wear, Or infant-like on staves our tottering forms to bear. II. I. For weak as infancy Old age creeps forth, to vent its listless moanWithered its leaves, its martial ardour flown, A dream, a vacancy! But tell us, royal Clytemnestra, born Of Tyndarus, what fame this morn Thine ear has reached? why blaze these fires on high, Surmounting tie proud Fanns and reddening all the sky? ( 158 ) II. III. Rich clouds of incense shed Soft perfume, from the royal storehouse fed: Oh! deign to speak, and chase away The alternations quick of hope and fear, Which now my anxious bosom cheerNow bid cold doubt arise, and quench hope's kindling ray. STROPHE. I hail her call;* th' inspiring muse My fancy wakes, and fires my views* "Ihail her call." The beauties and the obscurities of this choral ode are both conspicuous. Potter quotes Brumoy's despairing reference to its difficulties of construction and allusion-" l'on peut bien defier toute plume Franfoise de rendre ce morceau, tant il est defigure et entortille." Abler scholars than Brumoy have been reduced to make similar complaints with respect to some of its passages. Butler, for instance, after citing the different order of the words, and the readings proposed by Heath and Schutz for the introductory strophe, finishes by designating it " locus vexatissimus." The prophetic style in which a great i I ( 159 ) Rekindles youth in every vein, And rouses memory's pictured train. Bright were the omens, when the flow'r Of Greece the sceptred brothers led, On vengeance bent, elate with pow'r, Ilion, thy fated shores to tread: Jove's royal bird was on the wing To urge their martial mustering. Two eagles, with impetuous flight Descending from the fields of light, Shot towards the right* their airy way, In front of that bright host's array. portion of it is composed necessarily involves abrupt transitions and enigmatical allusions, two great sources of obscurity;-besides which the text itself is in some passages incurably corrupted. * Shot towards the right-literally, in the direction of the hand which brandishes the spear - XEpc IK ~opfTraXTov-i. e. the right hand: Milton, so rich in classical allusions, uses a synonymous figure. " As flame they part, Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear." ( 160 ) Sable the one, the other bore Plumage of snowy white behind; The royal tent they hovered o'er; Their talons bloody spoils entwined — A hare's* young offspring, fiercely torn From the maternal womb ere born.Pour forth deep notes of plaintive woeBut still, let smiling hope with views of conquest glow. ANTISTROPHE. The prophet of the host, whose eye Could pierce through deep futurity, Beheld, depictured in this sign, The fortunes of the chiefs divine; A hare's young offspring, &-c. The passage in tle original has much employed the diligence of critics and commentators, owing to its somewhat confused reference, in the same breath, to the foetus of the iare, and the hare itself. The eagles had seized a pregnant hare, and lacerated not only it, but the foetus in its womb. The construction of the words, as proposed by Bishop Blonmfield, includes this double sense, and, without admitting it, the Greek text is all confusion. Ii ( 161 ) Then quick to the Atridae turning, 'Mid the bright host assembled round, Eyes with prescient fury burning, He thus the mystic spell unbound: Time urges on the destined hour;The gathering clouds of battle lour: Lo! Priam's city bends to fall; The martial troops that guard her wall, And all her treasured stores, await Th' unpitying stroke of ruthless Fate. But oh! beware, lest, when that town Reluctant wears the captive chain, Some god assume a withering frown, And conquest's crested honours stain. Diana's wrath this house must feelEagles,* she hates your bloody meal.* Eagles, she hates, &c. The Greek literally says, that she (Diana) is incensed against the winged dogsi. e. the eagles of her father. The term winged dogs, or griffins, for eagles, is one of those extravagances of M ( 162 ) Pour forth deep notes of plaintive woeBut still, let smiling hope with views of conquest glow. EPODE. The radiant goddess of the chace O'er the fierce lion's infant raceO'er all the whelps of savage brood, That prowl within the umbrageous wood, Or roam the trackless desart's way, Extends her tutelary sway. These signs, which joy and terror blend, She urges to their destined end. Her menaced vengeance to allay, We hail the bright-eyed god of day, Lest to unloose the fleet wind-bound, Forbidden blood should taint this ground. Ye terrors, cease your restless swayAway, dread sacrifice, awayexpression in which the wild fancy of JEschyluls often indulged, and for which ie is pleasantly rallied by Aristophanes in the " Frogs." ( 163 ) A daughter's blood for vengeance cries,* Glares frenzy in a mother's eyes: 'Twas thus that Calchas could disclose Bright triumphs mixed with direful woes, For both his prescient eye surveyed, In the portentous birds displayed. Pour forth deep notes of plaintive woe, But still, let smiling hope with views of conquest glow. I. Great Jove, mysterious power! How shall we hail thee, throned supreme? Howt speak thy name, deep cares devour My mind, while brooding o'er this theme, * A daughter's blood,,c. The whole passage in the original is very obscure, from its prophetical and mysterious allusions to the approaching sacrifice of Iphigeneia, the virgin daughter of Agamemnon, at the shrine of Diana, the dreadful price of unbinding the winds which detained the Grecian fleet at Aulis, after setting sail for Troy. t HGoW. speak thy name. Many passages might be cited from the Greek poets, illustrative of the superM 2 ( 164 ) So wrapped in night, thoughts, fancy rove In vain, a name to find that more befits than Jove. II. He* who towered once elate, Lowered his crested pride to thee, Nor dared the second foe await, Thy arm of three-fold victory;stitious dread of the Heathen, lest they should offend their deities by unacceptable names or invocations. Milton, in his address to Light, conforms to the spirit of such passages, "May I express thee unblamed, since God is light." * He who towered, -cc. The throne of Jupiter was fabled to have been founded on the ruins of the dynasty of an elder race of gods. Coelus and Saturn it is supposed are here alluded to. Schutz has cited from the Prometheus a similar passage, in which the rebel giant is made to say he has seen two mighty deities prostrated before Jupiter, and yielding him the palm.- Vide Prom. 955. t Thy arm of three-fold victory. The expression in the original is rpiLcrr7poc, a term applied to those who had three times conquered in gymnastic games, and here metaphorically used to designate Jove as eminently victorious. ( 165 ) Wisdom's bright palm is his, who to tile praise Of Jove triumphant breathes harmonious lays. EPODE. Man, erring man,* by Jove is led Reflection's sober path to tread; In sorrow's softening hour, He opes the portals of the soul To wisdom's salutary power, And bids affliction's sway, the passions wild controul. * Man, erring man. This portion of the chorus is highly interesting, not only from its pensive tone, and moral grandeur, but also as having apparently suggested to Gray the train of thought which pervades his beautiful Ode to Adversity. That lie had this chorus in view is evident from his having prefixed, as the motto, the three fine lines, commencing, To'v )povErv /3pOTrC O(C; — Cav7ra, rov TraOe, &c. Dr. Johnson supposes him to have taken the hint from O Diva, gratum (qua1 regis Antium-but the connection is much less apparent in this case than the other. ( 166 ) Oft when the harassed body sleeps, Forth memory clothed in vision creeps, And bids the humbled mind revere, The rigid means by Heaven assigned, To check presumption's mad career, And by the balm of woe to purify the mind. Such discipline th' immortal gods decree, High seated on their thrones in glorious majesty. STROPHE. Where gently flows the refluent tide, Aulis, around thy winding bay, Whence Chalcis smiles in sunny pride; By adverse winds imprisoned, lay The fleet, o'er which the sceptered hand Of great Atrides waved command. Vainly to break the spell he sought, Day glided after day, yet no deliverance wrought. ANTISTROPHE. The chief, though much by grief impelled, Stifled the workings of his soul, All fruitless bursts of passion quelled, By sovereign reason's wise controul, ( 167 ) Nor blamed tie prophet; though the flower Of Greece sunk under famine's power, And furious gales from Strymon tore The cables of the ships, and strewed with wrecks the shore. STROPHE. But when the heaven-instructed seer Announced Diana's stern decree, The remedy proved more severe, More baleful than the storm-bound sea. While of her ruthless ire he spoke, Tears fell, and sighs commingling broke From th' Atridae, each the ground Touched with his sceptre, and the elder utterance found. ANTISTRPOPItE. Most cruel fate! shall then this hand To barbarous rites my child consign, Pride of my house, and shall I stand To view her life-blood stain this shrine? Yet glory calls-'tis mine to wield, The sword, and rule the tented field, ( 168 ) My friends will not their murmurs quell, Until a virgin's blood break the wind-holding spell. STROPHE. But when necessity's strong plea* Had nature's yearning pangs represt, Infuriate rage, impiety, Boiled in the monarch's phrenzied breast: The lovely fair was doomed to bleed, Her sire the dreadful rites decreed, To speed the moment which should land, The slaughter-breathing host on Ilion's fated strand. ANTISTROPHE. In vain her supplicating shriek Assails a father's ears-in vain Her virgin form, her youth bespeak Compassion from the warrior train: He bids fierce ruffians 'neath the shrine Place as a hind's that form divine; * But when necessity's strong plea, Ac. Vide the remarks on Necessity, p. 6(5 of the Essay. a ~ Ai f~~~~~~~~~~~~~~vl 4 _ w _ _ 7 _ _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~J i II I ( 169 ) The prayer ascends, the victim lies Wrapped in her flowing robe,* a destined sacrifice. STROPHE. She spoke not; words denouncing woe To all the host had utterance found, But the same hands which laid her low, Her beauteous lips with thongs had bound: Then from her arms, and heaving breast, Loosing her saffron-coloured vest, * Wrapped in her flowvig robe,,c. In this passage, Iphigeneia is described as so infolding herself in her robes that her position in death might consist with strict propriety. Euripides, as cited by Pawe, describes the same of Polyxena.-Hec. 567. TrOXX\\V rpovoLaV ELxEV EVTXfPWc 7rTEEV' Passages of a similar tendency are quoted by the same commentator from several of the Latin poets. ( 170 ) On each stern chief her gentle eye Shot forth expressive beams of suppliant energy.* * Shot forth expressive beams. The Greek is remarkably touching. 3aXX' 'EaaTrov OVTrWlp AT7' oitiaroc j3XE\t dpXoiKrY i. e. she pierced, with a pity-inspiring dart from her eye, each of the sacrificers. The poet, in this description of the mien and feelings of Iphigeneia is true to nature. He paints her as an unwilling and suffering, but a meek and patient victim. Euripides, on the contrary, in describing the same scene, transforms her into a lofty heroine, just suited to grace French tragedy, who joyfully welcomes a bloody death for the sake of her country and the army. Alfieri, always more of the rhetorician than the poet, has fallen into the same train of sentiment, for he makes Electra, when Clytemnestra is venting her grief for the loss of Iphigeneia, thus address her:oggi se il cielo Chiedesse pur d'una tua figlia il sangue, Oggi piena di gioja, all' ara io corro. What a different Electra from that of Sophocles! ( 171 ) ANTISTROPHE. Nought but some matchless artist's power* Could paint, in act to speak, her face, That face, which, in the festive hour, Had oft, with captivating grace,t Lucretius has painted the scene more in the spirit of /Eschylus. Muta metu, terram, genibus submissa, petebat: Nec miserm prodesse in tali tempore quibat, Quod patrio princeps donarat nomine regem: Nam, sublata viruim manibus, tremebundaque, ad aras Deducta est.-lib. i. 92. * Nought but some matchless artist's poner, 8c. It is probable that in this allusion to the art of painting, the poet might have had in view some picture or group of this subject by a contemporary artist. That it was a favorite subject with the ancient artists is well known by existing gems and vases. The celebrated picture by Timanthes, in which Agamemnon was introduced among the chiefs of his army, with his head veiled, as if labouring under inexpressible grief, was of the age of Alexander. t Had oft with capticatiilg grace. The Greek text, corresponding with this passage, and commencing with ( 172 ) And songs in high triumphal strain, Hailed her loved father's happy reign. These eyes the sequel did not see; The prophet's words were truth-the rest unuttered be. EPODE. If justice, armed with terrors, rise, She frowns to make the sufferers wise; Since none can fly relentless fate, Why seek her depths to penetrate? Th' impending stroke of wrath to know, Were to anticipate our woe. Oh may th' eventful hours which lie Embosomed in futurity, Upon the Apian land with blessings rise,* True to the vows of those who sway her destinies. the words erTEt roX\aka Trarpoc, v. 234, is obscure and difficult, and was left unintelligible by Stanley and Heath. Schutz was the first critic who, by pointing ayva with the particle of the dative, and connecting it with avSa, brought out a probable meaning without doing violence to the existing reading. * Apian, i. e. Pelopponesian. I i I h 1,1 %1111 - ( 173 ) SCENE II. CLYTEMNESTRA, CHORUS. Chorus. THY presence, Clytemnestra, I approach With the respectful homage that should greet My absent monarch's consort; do these rites Announce true tidings, or thy high-wrought hopes? Fain I would know, but fear to importune. C1. May the morn, springing from the womb of night, Rise fraught with smiling fortune on this land: Listen to tidings bright beyond our hopes, The conquering Greeks in Priam's city reign. Ch. What words are these.-I scarce can credence yield. C1. That Troy is ours, can words more plainly speak? CI. These tears attest the fervour of my joy. ( 174 ) (C. Thine eyes ar faithful to t hy loyal feelings. Ch. But whence proceeds this confidence of hope? Cl. From plainest proofs, unless the gods deceive. Ch. Dost thou give credence to persuasive dreams? C1. The slumbering's mind's delusions rule not me. Ch. Haply thy faith some flying rumour sways. Cl. Why treat me as a young enthusiast? Ch. When did destruction lay the city low? Cl. The very night that ushered in this morn. Ch. But what winged messenger the fact proclaimed? Cl. Vulcan from Ida's top, in circling flame; Torch answered torch, till here the signal flew:t First Ida to th' Hermaean crag which crowns * The practice of conveying intelligence by firesignals existed in Greece before the age of lHomer, vide Iliad, book xviii. There is a remarkable passage in Hlerodotus, (Calliope 3,) which states that when Mardonius was approaching Athens, he formed the project of informing the Persian king of its capture, by means of torches or fires, (r'vpootc,) dispersed at certain distances along the intervening islands. So when the Pirmeus was to be attacked during the Pelopponesian war, Thucydides describes the approach ( 175 ) The sea-girt Lemnos; next the herald blaze Reached Athos, sacred seat of sovereign Jove. Triumphant thence, borne on the foaming waves, Whose wreathing tops it tipped with lambent beams, Tli' advancing light, effulgent as a sun, of the enemy as announced to Athens by the waving of lights (qpvKro,) from Salamis, lib. ii. 94; and during the siege of Platea, the besieged counteracted the signals of the besiegers, by waving torches in an opposite direction. See also Virgil, ~Eneid. ii. 256, and Polybius, x. 43. A geographical question has been raised as to the possibility of transmitting a signal by fire from Mount Ida to Argos, by means of the successive stations enumerated. Vossius, as quoted by Pawe, maintains the affirmative, so does Casaubon, as cited by Butler, and lie answers the question by the following computation, Mount Ida to Lemnos 70,000 paces, thence to Mount Athos 50,000. The exact spot meant by Macistus is doubtful, probably it was part of Mount Pelion, or Ossa, or else of Telethrius, in Euboca; let it be assumed at 30,000, thence to Cithaeron, about the same distance. From Cithaeron to Egiplanctus in MIegaris 20,000, thence to Arachne 30,000, and finally to Mlycmnae somewhat less than 30,000. ( 176 ) Poured on Macistus golden radiance. Reckless of sleep, impatient of delay, The fiery wonder moved-Euripus flamed With bright illumined waves, Messapus thence Caught the glad signal, and the stationed guard, Firing a heathy pile, the fervid blaze, Transmitted onwards with augmented power. The splendid conflagration wide diffused The glad intelligence, and bounding o'er Th' Asopian plain, bright as the full-orbed moon When at her noon of glory, lighted up Citheron's lofty head, enkindling there Responsive zeal, and corresponding fires; By generous rivalry the guard inspired, Bid the fierce blaze, with ever-gathering strength, Hold on its course, Gorgope's marshy plain Was all illumined: ~Egiplanctus next Wore on his giant head the crown of flame. Up the proud steep, whence to the eye expands The gulf Saronic, next, the kindling power, Shaking its fiery tresses, soared sublime.* * The Greek, literally rendered is "t they sent on the vast fiery beard of flame." _ ____ ( 177 ) Th' adjoining post, Arachne's craggy height, It scaled, it reddened o'er; the light derived From Ida's top thus finally diffused Its beamy splendour o'er the royal house Of the Atridae: thus it reached our shores. Torch kindled torch successive, but my heart Of these the first and last most warmly hails.* Ch. Lady, my vows are eager to ascend, In gratitude to heaven, but let thy lips Repeat once more the glad intelligence. Cl. The Greeks triumphant reign this day in Troy: What sounds conflicting in her streets are heard! Should'st thou on vinegar soft ungents pour Th' opposing streams would separate, not blend. Not less opposed the cries distinct which mark The victors and the vanquish'd; pale in grief, Stretched on the cold remains of slaughtered friends, * Of these the first and last, qc. That is to say, I particularly hail the first torch as the original transmitter of this joyful news, and the last as its final transmitter to this city. N ( 178 ) Wives, sisters weep, and children o'er their sires Extend in mute despair their captive arms. The victors, breathing from the toil severe Of nightly conflict, range the streets for food, Or in the captured palaces of Troy, As chance directs their steps, woo soft repose. May no insatiate lust of things forbidden O'ercloud their flattering prospects; half their course Is unaccomplished yet —their safe return. Should they escape long wanderings o'er the deep, Who knows but tardy justice yet may claim Atonement for the blood profusely shed? Forgive these bodings of a female mind: May fortune smile and crown my every joy. CHORUS. Hail, sovereign Jove! hail, friendly night With robe of starry lustre bright!* * With robe of starry lustre bright. The original words are —pEyct\w)v Ko'apwv 'rreCtrepa. This passage is very obscure. The turn given to it in the translation - - - ( 179 ) Aided by thee, the net of fate* Was cast o'er Troy's devoted state; Her towery strength, her martial throng, Youth, age, the helpless, and the strong, All sunk enthralled; red slaughter woke, And vengeance framed the captive yoke. Thee, Jove, whose ire the wretch o'ertakes Who hospitable pledges breaks, was first suggested by Stanley. The word o'iupoc is frequently applied to express the glories of the starry heavens, and Bentley, in his Phalaris, has shown that Pythagoras was the first who thus employed it: as Eschylus was a Pythagorean, he probably used it in the same sense. Schutz supposes that the words are not an apostrophe to night in general, but to the particular night in which Troy was taken; hut there is nothing in the context which limits thus their application. * The net of fate. This figure is in the bold style of oriental imagery, and accords with the similies used on similar occasions by the Hebrew prophets. Thus Ezek. xii. 13, in predicting the approaching captivity of Zedekiah, " My net also will I spread upon him, and he shall be taken in my snare, and I will bring him to Babylon. N 2 ( 180 ) I hail; by thee directed flew Th' unerring shaft* which Paris slew. Their fate was sealed by Jove's decree, The lightning of his vengeance scathed their race, The doom before ordained, fulfilled we see, And link by link the chain of causes trace; Perish their lore who dare deny That o'er this world just gods preside, Avengers of the violated tie, And spurners of oppressive pride. * The unerring shaft, &c. Nothing can be more obscure than the Greek original in this passage. Dr. Blomfield, after much learned investigation, abandons it to scholars to deal with as they can. The sentence is probably proverbial. A general meaning glimmers through it corresponding with the translation. It says, literally rendered, that the dart of Jupiter was not shot before the time, or above the stars. The French translator thus elegantly expresses it:-" Mais le trait n'est point parti avant le temps, et ne s'est point egare dans les airs." ( 181 ) Of this fell race are they, ignobly great, Who murder breathe, and tower in guilty state; Mine be the happy lot secure to glide In calm content and peace down life's tumultuous tide. No refuge 'gainst the stroke of fate Can riches yield to them whose feet profane, Winged with presumption, dare to violate The shrine of justice, and pollute her fane;Their course blind frenzy sways, Shines on their path delusive light, Like brass, which, proved, a dark alloy betrays, Fades the meteor glare in night; Thoughtless as boys who urge the feather'd race, They work their country's and their own disgrace; In vain to heaven they look when stung with fear, The angry gods refuse their vows to hear. Thus Paris when an honoured guest At the Atridae's hospitable board, Faithless and perjured more, the more carest, Beguiled the beauteous Helen from her lord. ( 182 ) Ah, faithless wife! Greece in that hour Manned fleets for thee, and shone in arms; And by thy presence Troy in place of dower Saw ruin brought, and war's alarms. Then with forebodings deep, each prophet's tongue In sad and melancholy numbers sungHow, whilst long years should urge their destined sway, The harassed state must mourn, to countless ills a prey; Oh! royal house,* oh! nuptial bed To her who flies her lord's embrace, once dear: She's sought in vain, a spectre's form instead The palace haunts, and reigns in silence drear;t * Oh! royal house, &c. It has been a question who the prophets here referred to were-whether Trojan or Grecian. With Dr. Blomfield, Schutz, and Heath, we incline to the latter opinion; for it has been justly asked, how was the chorus at Mycene to know what the Trojan prophets had said or sung on occasion of Helen's flight. -- She's sought int rain, &c. One clause of this beautiful 6p/6-L 77T6(?O.APr0~ir ( 183 ) The polished statue's magic grace, Which imaged forth her loveliness, Is hateful to his eyes, and joy gives place* To wounded pride and deep distress. Enchanting scenes of airy bliss arise, Grief's forgeries, to cheat his sleeping eyes: strophe in the original is incurably corrupt, (7rapeart atyar' arCToc, &c.) and has defeated the conjectural emendations of the ablest critics. The allusion to the statues or busts of Helen which adorned the royal palace may be cited as a proof of the prevalence uf such ornaments in Grecian houses in the age of ZEschylus. In the heroic age, if busts were elaborated at all, they must have been sad caricatures of the human face divine. The anguish with which Menelaus is described as viewing these memorials of days of happiness is very true to nature, and resembles a passage in Dante" nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria." Inf. x. 1 1. * Joy gives place, &c. The Greek is 'eppElt a' 'Appooira, where Aphrodite, Venus, is put for grace, or charms. ( 184 ) He wakes-but seeks in vain those forms to clasp, Floating on sleep's light wings they shun his eager grasp. Such griefs the royal house, and woes Still heavier curse, meanwhile through all her land, Greece pours the tributary tear for those, Who sought elate with hope the Trojan strand: Where are they? what returns to cheer The heart to hope deferred a prey? Ashes, to crown the sad funereal bierArms, from dead warriors reft away! These relics sad are all that Mars bestows Of heroes falling amid slaughter'd foesMars, who throughout the contest's wild career The doubtful scales displays, their balance-beam* a spear. * The epithets here applied to Mars are very difficult either to understand or to translate. Heath interprets raXavrovXos, " who weighs the events of battle," " who holds the beam of victory." It has been referred by r ( 185 ) The stricken heart, the sorrowing friend, Of each loved warrior's fame delights to tell; How one the soul of battle met his end, And for another's wife one glorious fell. Others, their solace in deep tones Of censure on th' Atridee found, Or plaintive, wept for beauteous youths whose bones Had found a tomb on Trojan ground; Not less the general hatred sullies fame, Than if a solemn curse the state proclaim;* others to the custom, prevailing in the Trojan war, of redeeming the bodies of the slain by money or presents. * Not less the general hatred, &c. Upon the meaning of this dark passage the best commentators have differed. The translation follows the note of Dr. Blomfield, which is to the following effect:-The breath of popular indignation carries with it the force of a public imprecation entered into by the city. This sounds very enigmatical, and the construction of the words is as puzzling as the sense is obscure. Probably the text is corrupted. ( 186 ) Visions of coming woe my heart affright, For slaughter's gory deeds the gods requite. Though fortune's smiles a transient blaze Upon the impious oft may seem to shed, Soon the pale furies quench those sparkling rays, And bid the fickle power her path retread; Pushed headlong from their lofty seat, They pine beneath her adverse blast; Against the proud, whom acclamations greet, Jove's angry bolts full oft are cast. Mine be a lot unenvied-far from me The victor's wreath, the prisoner's fetters be; Nor mine by slaughter won the envied throne, Nor mine the dungeon's gloom where captives vainly groan. Fame through our streets with rapid flight Proclaims the joy-announcing light; But who shall say if truth divine, Or falsehood glitters in this sign? ( 187 ) Childish that heart, that reason wild, By such vague messengers beguiled: One hour it swells with joy elate, The next accuses adverse fate; Fiction to gloss with truth's bright hue, And hail unborn events as true, Is woman's part-but, vainly gay, Quick the bright pageant flits away. ( 188 ) SCENE III. CLYTEMNESTRA enters.-CHORUS. CLYTEMNESTRA. Soon shall we know whether the bickering glare Of these bright torches and successive lights The truth proclaim, or, like some flattering dream, Cheat us with vain delusive images. From yonder strand behold a herald comes, With boughs of olive he is shaded o'er. The dust in clouds* around him marks his speed: No distant signal now, no beacon's flame, But mortal accentst shall our doubts relieve. * The dust in clouds, &c. Literally rendered it would be, " the thirsty dust, sister of the mud, and closely connected with it." t But mortal accents, &c. The commentators have differed much on the precise meaning of the words cs ovr' avavaoc, &c. The true force of the words, we conceive, is attained, by regarding them as an allusion ( 189 ) His words will either swell our tide of joy, Or-but away, all thoughts to hope opposed. Brighter and brighter still may fortune smile. Ch. Accursed be he who other wishes breathes. SCENE IV. HERALD enters. CHORUS, HERALD, CLYTEMNESTRA. HERALD. Hail, Argos! hail, my much loved native land: In this tenth year of absence I behold, 'Midst many frustrate hopes, one realised. I ventured not to cherish the fond thought to the herald flame, which, though a splendid and striking, was a dumb messenger, whereas the living herald, who was then in sight, Clytemnestra says, is no dumb messenger, nor one that will signify the truth by fiery signals, but by articulate sounds. ( 190 ) That here in Argive soil my bones would rest.* Loved soil, thrice hail! refulgent orb of day! Jove, power supreme! and thou, oh Pythian king, Pointing at us no more the arrowy death! Skamander's banks beheld thee long our foe; But o'er us now, Apollo, spread once more Thy bright protecting shield: ye gods that guide * The poet who is true to nature is the poet of all times and countries. This is one great source of the charm which attends the study of the great writers of antiquity. The voice of nature speaks in this speech of the herald, and his expressions of delight at finding himself again on the shores of his native land, and amidst objects inexpressibly dear to him by the tenderest ties of kindred and of country, represent the emotions of an unsophisticated and feeling mind, under similar circumstances, in every part of the world. Thus Homer, eminently the poet of nature, describes Agamemnon as melting into tears on again treading the soil of his beloved Argos.irTOtL 6 p/, Xcalpwr ETr/3inTro 7,trapi (o (aCir K'at KV',sE a7rro/TIEVoQ lj} TarpTai' 7roXX 'ta r't avrov a~&Kpva OEpftCa XF^'ovr E'7rt atraaigoc 'isE yatia. Od(.ss. iv. 521. ( 191 ) The fate of battles-Hermes, power benign, The herald's friend, the herald's favourite themeAnd you immortal heroes, who our hosts Urged to the combat, on the scant remains Escaped the thirsty spear, propitious smile. Ye royal mansions of our kings, loved wallsYe seats revered-ye deities that face* The orient sun and drink his golden raysIf on our king ye e'er have favouring smiled, Oh! welcome his return so long delayed;Bright as the sun chasing the mists of night, His country's joy, great Agamemnon comes: Hail his approach; in him the chief behold, Jove's fated instrument, whose potent arm Has passed destruction's ploughshare over Troy.f * Ye deities that face, &c. The herald here addresses himself to the deities or demons, i. e. the inferior race of gods, whose statues were placed in the open air, in shrines or on pedestals, towards the east. The expression in the original is, CaipovEc 7' aVT\iXLOt. t Has passed destruction's ploughshare, &c. This image is quite in the style of the Hebrew prophets. ( 192 ) Prostrate in dust her shrines, her temples lie; Extinct her race; and with the captive chain Ilion now compassed, great Atrides bends Homeward his steps, with glory blazoned round.* Above all mortals be his praise proclaimed; Nor Paris, nor th' associates of his guilt, Can boast their crime its punishment exceeds. Not only on the ravisher death preys; His family, his country share that fate, Accumulated woes on Troy are hurled. Cl. Welcome, brave herald, from th' Achaian host. Her. Welcome those accents-death I reck not now. Ch. Have your fond feelings oft to home recurred? Her. These tears my deep emotions best pourtray. Ch. Then you were stricken by that soft disease. Her. I need some clue your meaning to attain. Ch. Your kindly thoughts responded to our own. Her. You say the army's longings imaged yours. * The poet with great art exalts the glory of Agamemnon, to render the contrast of his approaching fate doully tragic. ( 193 ) Ch. Yes, many a sigh of speechless grief I've heaved. Her. What cause excited in you such dejection? Ch. Silence, best solace of our woes has proved. Her. In the king's absence were your fears alarmed? Ch. So much, that death, to use thy words, were joy. Ier. The end is well achieved, but our long years Of absence, chequered all throughout have been With mingled joy and grief: who but the gods The privilege of bliss unchanging know? The perils of our passage shall I paint, The reefs we crost? how rarely we attained A friendly port, ev'n then, how hardly fared? Successive trials marked each lingering hour; Landed, to heavier evils we were doomed: Our couch, the earth's cold lap, 'neath hostile walls; The adverse skies, the neighbouring marshes breathed Pernicious dews, whose fleecy moisture robbed Our garments of their soundness; winter's blast, Whirling the snowy scourge from Ida's top, The very birds destroyed, and froze our limbs. Fierce was the summer's glare, what time the sea Its heaving billows hush'd in soft repose, 0o ( 194 ) Slept 'neath the blaze of noon; but why deplore These ills?-the pain is past: past to the deadThey court not life again: nought it avails The living them to mourn, or fortune's turnsHenceforth I bid to grief a long adieu. To us, survivors of the Argive host, The final issue much these ills outweighs. Our's is the boast, a boast to be proclaim'd In the bright face of day, to all who speed O'er land or sea, that th' Achaian host, Victorious over Troy, with her proud spoils Have heaped the altars of the gods of Greece. Hail to our city! let us all exclaimHail to our valorous chiefs! Jove's favouring arm This issue has ensured: I now have done. Ch. That to my mind your words conviction bring I'll not deny: old age it well becomes Instruction to pursue with youthful zeal: The royal house and Clytemnestra most This news affects, but I shall share their bliss. Cl. I shrieked with joy when the nocturnal blaze Effulgently proclaimed the fall of Troy. ( 195 ) The scoffer then with taunts exclaimed-" By signs Like these delusive thou art then convinced Ilion is ours? credulity belongs To all thy sex:" though thus condemned, forthwith A sacrifice I ordered: at my word The altars blazed, soft clouds of incense rose, And cries of triumph through the city rung. What canst thou further add? the king's own lips Ere long shall tell me more; I'll now prepare What best may grace my honoured lord's return. To a wife's eyes what sight so ravishing As a loved consort to her arms restored Safe from war's doubtful strife, and to unfold His palace gates herself; go, speed his steps; His people burn to manifest their love. His wife he'll find the guardian of his house,* Faithful as when he left her to her vowsTo him devoted, to his foes a foe; * The Greek literally rendered would be-" His wire he'll find the watch-dog of his house"-a comparison expressive, though harsh, yet not ill suited to the venerable simplicity of the heroic age. 2 ( 196 ) No slur upon her honour —rust to brass Will sooner cleave than I be faithless found. [Exit CLYTEMNESTRA. Her. Such lofty language if by truth sustained Disgraces not a high-born woman's lips. Ch. In terms distinct and clear she has replied To all thy queries: herald, now declare Lives Menelaus still, and shall our eyes Witness that much-loved hero's safe return? IHer. The tale that flatters but is false, I spurn; Quickly the truth my friends would undeceive. Ch. From these ambiguous hints, the truth, I ween, Accords not with the tenor of our vows. IHer. His fate we know not; from th' Achaian host He and his vessel both have disappeared. Ch. A different track pursued the king from Troy, Or did some tempest's fury thwart his course? Her. Like the fleet arrow which attains its aim, Your words have struck direct our common woe. Ch. What through the fleet does rumour's voice assert? Lives he, or must we mourn his tragic end? ( 197 ) Her. The truth He only knows whose radiant orb Sheds on earth's bosom fructifying beams. Ch. How rose, how sunk the storm which on the fleet, Winged with celestial wrath, destructive fell? Her. By news ill-omen'd to o'ercloud a day Sacred to triumph ill would please the gods.* When at a city with dejected looks Arrives some routed army's messenger, Announcing tidings, whose sad tenor wakes The throb of public sorrow, and o'ershades * III would please the gods. The meaning of this passage is, that the honours due to the gods presiding over good and evil events are different. The former call for songs of triumph: to the latter is suited the mournful dirge of the Furies, those dread mysterious beings who were regarded as the instruments of calamities, both public and private. The prevalent feeling, the herald argues, on the present occasion, ought to be joy and exultation at the glorious event of which he was the messenger; any partial disaster which had occurred to the Grecian fleet on the passage home was for the moment to be forgotten. The voice of triumph was not to be marred by the hymn of the Furies. ( 198 ) Each house with mourning for love's severed tiesWoes doubly-barbed like these, the fated train Of gore-stain'd Mars, th' infernal notes suggest Too justly of the Furies' paean strain; But how shall I, with glorious tidings fraught, And coming to a state replete with joy, Check its bright triumphs by depicturing The heaven-commissioned storm which scourged the Greeks? It fell on us by night-water and flame, Opposing elements, exchanged a pledge To wreak destruction on the Argive host. 'Midst brooding darkness swell'd the raging deep, Ship against ship by Thracian blasts was hurled. Lashed by the whirlwind's fury, and engulfed By the wide-gaping surge, their gallant forms Were seen no more —the pilot's art was vain. The radiant morn beheld th' Egcean sea With naval spoils, and with the corses pale Of Grecian warriors strown: some god preserved Our vessel and its crew; no mortal hand The rudder could have swayed: above, around, ( 199 ) Destruction raged; but fortune smiled on us. The anchor held its grasp; the winds in vain Impelled our vessel to the reefy shore. Escaped a watery grave our lot appeared Too fortunate for credence; much we mourned Th' heroic army's fate, yet solace found In mutual converse on our sufferings, If of our comrades any yet survive Doubtless they deem us perished; we forebode The like of them: may heaven these fears dispel. That Menelaus will return, doubt not; If one bright ray of sunshine gild his course, And Jove has not decreed to end his race, There still is hope: the truth I now have told. ( 200 ) CHORUS. I. I. What power unseen, whose piercing eye Sees through the hidden depths of fate, 'Twixt Helen's name* and destiny Such wondrous semblance could create? * The Greeks superstitiously believed that a mysterious destiny frequently controlled the selection of the names of individuals, so as to render them ominous of their future fortunes.-Vide Elmsly, ad Ezurip. Bacch. 508, et Soph. Aj. 425, and Eurip. Phceniss. 645, as quoted by Bishop Blomfield. The verification of this doctrine in the case of Helen is illustrated by the etymology of that word, which the poet derives from i'Xo, to destroy; by compounding which with va-v, a word somewhat similar in sound to Helen is produced, clenaus, signifying destroyer of ships. This is very far-fetched, and is in fact no better than absurd punning; but not satisfied with confining it to one word, le coins in the same way E'Xav~poc, destroyer of men; AX'7rroX\t, destroyer of cities. There is no possibility ( 201 ) War-stirring name! fleets, armies, states Destruction sealed, when, through the latticed gates Her light form gliding, swift the zephyrs bore* Their beauteous charge the billows o'er. Then rung the din of arms; borne o'er the main, Athwart the furrowy track of twinkling oars, Like hunters after prey,- a shield-armed train Sought silver Simois and his woodland shores: of translating into English verse this mass of Greek compounds. Superstition as to names could alone have rendered all this tolerable even in Greek. It forms, however, the introduction to an ode which, though obscure in parts, is fraught with striking beauties, both poetical and moral. * Swift the zephyrs bore. The Greek calls it the giant zephyr, an epithet which Casaubon and Schutz refer to the poetical generation of Zephyr from Oceanus and Terra, but G. Wakefield, as quoted by Butler, explains ytyavroc as another word for peyaXov, tLXvpov. This appears more natural and probable. t Like hunters after prey —vvayot. As the hunter diligently tracks the steps of wild animals in the chase, so tile Greeks are poetically represented as pursuing the firrowy traces of the vessel of Paris over the waves. ( 202 ) Dire was their object, urged by vengeful flame For bloody strife, for furious war they came. I. II. Burst on Troy the storm of woe; Dismay and terror marked its course, And Jove, of faithless guests the foe, Winged with new ire its fatal force. Then cowering sunk the guilty throng Whose lips profaned the hymeneal song: No more thy ancient streets, imperial Troy, Rung with notes of festive joy: To scorn and bitter hate, by suffering stung, Paris, revenge on thee her sons besought; The fatal marriage dwelt on every tongue, And the long train of woes thy crimes had wrought; The senseless shepherd thus a lion rears,* Dear to his house at first, its pest in future years. * The senseless shepherd thus a lion rears. This beautiful allegory has been strangely referred by some critics to Helen; by Heath for example, and even ( s23 ) I. III. Gentle while young and bland The milky dugs it prest, 'Twas tossed and fondled like an infant boy; By old and young carest, It licked th' extended hand, Whilst sparkling in its ardent eye flashed joy. But soon the rabid rage boils o'er, Schutz leans to the opinion; but to say nothing of the absurdity of comparing a lovely and delicate female to a savage animal, the context clearly refers it to Paris. The allegory is preceded by an animated contrast between the notes of festal joy with which Troy rung on the first arrival of Paris and Helen, and the execrations heaped upon them by the populace, after an experience of the miseries brought upon Troy by their crime. Paris in particular is thus singled out in the lineKrXkiaflovaa lIaptv TOY aclVi,~Krpov, &c. Then follows the allegory, which forms a striking illustration of the folly of the Trojans in having pampered and cherished a beautiful but perfidious youth to their own destruction. ( 204 ) Rankling in its youthful veins, It spurns control, the fostering hand disdains, And leaps the fold to slake its thirst in gore. Thus Paris traitor proved and false to Troy, Nurse of his youth: for to her gates was borne By him, that Syren smiling to destroy, Love's fairest flower, * resplendent as the morn! Ah! fatal day, those hearts so gay Dreamt not of sorrow near; How changed the scene-with ruthless mien, War, vengeance, death appear, And pale Erynnys rolls her haggard eyes - Jove's minister of wrath for violated ties. II. I. Tradition, rich in varied lore Culled from the spoils of time, declares That pregnant fortunet breeds a store Of sorrows and envenomed cares. * Nothing can be more rich and beautiful than the epithets clustered together in the original to express the loveliness of Helen-but they defy translation. t A proverbial maxim is here introduced by the I iI ( 205 ) The laughing hours her smiles bestow, Prove the sure harbingers of woe. Stern sentiment avaunt-tho' impious deeds, Fit offspring in its train, Injustice leads, Yet such as borne aloft by nobler views The votaries of virtue shine contest, No fated stroke of wretchedness pursues, The progeny of men like these is blest, While wrath divine* and angry fates abide The man who justice spurns, and towers in guilty pride. poet which admits not of literal translation. There is current (he says) among men a traditionary, ancient saying, that when good fortune has attained her acme, she becomes pregnant, nor dies childless-he means that she brings forth calamities. * While wrath divine, &c. The corresponding passage in the original, commencing ct\Xe E T KTretv UpLc, is rendered so obscure by the corruption of the text, that all the commentators, with Wellauer bringing up the rear, have laboured upon it in vain. ( 206 ) II. II. Nor smoky roofs,* nor scanty stores, Nor poverty's low shed, Can quench the light which justice pours Around the humblest head: In her bright train, linked hand in hand, Around the kindred virtues take their standWhere'er the traces of their steps are found 'Tis holy, consecrated ground; * Nor smoky roofs, &c. This connection of justice with abstinence and poverty is finely imagined. Several parallel passages may be cited both from ancient and modern poetry. Thus HoraceMundoeque parvo sub lare pauperum Crense, sine aulaeis et ostro, Solicitam explicuere frontem." So Tasso" Non copre abito vil la nobil luce." And Milton "courtesy, Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls, In courts of princes." Vide et Lucretius, lib. ii. 27, et Ariosto, cant, xiv. 1. 62. ----------- 41 I _ __ ( 207 ) But from the gilded roofs, the pompous scene In lofty state where blood-stained wretches reign, Th' indignant goddess turns with angry mien, Nor treats ignoble wealth with less disdain.Pure are her ways, though oft to mortal eye Beset they seem with clouds, and wrapped in mystery. [AGAMEMNON is here supposed to enter in a chariot, followed by CASSANDRA. II. III. Approach, illustrious king, Crowned with the spoils of Troy! How shall we hail thee and thy triumphs view? How best express our joy? How fitly touch the string 'Twixt vulgar praise and honour justly due? Prompt is perfidy to lour 'Neath the gay covert of a smile, Tears softly flowing veil the arts of guile, Unmasked their baseness in affliction's hour. When first in Helen's cause thy voice proclaimed Fierce war, and echoed back our vales the cry, ( 208 ) Reason condemned that ardour which inflamed To maddening rage the Greeks too prompt to die. But justly now, thy regal brow The wreath of glory wears; Much does this land, this state demand Thy sage, paternal cares - Soon wilt thou know who firm with hearts unmoved Their loyalty have kept, and who have factious proved. ( 209 ) SCENE V. CHORUS, AGAMEMNON, CASSANDRA. AGAMEMNON. Argos, and you her guardian gods, whose power Restores me to this land, achieved on Troy The retribution due, I first salute. No pleading advocate, but Ilion's guilt, The powers celestial urged unanimous, To freight the bloody urn* with the decree Of vengeance; suppliant Hope in vain * To freight the bloody urn. This passage, which represents the gods as sitting in judgment upon Troy, and unanimously condemning her, is borrowed from the practice of the most ancient courts of justice in Greece. Two urns were placed in the court, into which the suffrages of acquittal or condemnation were cast by the judges, and the fate of the accused depended on a comparison of their contents. - Vide Archceologia of Potter, vol. i. p. 107. P ( 210 ) Th' opposing urn approached-empty it stoodThat city's fate the smoking ruins tell: Still howls the blast of evil-gorgeous spoils Feed the fierce flames and wing them with perfumes. Rise then our thanks to heaven: success has crown'd The snare stupendous, which the Argive horse* Bore in his entrails through the streets of Troy. Emitting from his sides a shield-armed train, Her walls, what time the Pleiades declined, With lion-rage they scaled, and slaked their thirst In tyrants' gore;-due tribute to the gods Thus paid-thy train of thought I'll now pursue. Rare are those mortals who a friend arrayed * The snare stupendous, &c. In this passage there is a confusion of metaphors in the original. The Trojan horse is called the "' snare stupendous," " the Argive monster," " the foal of the horse," " the ravenous lion leaping the walls;" and all this in the same breath. The image of the lion leaping over the walls of the city, v{rrpOopwpv 7rvcpyov wlicaric X\wv, appears to have been in Virgil's mind. —iE. vi. " Quum fatalis equus saltu super ardua venit Pergama, et armatum peditem gravis adtulit alvo." P"' 2i / J "I I;,, i I I I I i I I I I II i I I ( 211 ) In fortune's smiles with eyes unenvying view: That baleful poison rankling at the heart A double smart inflicts; the sufferer mourns His own peculiar woes-then, at the sight Of others more successful, sighs again. I know mankind full well, nor need to learn That empty as the shadow of a shade Are many who with smiles my presence hail. Ulysses only who reluctant sailed,* When once embarked, faithful and constant proved; Living or dying be his worth proclaimed. On all relating to the city's weal, Or to the gods, (due games being first ordained In full convention,) we'll deliberate. Whate'er is sound, unaltered shall remain; Where remedies are needful, caustic power Shall search the peccant part, or, if that fail, Excision wisely used the wound may cure. * Ulysses. The classical reader will recollect that this allusion to Ulysses glances at the story of his having feigned madness to avoid being obliged to join the armament against Troy. p2 ( 212 ) Now shall the palace and its friendly hearths Witness our grateful praises to the gods: They to a term my distant toils have broughtMay lasting triumphs on my steps attend. CLYTEMNESTRA elters. CLYTEMNESTRA. Senate of Argos, citizens, give ear, I blush not in your presence to declare That in this heart my consort reigns supreme;Time banishes reserve: no other tongue Could paint my woes while the king warred at Troy. Hard is her fate who solitary mourns An absent husband-rumour's forgeries In ever-shifting forms her peace assail. Tale follows tale; each fresh report augments The terrors of the former: had the king Endured the many wounds by fame announced, His body, like the surface of a net, Pierced through and through had been; if he had died ( 213 ) Oft as report has killed him, Geryon self, The triple-bodied monster, who endured In that portentous form, the stroke of death Repeated thrice, had yielded him the palm. Despair ensued, and but for friendly hands Which more than once the fatal cord unloosed, It had foreclosed my woes: these facts explain The absence of Orestes-much-loved pledge Of the pure faith we to each other vowed. Stropheus, thy friend in arms, with tender care Nurtures the youth;-my dangers, shouldst thou fall 'Neath Ilion's walls, or should the state be 'whelmed In fearful anarchy, he oft pourtrayed: Prone is mankind to trample on the fallen: His warnings were not coloured by deceit. So fast my tears have flowed, that finally Their fountain ceased, and I could weep no more. * Geryon self, &c. Geryon was a monster whom the poets fabled to have had three heads and as many bodies. Hercules was sent by Eurystheus to Gades to slay him. ( 214 ) The faded lustre in these eyes attests Their long-drawn vigils, whilst my tears deplored The disregarded torches;*-if perchance I snatched a moment's sleep, the gnats' shrill hum Sufficed to break the charm-from cruel dreams I woke, to muse on worse realities. But this blest day shall banish thoughts of grief: The king to me is as the faithful dogt * The disregarded torches. She means to say that often she could not sleep for fear lest the promised signal of the beacon, or torch, announcing the fall of Troy, might, through the neglect of the sentinels at some of the stations, be unobserved, and therefore fail of due transmission. t There is an instance in Burns of a somewhat similar accumulation of images to illustrate the fugitive nature of earthly pleasures."But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the riverA moment white, then melts for ever; Or like the Borealis race That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amidst the storm." Ode on Vicissitude. ( 215 ) To the safe flock, or to the heaving ship The anchor's grasp;-to the resplendent fane The lofty shaft, or to a father's heart His only son;-as the first glimpse of land To sailors tempest-tost —the sun's bright beams Chasing a tempest's gloom;-or to the heart Of weary traveller by toil opprest, The sight ecstatic of refreshing streams. Oh! blest immunity from threatened woe! Envy, begone-too well we grief have known. Most loved of mortals, from this car descend, But sully not in dust, great king, thy feet Which scarce have rested from the glorious work Of trampling down proud Troy: ye thoughtless slaves, Why this delay? forget ye my commands, With trappings to spread o'er your monarch's way? Be his whole path empurpled: Justice guides, Herself, his steps to bliss transcending hope. Our watchful care, and the propitious powers That rule above, the rest shall regulate. ( 216 ) Ag. Daughter of Leda, guardian of my house, In length, thy speech might with my absence vie. From other lips than thine such high-wrought praise, If merited at all, had better flowed. Treat me not like a woman, bend not low In flattery's pompous modes,* nor wound me thus By words fit only for barbaric ears. Let no rich trappings proudly deck my way; Reserve such honours for the gods; frail man Should tremble for himself when he delights With stately mien to tread o'er gorgeous robes. Honour me as a mortal, not a god: My fame needs not these costly ornaments: No brighter gifts the gods to mortals grant Than a sound judgment; when a man has closed A prosperous course in peace, pronounce him blest. This be my aim, and I shall fearless prove. * In flattery's modes. Shakspeare expressively says in Hamlet(' No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp." ( 217 ) Cl. Ah! do not thus my wishes contravene. Ag. In vain thy wishes seek to change my will. Cl. Fear might have made thee vow what I implore. Ag. If ever purpose was resolved, 'tis mine. Cl. "Would Priam in thy place have thus resolved? Ag. He o'er these trappings would have gladly strode. Cl. Why thus the busy tongue of censure heed? Ag. The public voice has wondrous potency. Cl. The unenvied man is ne'er a happy man. Ag. It ill becomes thy sex to argue thus. Cl. It well becomes the fortunate to yield. Ag. Art thou resolved to conquer in this strife? Cl. Refuse me not, but graciously incline. Ag. If thus it must be, let some slave unloose These sandals, for with envious glance some god May blast me should I walk with covered feet. I blush to sully thus, such precious robes, Objects so costly-with benignant mien Give welcome to this stranger, Jove regards With favour those who exercise mild sway. Unwillingly we yield the neck to bonds. She amid countless spoils the fairest flower, ( 218 ) The conquering army's gift, attends my steps: By this empurpled way we enter now, Obedient to thy wish, our royal walls. Cl. Does not the sea beneath its boundless waves Nourish, profuse, the matter of these dies, These purple costly hues? thy house, oh king, Can boast an ample store-ah! with what joy Would I have yielded to be trodden thus, All that refulgent heap, if at this price The oracles had fixed thy safe return. The root survives, and upwards it shall push Luxuriant branches, whose embowering shade Shall shield us from the dog-star's scorching beams. To the paternal mansion thy return Is sweet as warmth amid the winter's cold: Or when, 'neath summer's heat, th' unripe grape Swells for the vintage, thy loved presence here Would shed a grateful coolness. Mighty Jove, Give ear, and let thy power the future guide. [Exit AGAMEMNON. ( 219 ) CHORUS. STROPHE. Why do foreboding terrors haunt* This sad, this tortured bosom still? Why does some voice mysterious chaunt Sad presages of ill. In vain I call my thoughts away, These visitants unbidden stay; * The poet, from the beginning of the tragedy, gradually prepared the mind for its terrible consummation. The watchman obscurely hints at the guilt of Clytemnestra in the opening speech; many of the remarks of the chorus are uttered under the influence of a mysterious and undefinable dread of impending calamities: but now that the catastrophe approaches, they touch, in the strain of their forebodings, the confines of prediction. The dull and almost indistinct dirge of the Furies is supposed to be heard along the walls of the palace, and to thrill the hearts of the auditors. The beauties of this chorus in the original are striking, but from its enigmatical and prophetic character, it is in parts peculiarly obscure. The translater is forced to be paraphrastic or unintelligible. ( 220 ) Ah! would to heaven they'd take their flight, Like dreams dispelled by morning light, Then would my heart its wonted peace regain: Long on the sandy borders of the main The cables held our wind-bound fleet, Which cast impatient looks towards Ilion's shore; That fleet I now returning greetIts triumphs sealed, its martial labours o'er. And yet of hope bereft my thoughts inspire Nought but the Fury's dirge, unsuited to the lyre. ANTISTROPHE. Ye viewless forms, that hover near, And rack my mind with torturing pain, Ah! were your pictured scenes but empty fear, Mere phantoms of the brain! Too well I feel-too surely know Ye come the harbingers of woe; Yet, though despairing, to the skies My prayers, my vows shall suppliant rise, Striving against th' unalterable spell; Nigh blooming health disease and sorrow dwell; ( 221 ) Perfidious shoals, the pinnace gay Arrest full oft, as light it skims the wavePart of the freight then prudence casts away, The remnant from th' engulfing surge to save. And thus my griefs I fain would woo to rest, While whispering low the cares that deep corrode my breast. EPODE. When plenteous harvests sent by favouring Jove The furrows gild, or paint with fruits the grove, Forgotten are the scenes of want and pain Which closely press in pining famine's train. But what enchantment- can to life restore The man whose vital blood once stains the floor. * But what enchantment, &c. This sentiment closely accords with that fine passage in Othello, in which, adverting to his taper, he says"If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former life restore, Should I repent-but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excellent nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relumine."-Act V. ( 222 ) On the great master of that potent spell* The burning wrath of Jove indignant fell. Long since my heart, my tongue, their words had found, The struggling effort did not fate confound. But now in moody grief I pine away, For fate relentless frowns, and marks its destined prey. SCENE VI. CHORUS, CLYTEMNESTRA, CASSANDRA. CLYTEMNESTRA. Thou too, Cassandra, enter, since a place Jove has assigned thee 'mid th' attendant train Of vestal slaves who tend the Ctesian shrine. Quit that proud car, those haughty looks discard. * Esculapius is here alluded to, who, it is fabled, was slain by Jupiter with a thunderbolt for reanimating a dead corpse. ( 223 ) The mighty offspring of Alcmene* once, Fame says, submitted to the servile yoke. Happy for thee thy lot is cast 'midst those Who from long ancestry their wealth derive.t They who by sudden strides to greatness rise, Oft rule with iron sway: but we pursue Established custom as our rule of life. Ch. Plain is her language: tangled as thou art In fate's portentous toils, submit thy willIf haply due submission it can brook. C7. I cannot fail her reason to persuade, Except she speak a language barbarous, * Hercules, by an injunction of the oracle of Apollo, was sold as a slave to Omphale, Queen of Lydia, in expiation of the murder of Iphitus, whom he slew in a moment of furious passion.-Vide Schutz. t The milder use of power by those who exercise it as a consequence of hereditary wealth and dignity, than by the newly rich or great, is a fact, verified by general experience, and must often have forced itself on the observation of so acute an observer of mankind as XEschylus, amidst the struggles of parties in a democratic state like Athens. This sentiment is repeated by him in a very similar form in the Prometheus, "ArTrac e rpaCLxc [OttC av vov Iparj.-Prom. 35. ( 224 ) Like the harsh jargon of the swallow's throat.* Ch. Follow the queen; wisdom this part enjoins; Yield to persuasion's voice and quit the car. Cl. To linger still about the door, the hour Forbids; the victims ranged for sacrifice Demand our presence in the central court. My bliss transcends all hope-stranger relent; If to thy ear an unknown tongue I speak Mark it at least by some barbaric sign. Ch. Wild as an untamed animal, she needs The faithful aid of some interpreter. C1. Her mind is frenzied, reason's light is flown: * The Greeks were in the habit of calling all persons swallows who did not speak their language with perfect purity. So in the " Frogs" of Aristophanes, Hercules asks"Say, are there not besides an endless tribe Of beardless dramatists, who prate so fast They beat Euripides by many a mile." To which Bacchus replies --- " Aye, those young sprigs, that chattering nest of swallows, Corrupters of true taste." Vide Frogs, Dunster's Translation. ( 225 ) Captive, she mourns her fallen country's woesLike a reluctant colt which champs the bit Till it is all suffused with bloody foam. Further intreaties are beneath our state. [CLYTEMNESTRA goes out. Ch. Unfortunate, I pity thee, and cannot chide: Why linger in that car? descend and bow Thy neck, submissive to the yoke of fate. Ca. Ye gods! oh earth! Apollo! oh Apollo! C/(. With piteous plaints why thus address the power Whom 'tis forbidden to invoke with tears? Ca. Ye gods! oh earth! Apollo! oh Apollo! Ch. With words ill-omened she again invokes The god who ne'er responds to strains of grief. Ca. Apollo! oh Apollo! God of the ways,* Wilt thou a second time destroy my peace? " God of the waiys. The Greek word is 'Ayvtev, i.e. presiding over the ways, an epithet of Apollo, to whom it was customary to erect altars by the public roads or streets at Athens. Aristophanes, in the Wasps," applies the epithet in a similar way. Q ( 226 ) Ch. Hark! she will sing prophetic her own woes. The mind divine still triumphs 'midst these bonds. Ca. Apollo! oh Apollo! what abode, What mansion this to which my feet are led? Ch. Ask'st thou what mansion? 'tis the royal house Of th' Atridae-what I speak is truth. Ca. A house the gods detest: its very walls The fearful tale could tell of bloody deeds, Of slaughtered kindred-of th' assassin's snares, And the ground moistened with a husband's gore. Ch. Like a sagacious hound this stranger tracks The murderous horrors of this guilty house. Ca. Ye weeping slaughtered infants!* of whose flesh, * Ye weeping slaughtered infants. The children of Thyestes, the brother of Atreus, are here alluded to, all of whom, excepting iEgysthus, who escaped, were murdered by Atreus, and parts of their flesh served up at a banquet, of which their father, ignorant of what had happened, partook. It is fabled by the ancient mythologists that the sun, in horror of the atrocious deed, averted his beamy head from the spectacle. The phantoms of these children are seen by Cassandra in her prophetic visions. —ide Preliminary Dissertation, p. 136. I - 4.L)i( *227 ) At table served, your reckless sire partook, Your's is indeed a thrilling evidence. Ch. The fame of thy prophetic powers long since Has reached our ears-but prophecies avaunt. Ca. Ye gods, what's now impending? what new woes, What dreadful project frames that mind? no cure, No pardon for it-evil beyond redress! Ch. These prophecies I fathom not, but those Refer to facts with which all Argos rings. Ca. And dar'st thou, wretch accursed, while at the bath Attending on thy lord? how shall my tongue The deed proclaim-the fatal hour draws nigh; Redoubling from her hand the death-strokes fall. Ch. I understand thee not; thy oracles Are shrouded in enigmas dark as night. Ca. Ye gods, what now! is it the net of hell? That snare the consort of his bosom wrought: Ye furies, of this house insatiate foes, Howl forth your baleful song of horrid joy. Ch. What furies urgest thou with hideous shrieks Q2 ( 228 ) To rend these walls? thy words are terrible; The ruddy drop is curdling at my heart, As when the fatal spear quenches life's ray: Evil is nigh at hand. — Ca. Behold! behold! Oh! free the noble bull from the thick toils Which with such matchless art about his limbs The hateful heifer twines: she strikes —he falls! And in the bath, his destined tomb, expires. Ch. I cannot boast the power to penetrate Thy oracles; but from these shadowy hints I augur woe: has ever aught of good From the divining power to man accrued? Its deep ambiguous terms the truth invest With mysteries which thrill- my inmost soul. Ca. Alas! my sad, my pitiable fate! My own woes blend with those I thus deplore. Wherefore me wretched did you hither lead But to be partner of his bloody doom? Ch. Thy rapt, inspired mind distracted raves, Wild are thy strains, unfit for utterance; Thus in soft plaintive thrills the bird of eve, ( 229 ) With never-ceasing song, Itys invokes, And mourns the sorrows strown in life's drear path. Ca. Alas! alas! sweet nightingale, I would My fate resembled thine; the soaring wings With which the gods thy little form have clothed Bear thee through liquid fields of air; thy life Is one unclouded day of gentle peace. But me the two-edged steel will fiercely cleave. Ch. These terrors vain, these unavailing griefs, Whence flow they? inarticulate and wild Thy language is, yet fraught with energy. Who to thy prescient eye the path unfolds Of future evil and impending woe? Ca. Nuptials of Paris! fatal to my friends! Scamander! whose loved stream waters those plains In which my infant feet, unknown to woe, Disported once, adieu! ere long thy banks, Cocytus, and the stream of Acheron, Shall listen to my melancholy dirge. Ch. Now dark no more thy words; the simplest child Might know their import; bitter grief pervades My inmost heart while listening to thy strains. ( 230 ) Ca. Ah! cruel memory of that mournful day Which sealed my country's ruin! sacred shrines, On which beneath great Ilion's walls my sire The choicest bullocks vainly sacrificed! Our fate his pious cares could not avert, Soon will this floor be moistened with my blood. Ch. Again the selfsame strains? some adverse power Compels these wailings: what shall be their end? Ca. My oracles no more shall imitate, By mystic terms, the blushing bride* who veils Her radiant charms; but in the face of day, Distinct as when old ocean rears his head, Shall signify the truth, and tell of deeds More terrible than aught I've yet pourtrayed. Begone enigmas: who shall now deny My words the evils of the past have traced? A dismal choir for ever haunts these walls, Accordant, not harmonious-harsh their strain: e The blushing bride. It was the custom in Greece for a bride to wear a veil for the first three days after the celebration of marriage. I ( 231 ) The sister Furies, drunk with human blood, Here keep their orgies, nor can be expelled. Fixt to this spot they sing the primal crime, Then change the strain, and curse the man who dared His brother's bed invade: err I, or touch the mark? Call me false prophetess-impostor: no, You cannot; rather swear I know full well The ancient horrors of this royal house. Ch. What would the sanctity of oaths avail Our sorrows to assuage; but whence thy power, Reared as thou wast beyond the ambient main, To speak of things occurring 'neath these walls As if to all that passed thou'dst privy been? Ca. It is Apollo's gift-the power is his. Ch. Did love impel him, though of race divine? Ca. I could not bring my lips this fact to state. Ch. And didst thou on his passion favouring smile? Ca. I seemed to do so, but deceived the god. Ch. After the prescient power he had bestowed? Ca. Yes: from my lips its doom the state had heard. Ch. And did no vengeance from the god assail thee? ( 232 ) Ca. My oracles through him were fables deemed. C/h. To us they seem with prescient truth instinct. Ca. Oh! ye distracting woes! again my brain, With the prophetic heat inflamed, whirls round: How ominous the prelude-see you, yon babes, Shadowy as spectres, peopling nightly dreams! Those children, massacred by seeming friends, Who their own mangled flesh display to view, Their entrails and their hearts, meats horrible, Which their own father tasted; for these wrongs Craving revenge, a lion spiritless Concealed within my master's chamber prowls. My master did I say, ah! cruel words, Sad comment on these bonds —thou dreamest not, Leader of mighty fleets, Troy's vanquisher, What deadly venom lurks beneath the tongue Of her, who recently thy ear addressed In words so smooth and fair-a pestilence That walks in darkness-woman art thou called? And murderer of thy husband! other names Befit thee-snaky monster! Scylla dire! Howling amidst the depths of ocean's caves, ( 233 ) The sailor's dread-mother of darkest hellCursing thy very friends-detested voiceE'en now it shrieked as in the battle's rout, And hailed the king's return with unfelt joy. You disbelieve-it matters not-ere long The deed itself will speak, and you shall find How true the prophetess that spoke in me. Ch. I shuddered while she spoke: her words described The banquet of Thyestes-icy fear, So vividly she sketched it, chilled my blood. Her drift beyond that point I cannot trace. Ca. Ere long you'll witness Agamemnon's death. Ch. Infatuate woman, check those dreadful words. Ca. All help is vain: it must-it must be so. Ch. Not if the fates are fixed, but heaven forbid. Ca. E'en while you speak the stroke of death impends. Ch. What man can meditate so foul a deed? Ca. Can you thus blindly solve my oracles? CIh. The author of the plot thou didst not name. Ca. Your native tongue you surely comprehend? ( 234 ) Ch. Thou'rt all prophetic, therefore all obscure. Ca. Oh heavens! this fire consumes me-it prevails. Apollo! cruel deity! what horrors! This human lioness, while far away Her noble mate, has wallowed in the arms Of a vile wolf: my murder now she plots. The poisoned chalice mingled in her wrath A portion holds for me, and while the steel For her lord's breast she whets, proclaims the deed Fit meed for him who brought me to these shores. Why should I longer on my head endure These garlands, or support this sceptre? signs Of power prop; tic, the sad source to me Of nought but deep derision: ere I fall These hands shall cast them to the earth-begone, Go deck out some new victim of despair.t * The original word is Avk'ELE, which literally rendered signifies wolf- destroyer; but Hesychius, as quoted by Bishop Blomfield, explains its meaning metaphorically as cruel or savage. t The tragedies of Seneca can very rarely be quoted with approbation as compared with those of the Gre ( 235 ) Apollo comes himself to disengage My robe of prescient power: these ornaments Have but derision brought from friend and foe. Harsh names they called me, mad impostor, fool, Poor wandering mendicant: all this I bore. At length the prophet-god his prophetess Conducts, relentless, to this cruel end. Not the paternal shrine, but fatal block, Will seal my hapless doom; yet heaven decrees I fall not unrevenged: her offspring comesAn exile now he roams in distant lands. In retribution of his father's fate He'll shed his mother's blood: thae act wilt raise To their due height the evils of this race.' A slaughtered father's corpse the gods have sworn cian school, of which they are wretched imitations; but there is a passage in the Agamemnon, referred to by Schutz, in which the inspired action and mien of Cassandra are painted with so much force as justly to merit admiration. —ide Sen. Agam. v. 700, seqq. * Literally, he will fix the top, or coping-stone, to the evils of his kindred. ( 236 ) Shall home recall him:-but why touCh I thus On other's woes? I who so lately viewed Troy's dread catastrophe; since now the gods The destined lot of its proud victors seal. No choice is left me: I will greatly die. Portals of Hades, I invoke your gloom! All that I shrink from is a lingering death.One mortal stroke, one unconvulsive pang, Ope wide the sluices of my blood, and close In mild benignant peace these wearied eyes. Ch. Most wretched, most illumined of thy sex, In long detail what evils hast thou sketched. But if thus clearly thy foreboding mind Impending fate discerns, why to the shrine Where death awaits thee, fearlessly approach Like an unconscious victim. Ca. To avoid My fate is hopeless. Time speeds on the hour. Ch. But to spin out the thread of life is sweet. Ca. The day is come: nought can be gained by flight. Ch. Thy too-unbending courage cancels hope. ( 237 ) Ca. Of woes like these nought dream the fortunate. Ch. To die thus bravely is a glorious lot. Ca. Oh sire rever'd! and you heroic brothers! Ch. What agitates thee now? Ca. Alas! alas! Ch. Why these deep sighs? this mental horror whence? Ca. The scent of human gore pollutes these walls. Ch. You smell the victims burning on our shrines. Ca. No, 'tis a vapour as from gaping tombs. Ch. Assyrian odours breathe not in your words. Ca. Mourning my own and Agamemnon's fate These walls I enter: strangers, testify I draw not back like birds that shun the snare: To this bear witness ye, when, to requite My death, a woman dies, and when shall fall For man in wedlock curst, a man: I ask This last, this parting favour ere I die. Ch. Ah hapless fair! thy piteous fate we mourn. Ca. One accent more, one last complaint allow. Thee I invoke, oh sun! to whose bright beams Death soon will quench these orbs-you too, whose hands k( 238 ) Shall visit on my murderers' heads this deed. Easy their triumph o'er a helpless slave. Oh! wretched state of mortals! ev'n the cloud, As it light passes, can to earth bear down The fabrics of bright fortunes-sorrow comes, And then oblivion comes, and wipes away The images of joy that smiled before. And this, this sad reverse I most lament. CHORUS. Should fortune empty her bright mine, Still would insatiate man repine; Ne'er do her favoured votaries say Her smiles on them too brightly play: Those who enjoy that golden smile Soft flattery's witching tones beguile; To them the glittering valves unfold, Their steps obsequious eyes behold, Nor in harsh sounds salute their ear These accents-There's no entratce lhere. Thus to this man th' immortal powers Have given to scale old Priam's towers ( 239 ) Wafted with glory o'er the main See him his native seat regain. If he, thus honoured, must atone For deeds of slaughter not his own, Condemned for blood by others shed Himself to mingle with the dead, Who that this web mysterious shall explore Will not of heav'n a humble lot implore? ( 210O ) SCENE VII. The speakers in the following scene are the various individuals composing the Chorus, who, hearing the dying cry of Agamemnon, are agitated by cruel doubts as to the part it becomes them to act. AGAMEMNION) from behind the scene exclaims Oh heavens! a mortal stroke has pierced my breast. Ch. Hush! heard ye not some wounded person cry? Ag. Ah me! beneath a second wound I bleed. Ch. That cry was like the king's: the deed is done. For our maturest thoughts this crisis calls. C/. Scorning half measures, let us boldly raise A general shout and rouse the citizens. C/h. Rather with one accord rush in and mark By the still smoking steel the bloody deed. Chl. Yes, be it so: this hour to firm resolve Should nerve the breast, delay must fatal prove. C/h. Their aim is clear: a future tyrant's rod Our city in this action may discern. Ch. WVe pause, whilst they, scanning with eager hope The path of future glory, spurn delay. ( 241 ) Ch. I'm all perplexed with doubt what part to take; They who propose the act should find the means. Ch. That sentiment is just; high-sounding words Can ne'er re-animate the breathless clay. Ch. Shall we, through love of life, ignobly bow Before the vile polluters of this house? Ch. It must not be: to die were better farDeath is a milder scourge than tyranny.* Ch. Can we with reason from these groans infer That death already seals our monarch's eyes? Such confidence more lucid proof demands: Wide is the space'twixt knowledge and conjecture. Ch. Just is this caution: let us then take means To ascertain the great Atrides' fate. * Death is a milder scourge, &c. The irresolution and wavering of old age is expressively depictured in the dialogue of the old men who compose the chorus, yet it is pervaded by the high spirit of freeborn Greeks. Butler, however, has justly observed, that their delay to enter within was a necessary consequence of that rule of Grecian tragedy which forbids the chorus to quit the orchestra throughout the performance.-Vide Preliminary Dissertation, p. 60. R ( 242 ) SCENE VIII. CLYTEMNESTRA, and the persons composing the CHORUS. CLYTEMNESTRA. My former words were for the occasion framed; But other words I now will boldly speak. Who that with artful policy has spread The net of evil for a hated foe, Will fail to guard against his leaping o'er The thick-laid toils? this deed was long revolved, 'Twas planned of old-and such consummate skill (I scruple not to boast) devised the scheme, That by no art could he avert or fly His doom; the snare's interminable folds With fatal splendour so enwrapped his limbs, That, like a shoal of fish by nets involved, To seek escape was vain. I stabbed him twice, And twice he groaned, and then his strength gave way. ( 243 ) Just as he fell I added a third blow. To Hades guardian of the infernal shades, An offering due, forth rushed his haughty soul: With bloody dew the wound suffused my vest, Grateful to me as to the thirsty earth Soft genial rain that opes the budding flowers. Ancients of Argos, you have heard the truth: Think what you will, I glory in the deed. And were it for libations now a time, My hand ere now had poured them o'er the dead. Most just it is that he who mixed the cup For such perfidious deeds should drain it dry.* Ch. We stand aghast at thy audacious words, And at these insults heaped on such a man. C1. You treat me as a woman without soul, But I confront your clamours dauntlessly, And equally contemn your praise or blame. * This is one, among others already noticed, of the bold orientalisms which pervade the poetry of iEsclyIlls. Ezekiel uses a similar figure, c. xxiii. 34. R 2 ( 244 ) This is my husband-Agamemnon: yes, By my right hand he died-most just the deed. Ch. Woman, what poison, what pernicious herb, Earth-born, or nourished in the briny waves, Thy frame infects with this demoniac rage? Thine is the people's curse; thou hast cut off, Transfixed thy lord; exile thy doom shall be, And on thy steps the public hate attend. Cl. To me the doom assigned is banislment, The city's hatred, and the public curse; But on this man no weight of censure falls, Who, pitiless and stern, like one that marks Some victim in the herd for sacrifice, Yielded his child, loved offspring of my anguish, To charm the fury of the winds of Thrace. Exile he justly merited —but me You strictly scrutinize and harshly judge. Menace for menace I hurl back: subdue And then rule o'er me; but if heaven perchance The contrary decree, you'll late grow wise. Ch. Deep in design, in act implacable, Thou bravest all; thy mind infuriate teems ( 245 ) With murderous images; thy eyes flash forth A baleful, bloody glare: shunned by thy friends, This deed atrocious thou shalt expiate.* Cl. Attend unto the tenor of my oath. By this last act of vengeance justly due To my loved daughter's shade-by the dread names Of Ate and Erynnys, through whose aid This man I sacrificed-ne'er will I tread The path of fear long as IEgysthus shares My social hearth, and still to me is true. He is the potent buckler of my soul. There my oppressor lies, the paramour At Troy of fair Chryseis; cold in death Beside him is stretched out the captive fair, The prophetess, the partner of his bed, Whom the safe vessel wafted to these shores. This deed atrocious thou shalt expiate. Butler has adduced a sentiment from Measure for Measure remarkably parallel to the phraseology of the original. The Greek is rvppa rvppa tcrac. "An Angelo for Claudio, death for death." ( 246 ) Both reap their due reward: his doom is just. She, like the dying swan, in plaintive strain Chaunted her funeral dirge; and now, her death Far from my pillow every care removes.* SEMI-CHORUS. With aspect mild, and in his train Not leading slow disease or pain, Oh! that kind Death would close these eyes, Since prostrate thus my monarch lies. For woman's wrongs he dared the field, A woman's hand his fate has sealed. CHORUS. Helen, infatuate fair! what strife, What scenes of woe, what waste of life, Through thee 'neath Ilion's walls ensued When Greece thy ravisher pursued. SEMI-CHORUS. But now with stricken hearts we mourn, From its fair stem untimely torn, * In this controverted passage the interpretation of Schutz is kept in view. VK~jIY 1 I ( 247 ) Our fairest flower of hope:* no time, No rites can expiate this crime. Cl. Invoke not death, by these events o'erwhelmed, Nor in thy fury Helen reprobate, As though through her alone destruction fell On our brave hosts, and woe pervaded Greece. SEMI-CHORUS. Demon! through whose relentless hate These royal walls are desolate, By thee possest, with fury burns This woman's heart, and pity spurns. Over yon mangled corse her yell Sounds hideous as the raven's knell. * The corresponding passage in the original is very obscure. Among the various comments on it, that of Butler has been kept in view in the translation. He thus renders the whole passage: " Heu iniquam Helenam, quee multas una, sane multas animas ad Trojam perdidisti, nune autem, Clytemnestra, nobilem tu claramque Agamemnonis animam decerpsisti." ( 248 ) Cl. Thou judgest well the demon to invoke, By whom the lust of slaughter entered first. Ere the old wound is closed another gapes. SEMI-CHORUS. Known to this house long since full well Is that relentless demon's spell. Oh bitter signs of ancient hate! Sad memory of pernicious fate! From Jove, supreme o'er human things, This fated train of evils springs. CHORUS. My king, my lord, in vain I try To paint my grief or loyalty. Alas! that fatal snare, that blow Which laid thy blooming honours low. SEMI-CHORUS. How mean this couch! the two-edged sword Too fatally thy breast has gored. Cl. Though you persist to charge this deed on me, Yet taunt me not as Agamemnon's wife. ( 249 ) The ruthless demon* who the gory feast Of Atreus planned, my form assumed, and pierced This man in vengeance of those slaughtered babes. Ch. That thou art guiltless of this horrid deed What tongue shall dare attest? how can it be? That ruthless demon might perchance assistRelentless Mars is still athirst for blood Until the child-devouring race be scourged. CHORUS. My king, my lord, in vain I try To paint my grief or loyalty. Alas! that fatal snare, that blow Which laid thy blooming honours low. SEMI-CHORUS. How mean this couch! the two-edged sword Too fatally thy breast has gored. * The ruthless demon, &c. The demon here alluded to is called aXaarwp, that is, the evil genius. The same demon is alluded to v. 1457. X pEUyav OIKCOLS rTOli caluova IKaC t3apvlj vlv alveic. ( 250 ) Cl. His death was not ignoble, nor his crime Did perfidy augment; what suffers he But retribution for the cruel wrongs Of my Iphigeneia; let him not boast In Hades of a deed requited thus. SEMI-CHORUS. Where shall I turn? where go? distraction rends My heart: this house is tottering to its fall. I dread the bloody storm which rages round And to their centre rocks the very walls. The sword of justice* Destiny prepares Another deed injurious to requite. CHORUS. Oh! earth, earth, earth! I would thy jaws had oped And swallowed me, ere on this lowly couch, Within the silver bath, these eyes had seen My monarch's corse stretched out in death: what hands Shall pay the rites funereal? from what eyes * The sword of justice, &c. An allusion to the approaching vengeance to be taken by Orestes on Clytemnestra and Egysthus. ( 251 ) Descend the votive tears? Wilt thou presume, Thy hands yet dropping with his gore, to pay These honours-mingling with thy murderous acts The solemn mockery of fictitious woe. SEMI-CHORUS. What friendly eyes, suffused by heartfelt tears, What tongue sincere shall pay the tribute due? Cl. 'Tis not for thee the funeral rites to pay; The selfsame hands that slew shall bury him. If no embalming tears water his tomb From all his train domestic, he will meet, When ferried o'er the rapid flood of griefs, Iphigeneia's gentle form-at least She'll with a fond embrace her father hail. SEMI-CHORUS. Insult on insult: what shall be the term? How mazy is this labyrinth of fate! The slayer's slain, and blood is shed for blood. As Jove himself is changeless, 'tis decreed That final vengeance shall with certain steps O'ertake the guilty: who a race accursed Can hope to screen? to woe this house is doomed. ( 252 ) CHORUS. Oh! earth, earth, earth! I would thy jaws had oped And swallowed me, ere on this lowly couch, Within the silver bath, these eyes had seen My monarch's corse stretched out in death: what hands Shall pay the rites funereal? from what eyes Descend the votive tears? Wilt thou presume, Thy hands yet dripping with his gore, to pay These honours-mingling with thy murderous deeds The solemn mockery of fictitious woe. SEMI-CHORUS. What friendly eyes, suffused by heartfelt tears, What tongue sincere shall pay him honours due? Cl. His fate stamps truth upon the oracle. Oh! that the evil genius who pursues The race of Plisthenes,* soothed by my oath To bow to his decrees, would hence depart, And other floors imbrue with kindred blood. Give me but competence! how happy thenAnd far remove these sanguinary feuds.: Another word for the house of Atreus. ( 253 ) SCENE IX. CHORUS, CLYTEMNESTRA,.GYSTHUS. ~EGYSTHUS. Oh light propitious of this vengeful day! Now I am well convinced that human crimes Just retribution from the gods receive, Since prostrate on the earth I view this man, Entangled in the net the furies spun, His father's crime atoning. O'er this land Atreus his father reigned: to fly his home He forced his brother, my ill-fated sire Thyestes, who, 'tis said, to sway the rod Of empire sought; but soon in suppliant guise Thyestes home returning, was beguiled By solemn pledges, that his blood should ne'er The soil paternal stain: a feast was given, At which perfidious Atreus, 'midst the meats, To my unconscious sire the roasted flesh Of his own children gave-the hands and feet ( 254 ) Were not produced, suspicion to disarm. These meats, with evils pregnant to his race, He tasted; but when conscious of the fact His stomach spurned the execrable food. On the Pelopidae his curses fell; Then, sinking down, his frenzied arm o'erturned The festive table, while his tongue implored That so might fall the race of Plisthenes. Hence this man's fate: justly I urged the deed, Survivor sole of thirteen children, erst Their father's pride: him Atreus from his face, With me, a babe, expelled; but to this land Justice herself my ripened manhood led. In all the mazes of this plot I shared; And now to die were welcome, since I view This man entangled in the toils of fate. Ch. Such taunts, iEgysthus, in this scene of woe, Disgust me-judging by thy words, the guilt Of the king's murder, and the plot, is thine: The populace will stone thee in their wrath. -/Eg. Dar'st thou, a rower of the lowest bench, The master thus address; soon to thy cost, ( 255 ) Old man, thou'lt wiser grow; famine and bonds, Shrewd teachers and physicians of the mind, Shall lend their potent aid: thou'rt unconvinced? Kick not against the goads*-'twill work thee harm. Ch. Woman, didst thou, left guardian of this house, Defiling first thy warrior-consort's bed, Next plan his murder as he reached these shores? ig,. Words such as these are harbingers of woe; Unlike to Orpheus is thy voice, he drew All objects round him by his magic strains; But these discordant notes would irritate The gentlest mind-force shall thy temper tame. Ch. And shalt thou wield the Argive sceptre? thou, Whose coward hands refused to perpetrate The murderous deed thy cruel thoughts devised? lEg. His wife alone could compass the design. I was of old suspected: to my sway, * The line in the original, rp;oc KvYrpa i) Xadri4Te, is a proverbial expression almost literally parallel to the words addressed to St. Paul by the heavenly voice, Acts, ix. 6, ach\r7p6v oi Tr KrV'rpa \cK7-rietv —" It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks." ( 256 ) Ere long, his wealth shall bend the citizens. A heavy bit the restive steed shall curb, Or hunger and a dungeon pride subdue. Ch. Was it not cowardice unnerved thy arm? Why outrage thus our land and guardian gods His wife employing? doth Orestes live? Oh! may he soon, by favouring fortune led, On both your guilty heads due vengeance wreak. lEg. What! insult still? thy punishment is sure. Ch. Help, comrades, help! the crisis is at hand.t Eg. * * * * Ch. Help, help! let every man unsheath his blade. lEg. And I in open fight am prompt to die. Ch. We hail the omen, and appeal to fortune. Cl. Most loved of mortals, let us not thus rush On future evils; heavy is the store Already reaped: these bloody thoughts restrain. Old men, retire: if ever mortals bowed t The critics have differed on the collocation of this line and the two following. The author follows those who think that one is wanting in the space where the asterisks are inserted. ( 257 ) Beneath affliction's stroke, 'tis our sad lotOppressed by wrath divine: this counsel take, Though 'tis a woman speaks. iEg. Shall they then depart, Their insolence of language unreprest? Shall they insult us thus-all prudence spurn? Ch. To flatter wicked men a Greek disdains. ~Eg. Some future day my vengeance shall insure. Ch. Not should Orestes, led by heaven, return. ~Eg. I know that fugitives on hope subsist. Ch. Pursue the selfsame course-fatten on crime; Tread justice down, there's nought to hinder thee. iEg. Thy folly shall not fail its due reward. Ch. Boast like the crested cock beside his dame. Cl. Repress thy just displeasure, scorn these threats. Lords of this house, we'll sway the subject land. ERRATA. Page 177, line 13, for ungents read unguents. 245, line 16, for safe read same. APPENDIX. REMARKS ON THE GREEK THEATRE. BY C. R. COCKERELL, ESQ. SOME remains of the ancient theatre are still discoverable in most of the considerable cities of Greece. In those of Asia Minor (especially of the interior) they are better preserved, and in many of them judicious excavations might reveal the parts relating to the stage and scene, hitherto unexplored, and which have formed so fruitful a source of discussion among modern writers. The lowest part of the Ko7Xov, or Cavea, is usually filled with the architectural members of the permanent scene and upper parts of the theatre, preserving beneath the traces of nearly every particular upon which we desire to be informed. ( 260 ) The plan and construction of these Theatres vary with the periods of their erection; but in general they are found to agree with the scheme given by Vitruvius, as respects the situation of the scene and extension of the KoiXov beyond the semi-circle; not indeed exactly according to his method, but comprising in its circumference 200 to 220 degrees of a circle. In his Fifth Book Vitruvius says, " The Greeks make use of three squares, whose angles touch the periphery of the orchestra; that side of one of the squares which is nearest the intended situation of the scene determines the extent of the proscenium, and a line drawn parallel to it, through the point of curvature most distant from the auditory, marks the front of the scene." (See the diagram in the plate). The accompanying plan is constructed according to the system observed in the best times of Grecian history: the lower portion of the Ko7Xor is supposed to be excavated in the acclivity of a hill, the upper to be built on its summit, whilst the permanent scene is composed of two orders in an unbroken line with its five doors. Such a theatre would have contained about 1 3,000 persons, allowing to each the space defined in ( 261 ) the theatre of Pompeii, of 15 inches: a number of sittings seldom exceeded in those of Greece. It is unnecessary here to describe the other parts of the Greek Theatre, familiar to readers on this subject; there are, however, three essential points, which an attentive comparison of the existing remains with the notices contained in ancient writers, gives reason to believe have hitherto been much misunderstood by commentators. The first point is, that the Greek Theatre was seldom if ever entirely enclosed with walls, so as to connect the elevation of the scene with the portico surmounting the Ko7Xov; but, on the contrary, the inclosure was discontinued from the termination of each extremity of the arc, discovering the landscape as expressed in the plate; thus admitting the view and air from the open country; so delightful since they were commonly elevated above the surrounding scenery, and so refreshing to spectators exposed to the meridian sun of those climates. This was certainly the case in the early theatres, and it is only with reference to the Roman and those of a later period, that any doubt can exist on the subject. ( 2262 ) The second point to be noticed is, as to the nature and signification of the proscenium as defined by Vitruvius, generally supposed to describe the situation and width of the stage; but which it would rather appear referred to a temporary front projected from the permanent scene, in the manner of a roof or canopy: an arrangement which must have been highly convenient if not absolutely necessary for the purposes of the performance, 1st, to suspend the avXaiea or great curtain, behind which the actors arranged themselves for the commencement of the drama; 2dly, to conceal the mechanism for the moveable scenes and for the elevation of persons and objects from the stage, which, according to all accounts, was complex; 3dly, to give shelter and shade to the performers and the painted scenery, to the effect of which the sun's rays would be destructive; 4thly, for the concentration of the view to a due portion of the extended scene, which would otherwise have often presented to the spectators a length of 200 feet. The proscenium was therefore, in all probability, what the term denotes, a frontispiece, temporarily projected from the permanent scene, for the purposes ( 263 ) above enumerated; and which could be withdrawn under the roof of the parascene, and protected from the weather when the performance ceased, and the theatre served its purposes of political and other assemblies of the people. It is probable, from indications discovered in existing remains, that this frontispiece was supported on beams projected from the upper entablature (see holes in the frieze) on rollers from the parascene, in the manner of corbels, having a double bearing on the columns and the wall behind, the latter of which supplied what is technically called the tailing to their projection; and any additional support might easily be supplied from the wall above, as in a drawbridge. The utmost projection of this frontispiece does not appear to have exceeded 15 feet, something less than the width of the parascene behind, into which these beams might be drawn back. It may be presumed that the length of the proscenium corresponded with the diameter of the orchestra, which probably never exceeded 100 feet, and was bounded by the 7repiaKrot, i. e. the triangular versatile scenes, described by Vitruvius as having on each side a different ( 264 ) representation, and which, he tells us, in his description of the Roman theatre, were placed in the situation marked on the plan, immediately at the sides of the two doors next the centre, termed hospitalia by Vitruvius, and as described upon the plate by Pollux. When it is recollected that the utmost extent of the modern proscenium never exceeds 50 feet, we may easily judge of the practical difficulties of supposing a greater extent than that assigned to the ancient, and we may with certainty conclude that the whole extent of the permanent scene, often nearly 200 feet, could never have been occupied by the performers. The third point to be remarked upon is the Xoyetov, or pulpitum, a feature of the theatre referred to by Vitruvius and Pollux as distinct from the proscenium, and which has already been pointed out by Mr. Wilkins, in his translation of Vitruvius, as in all probability a wooden and temporary stage in front of it. Had Vitruvius indulged his readers with any dimensions of the orchestra, as he has with respect to the height of the XoyEiiol, which lie states " should never be more than 12 nor less than 10 feet," there would have been less obscurity in this part of the subject, and ( 265 ) commentators would never have supposed (as Genelli has done) that the orchestra might be 200 feet in diameter; but in the absence of this information, referring to the only examples (those of Side and Patara in Asia Minor) in which the orchestra is clearly defined, and the remains of these edifices in other parts of Greece in which this particular remains to be ascertained, we never find the orchestra appearing to exceed 100 feet in diameter in the largest theatres: consequently the depth of the proscenium, given by the diagram of Vitruvius, could not exceed 15 feet: a space obviously much too confined for the performers and for the moveable scenes, especially when we conpare this depth with the disproportionate length of the proscenium, its height from the orchestra, and the unnecessarily large space left in the orchestra for the chorus. But the width of the Xoyeiov, added to that of the proscenium, afforded an entire depth of 30 to 40 feet-a sufficient stage for all the purposes of the drama as respects the actors and scenery, and bringing them into view from all parts of the theatre without encroaching upon the space required by the orchestra. We may hazard a conjecture on the occasional T ( 266 ) transformation of the Xoye7ov to any purpose required by the drama, as a tomb, a cave, a rocky eminence or inclined shore. Its construction of wood, and the system of scenic illusion by models, (rather than painted scenery, which requires the aid of artificial light to give its full effect,) employed by the Greeks, renders the supposition highly probable. And it is to be remarked that the E'taooot or gateways in the existing remains, are always found to be very capacious, so as to admit of framing and models of considerable dimensions. The hyposcenium has been variously interpreted, but the literal meaning of the term, and the express description of Pollux, seem to warrant the conclusion that it was the ornamental front of the Xoyeio,, towards the spectators. Its great height, 10 to 12 feet, and its conspicuous situation, required that it should be highly ornamented, and on a scale suited to the actors and scenery above it. Now it is conformable to all the practice of the ancients to give importance to the principal objects by analogous ornaments in the subordinate details: thus the small statues and columns with which this front was decorated, (Klovec and ayaXparta of Pollux) gave size and dignity to the actors, as the small ( 267 ) figures, which enriched the metopes of the Doric entablature, added to the size and effect of the larger figures with which the pediment was decorated. The above suggestions may suffice to call the attention of students to these much disputed points of the Greek Theatre, and may lead them to compare the descriptions left us by the ancients with the actual remains of these edifices, and with the arrangements which must necessarily have accompanied the representation of the dramas themselves. THE END. LONDON: P'RINTEJ) BY C. ItOWOIRT1I AND) SONS, BLLL YARD, TEMP1LE BAR.