Chapter V: Preface (4)

No one ever carried the ambition of making a great figure in the public games of Greece so far as Alcibiades,(150) in which he distinguished himself in the most splendid manner, by the great number of horses and chariots which he kept only for the races. There never was either private person or king that sent, as he did, seven chariots at once to the Olympic games, wherein he carried the first, second, and third prizes; an honour no one ever had before him. The famous poet Euripides celebrated these victories in an ode, of which Plutarch has preserved a fragment. The victor, after having made a sumptuous sacrifice to Jupiter, gave a magnificent feast to the innumerable multitude of spectators at the games. It is not easy to comprehend, how the wealth of a private person should suffice for so enormous an expense: but Antisthenes, the scholar of Socrates, who relates what he saw, informs us, that many cities of the allies, in emulation of each other, supplied Alcibiades with all things necessary for the support of such incredible magnificence; equipages, horses, tents, sacrifices, the most exquisite provisions, the most delicate wines; in a word, all that was necessary to the support of his table or train. The passage is remarkable; for the same author assures us, that this was not only done when Alcibiades went to the Olympic games, but in all his military expeditions and journeys by land or sea. “Wherever,” says he, “Alcibiades travelled, he made use of four of the allied cities as his servants. Ephesus furnished him with tents, as magnificent as those of the Persians; Chios took care to provide for his horses; Cyzicum supplied him with sacrifices, and provisions for his table; and Lesbos gave him wine, with whatever else was requisite for his house.”

I must not omit, in speaking of the Olympic games, that the ladies were admitted to dispute the prize in them as well as the men; and that many of them obtained it. Cynisca, sister of Agesilaus, king of Sparta, first opened this new path of glory to her sex, and was proclaimed conqueror in the race of chariots with four horses.(151) This victory, of which till then there had been no example, did not fail of being celebrated with all possible splendour.(152) A magnificent monument was erected at Sparta in honour of Cynisca;(153) and the Lacedæmonians, though otherwise very little sensible to the charms of poetry, appointed a poet to transmit this new triumph to posterity, and to immortalize its memory by an inscription in verse. She herself dedicated a chariot of brass, drawn by four horses, in the temple of Delphi;(154) in which the charioteer was also represented; a certain proof that she did not drive it herself. In process of time, the picture of Cynisca, drawn by the famous Apelles, was annexed to it, and the whole adorned with many inscriptions in honour of that Spartan heroine.(155)

Of the honours and rewards granted to the victors.

These honours and rewards were of several kinds. The acclamations of the spectators in honour of the victors were only a prelude to the prizes designed them. These prizes were different wreaths of wild olive, pine, parsley, or laurel, according to the different places where the games were celebrated. Those crowns were always attended with branches of palm, that the victors carried in their right hands; which custom, according to Plutarch,(156) arose (perhaps) from a property of the palm-tree, which displays new vigour the more endeavours are used to crush or bend it, and is a symbol of the courage and resistance of the champion who had obtained the prize. As he might be victor more than once in the same games, and sometimes on the same day, he might also receive several crowns and palms.

When the victor had received the crown and palm, a herald, preceded by a trumpet, conducted him through the Stadium, and proclaimed aloud the name and country of the successful champion, who passed in that kind of review before the people, whilst they redoubled their acclamations and applauses at the sight of him.

When he returned to his own country, the people came out in a body to meet him, and conducted him into the city, adorned with all the marks of his victory, and riding upon a chariot drawn by four horses. He made his entry not through the gates, but through a breach purposely made in the walls. Lighted torches were carried before him, and a numerous train followed to do honour to the procession.

The athletic triumph almost always concluded with feasts made for the victors, their relations, and friends, either at the expense of the public, or by private individuals, who regaled not only their families and friends, but often a great part of the spectators. Alcibiades,(157) after having sacrificed to the Olympian Jupiter, which was always the first care of the victor, treated the whole assembly. Leophron did the same, as Athenæus reports;(158) who adds, that Empedocles of Agrigentum, having conquered in the same games, and not having it in his power, being a Pythagorean, to regale the people with flesh or fish, caused an ox to be made of a paste, composed of myrrh, incense, and all sorts of spices, of which pieces were given to all who were present.

One of the most honourable privileges granted to the Athletic victors, was the right of precedency at the public games. At Sparta it was a custom for the king to take them with him in military expeditions, to fight near his person, and to be his guard; which, with reason, was judged very honourable. Another privilege, in which advantage was united with honour, was that of being maintained for the rest of their lives at the expense of their country. That this expense might not become too chargeable to the state, Solon(159) reduced the pension of a victor in the Olympic games to five hundred drachmas;(160) in the Isthmian to a hundred;(161) and in the rest in proportion. The victor and his country considered this pension, less as a relief of the champion’s indigence, than as a mark of honour and distinction. They were also exempted from all civil offices and employments.

The celebration of the games being over, one of the first cares of the magistrates, who presided in them, was to inscribe, in the public register, the name and country of the Athletæ who had carried the prizes, and to annex the species of combat in which they had been victorious. The chariot-race had the preference to all other games. Hence the historians, who date occurrences by the Olympiads, as Thucydides, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Diodorus Siculus, and Pausanias, almost always express the Olympiad by the name and country of the victors in that race.

The praises of the victorious Athletæ were amongst the Greeks one of the principal subjects of their lyric poetry. We find, that all the odes of the four books of Pindar turn upon it, each of which takes its title from the games in which the combatants signalized themselves, whose victories those poems celebrate. The poet, indeed, frequently enriches his matter, by calling in to the champion’s assistance, incapable alone of inspiring all the enthusiasm necessary, the aid of the gods, heroes, and princes, who have any relation to his subject; and to support the flights of imagination, to which he abandons himself. Before Pindar, the poet Simonides practised the same manner of writing, intermingling the praises of the gods and heroes with those of the champions, whose victories he sang. It is related upon this head,(162) that one of the victors in boxing, called Scopas, having agreed with Simonides for a poem upon his victory, the poet, according to custom, after having given the highest praises to the champion, expatiated in a long digression to the honour of Castor and Pollux. Scopas, satisfied in appearance with the performance of Simonides, paid him however only the third part of the sum agreed on, referring him for the remainder to the Tyndaridæ, whom he had celebrated so well. And in fact he was well paid by them, if we may believe the sequel; for, at the feast given by the champion, whilst the guests were at table, a servant came to Simonides, and told him, that two men, covered with dust and sweat, were at the door, and desired to speak with him in all haste. He had scarce set his foot out of the chamber, in order to go to them, when the roof fell in, and crushed the champion, with all his guests, to death.

Sculpture united with poetry to perpetuate the fame of the champions. Statues were erected to the victors, especially in the Olympic games, in the very place where they had been crowned, and sometimes in that of their birth also; which was commonly done at the expense of their country. Amongst the statues which adorned Olympia, were those of several children of ten or twelve years old, who had obtained the prize at that age in the Olympic games. They did not only raise such monuments to the champions, but to the very horses, to whose swiftness they were indebted for the Agonistic crown: and Pausanias(163) mentions one, which was erected in honour of a mare, called Aura, whose history is worth repeating. Phidolas her rider, having fallen off in the beginning of the race, the mare continued to run in the same manner as if he had been upon her back. She outstripped all the rest; and upon the sound of the trumpets, which was usual toward the end of the race to animate the competitors, she redoubled her vigour and courage, turned round the goal; and, as if she had been sensible that she had gained the victory, presented herself before the judges of the games. The Eleans declared Phidolas victor, with permission to erect a monument to himself and the mare, that had served him so well.

The different Taste of the Greeks and Romans, in regard to Public Shows.

Before I make an end of these remarks upon the combats and games so much in estimation amongst the Greeks, I beg the reader’s permission to make a reflection, that may serve to explain the difference of character between the Greeks and Romans, with regard to this subject.

The most common entertainment of the latter, at which the fair sex, by nature tender and compassionate, were present in throngs, was the combat of the gladiators, and of men with bears and lions; in which the cries of the wounded and dying, and the abundant effusion of human blood, supplied a grateful spectacle for a whole people, who feasted their cruel eyes with the savage pleasure of seeing men murder one another in cool blood; and in the times of the persecutions, with the tearing in pieces of old men and infants, of women and tender virgins, whose age and weakness are apt to excite compassion in the hardest hearts.

In Greece these combats were absolutely unknown, and were only introduced into some cities, after their subjection to the Roman people. The Athenians, however, whose distinguishing characteristics were benevolence and humanity, never admitted them into their city;(164) and when it was proposed to introduce the combats of the gladiators, that they might not be outdone by the Corinthians in that point, “First throw down,” cried out an Athenian(165) from the midst of the assembly, “throw down the altar, erected above a thousand years ago by our ancestors to Mercy.”

It must be allowed that in this respect the conduct and wisdom of the Greeks were infinitely superior to that of the Romans. I speak of the wisdom of Pagans. Convinced that the multitude, too much governed by the objects of sense to be sufficiently amused and entertained with the pleasures of the understanding, could be delighted only with sensible objects, both nations were studious to divert them with games and shows, and such external contrivances, as were proper to affect the senses; in the institution of which, each evinced and followed its peculiar inclination and disposition.

The Romans, educated in war, and accustomed to battles, always retained, notwithstanding the politeness upon which they piqued themselves, something of their ancient ferocity; and hence it was, that the effusion of blood, and the murders exhibited in their public shows, far from inspiring them with horror, formed a grateful entertainment to them.

The insolent pomp of triumphs flowed from the same source, and argued no less inhumanity. To obtain this honour, it was necessary to prove, that eight or ten thousand men had been killed in battle. The spoils, which were carried with so much ostentation, proclaimed, that an infinity of worthy families had been reduced to the utmost misery. The innumerable troop of captives had been free persons a few days before, and were often distinguishable for honour, merit, and virtue. The representation of the towns that had been taken in the war, explained that they had sacked, plundered, and burnt the most opulent cities; and had either destroyed or enslaved their inhabitants. In short, nothing was more inhuman, than to drag kings and princes in chains before the chariot of a Roman citizen, and to insult their misfortunes and humiliation in that public manner.

The triumphal arches, erected under the emperors, where the enemies appeared with chains upon their hands and legs, could proceed only from a haughty fierceness of disposition, and an inhuman pride, that took delight in immortalizing the shame and sorrow of subjected nations.

The joy of the Greeks after a victory was far more modest.(166) They erected trophies indeed, but of wood, a substance of no long duration, which time would soon consume; and these it was prohibited to renew. Plutarch’s reason for this is admirable.(167) After time had destroyed and obliterated the marks of dissension and enmity that had divided nations, it would have been the excess of odious and barbarous animosity, to have thought of reestablishing them, to perpetuate the remembrance of ancient quarrels, which could not be buried too soon in silence and oblivion. He adds, that the trophies of stone and brass, since substituted to those of wood, reflect no honour upon those who introduced the custom.

I am pleased with the grief depicted on Agesilaus’s countenance,(168) after a considerable victory, wherein a great number of his enemies, that is to say, of Greeks, were left upon the field, and to hear him utter with sighs and groans, these words, so full of moderation and humanity: “Oh unhappy Greece, to deprive thyself of so many brave citizens, and to destroy those who had been sufficient to have conquered all the Barbarians!”

The same spirit of moderation and humanity prevailed in the public shows of the Greeks. Their festivals had nothing mournful or afflictive in them. Every thing in those feasts tended to delight, friendship, and harmony: and in that consisted one of the greatest advantages which resulted to Greece, from the solemnization of these games. The republics, separated by distance of country, and diversity of interests, having the opportunity of meeting from time to time, in the same place, and in the midst of rejoicing and festivity, allied themselves more strictly with one another, stimulated each other against the Barbarians and the common enemies of their liberty, and made up their differences by the mediation of some neutral state in alliance with them. The same language, manners, sacrifices, exercises, and worship, all conspired to unite the several little states of Greece into one great and formidable nation; and to preserve amongst them the same disposition, the same principles, the same zeal for their liberty, and the same fondness for the arts and sciences.

Of the Prizes of Wit, and the Shows and Representations of the Theatre.

I have reserved for the conclusion of this head another kind of competition, which does not at all depend upon the strength, activity, and address of the body, and may be called with reason the combat of the mind; wherein the orators, historians, and poets, made trial of their capacities, and submitted their productions to the censure and judgment of the public. The emulation in this sort of dispute was so much the more lively and ardent, as the victory in question might justly be deemed to be infinitely superior to all others, because it affects the man more nearly, is founded on his personal and internal qualities, and decides upon the merit of his intellectual capacity; which are advantages we are apt to aspire after with the utmost vivacity and passion, and of which we are least of all inclined to renounce the glory to others.

It was a great honour, and at the same time a most sensible pleasure, for writers, who are generally fond of fame and applause, to have known how to unite in their favour the suffrages of so numerous and select an assembly as that of the Olympic games; in which were present all the finest geniuses of Greece, and all who were most capable of judging of the excellency of a work. This theatre was equally open to history, eloquence, and poetry.

Herodotus read his history(169) at the Olympic games to all Greece, assembled at them, and was heard with such applause, that the names of the nine Muses were given to the nine books which compose his work, and the people cried out wherever he passed, “That is he, who has written our history, and celebrated our glorious successes against the Barbarians so excellently.”

All who had been present at the games, caused afterwards every part of Greece to resound with the name and glory of this illustrious historian.

Lucian, who writes the fact which I have related, adds, that after the example of Herodotus, many of the sophists and rhetoricians went to Olympia, to read the harangues of their composing; finding that the shortest and most certain method of acquiring a great reputation in a little time.

Plutarch observes,(170) that Lysias, the famous Athenian orator, contemporary with Herodotus, pronounced a speech in the Olympic games, wherein he congratulated the Greeks upon their reconciliation with each other, and their having united to reduce the power of Dionysius the Tyrant, as upon the greatest action they had ever done.

We may judge of the eagerness of the poets to signalize themselves in these solemn games, from that of Dionysius himself.(171) That prince, who had the foolish vanity to believe himself the most excellent poet of his time, appointed readers, called in Greek, ῥαψωδοὶ (_Rhapsodists_,) to read several pieces of his composing at Olympia. When they began to pronounce the verses of the royal poet, the strong and harmonious voices of the readers occasioned a profound silence, and they were heard at first with the greatest attention, which continually decreased as they went on, and turned at last into downright horse-laughs and hooting; so miserable did the verses appear. He comforted himself for this disgrace by a victory he gained some time after in the feast of Bacchus at Athens, in which he caused a tragedy of his composition to be represented.(172)

The disputes of the poets in the Olympic games were nothing, in comparison with the ardour and emulation that prevailed at Athens; which is what remains to be said upon this subject, and therefore I shall conclude with it: taking occasion to give my readers, at the same time, a short view of the shows and representations of the theatre of the ancients.

Those who would be more fully informed on this subject, will find it treated at large in a work lately made public by the reverend father Brumoi the Jesuit; a work which abounds with profound knowledge and erudition, and with reflections entirely new, deduced from the nature of the poems of which it treats. I shall make considerable use of that piece, and often without citing it; which is not uncommon with me.

Extraordinary Fondness of the Athenians for the Entertainments of the Stage. Emulation of the Poets in disputing the Prizes in those Representations. A short Idea of Dramatic Poetry.

No people ever expressed so much ardour and eagerness for the entertainments of the theatre as the Greeks, and especially the Athenians. The reason is obvious: as no people ever demonstrated such extent of genius, nor carried so far the love of eloquence and poesy, taste for the sciences, justness of sentiments, elegance of ear, and delicacy in all the refinements of language. A poor woman, who sold herbs at Athens, discovered Theophrastus to be a stranger, by a single word which he affectedly made use of in expressing himself.(173) The common people got the tragedies of Euripides by heart. The genius of every nation expresses itself in the people’s manner of passing their time, and in their pleasures. The great employment and delight of the Athenians were to amuse themselves with works of wit, and to judge of the dramatic pieces, that were acted by public authority several times a year, especially at the feasts of Bacchus, when the tragic and comic poets disputed for the prize. The former used to present four of their pieces at a time; except Sophocles, who did not think fit to continue so laborious an exercise, and confined himself to one performance, when he disputed the prize.

The state appointed judges, to determine upon the merit of the tragic or comic pieces, before they were represented in the festivals. They were acted before them in the presence of the people; but undoubtedly with no great preparation. The judges gave their suffrages, and that performance, which had the most voices, was declared victorious, received the crown as such, and was represented with all possible pomp at the expense of the republic. This did not, however, exclude such pieces, as were only in the second or third class. The best had not always the preference; for what times have been exempt from party, caprice, ignorance, and prejudice? Ælian(174) is very angry with the judges, who, in one of these disputes, gave only the second place to Euripides. He accuses them of judging either without capacity, or of suffering themselves to be bribed. It is easy to conceive the warmth and emulation, which these disputes and public rewards excited amongst the poets, and how much they contributed to the perfection, to which Greece carried dramatic performances.

The dramatic poem introduces the persons themselves, speaking and acting upon the stage: in the epic, on the contrary, the poet only relates the different adventures of his characters. It is natural to be delighted with fine descriptions of events, in which illustrious persons and whole nations are interested; and hence the epic poem had its origin. But we are quite differently affected with hearing those persons themselves, with being the confidents of their most secret sentiments, and auditors and spectators of their resolutions, enterprises, and the happy or unhappy events attending them. To read and see an action, are quite different things; we are infinitely more moved with what is acted, than with what we merely read. Our eyes as well as our minds are addressed at the same time. The spectator, agreeably deceived by an imitation so nearly approaching life, mistakes the picture for the original, and thinks the object real. This gave birth to dramatic poetry, which includes tragedy and comedy.

To these may be added the satiric poem, which derives its name from the satyrs, rural gods, who were always the chief characters in it; and not from the “satire,” a kind of abusive poetry, which has no resemblance to this, and is of a much later date. The satiric poem was neither tragedy nor comedy, but something between both, participating of the character of each. The poets, who disputed the prize, generally added one of these pieces to their tragedies, to allay the gravity and solemnity of the one, with the mirth and pleasantry of the other. There is but one example of this ancient poem come down to us, which is the _Cyclops_ of Euripides.

I shall confine myself upon this head to tragedy and comedy; both which had their origin amongst the Greeks, who looked upon them as fruits of their own growth, of which they could never have enough. Athens was remarkable for an extraordinary appetite of this kind. These two poems, which were for a long time comprised under the general name of tragedy, received there by degrees such improvements, as at length raised them to their highest perfection.

The Origin and Progress of Tragedy. Poets who excelled in it at Athens; Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.

There had been many tragic and comic poets before Thespis; but as they had made no alterations in the original rude form of this poem, and as Thespis was the first that made any improvement in it, he was generally esteemed its inventor. Before him, tragedy was no more than a jumble of buffoon tales in the comic style, intermixed with the singing of a chorus in praise of Bacchus; for it is to the feasts of that god, celebrated at the time of the vintage, that tragedy owes its birth.

La tragédie, informe et grossière en na’ssant,
N’étoit qu’un simple chœur, où chacun en dansant,
Et du dieu des raisins entonnant les louanges,
S’éfforçoit d’attirer de fertiles vendanges.
Là, le vin et la joie éveillant les esprits,
Du plus habile chantre un bouc étoit le prix.

Formless and gross did tragedy arise,
A simple chorus, rather mad than wise;
For fruitful vintages the dancing throng
Roar’d to the god of grapes a drunken song:
Wild mirth and wine sustain’d the frantic note,
And the best singer had the prize, a goat.(175)

Thespis made several alterations in it, which Horace describes after Aristotle, in his _Art of Poetry_. The first(176) was to carry his actors about in a cart, whereas before they used to sing in the streets, wherever chance led them. Another was to have their faces smeared over with wine-lees, instead of acting without disguise, as at first. He also introduced a character among the chorus, who, to give the actors time to rest themselves and to take breath, repeated the adventures of some illustrious person; which recital, at length, gave place to the subjects of tragedy.

Thespis fut le premier, qui barbouillé de lie,
Promena par les bourgs cette heureuse folie,
Et d’acteurs mal oinés chargeant un tombereau,
Amusa les passans d’un spectacle nouveau.(177)

First Thespis, smear’d with lees, and void of art,
The grateful folly vented from a cart;
And as his tawdry actors drove about,
The sight was new, and charm’d the gaping rout.

(M1) Thespis lived in the time of Solon.(178) That wise legislator, upon seeing his pieces performed, expressed his dislike, by striking his staff against the ground; apprehending that these poetical fictions and idle stories, from mere theatrical representations, would soon become matters of importance, and have too great a share in all public and private affairs.

(M2) It is not so easy to invent, as to improve the inventions of others. The alterations Thespis made in tragedy, gave room for Æschylus to make new and more considerable of his own. He was born at Athens, in the first year of the sixtieth Olympiad. He took upon him the profession of arms, at a time when the Athenians reckoned almost as many heroes as citizens. He was at the battles of Marathon, Salamis, and Platæa, where he did his duty. (M3) But his disposition called him elsewhere, and put him upon entering into another course, where no less glory was to be acquired; and where he was soon without any competitors. As a superior genius, he took upon him to reform, or rather to create tragedy anew; of which he has, in consequence, been always acknowledged the inventor and father. Father Brumoi, in a dissertation which abounds with wit and good sense, explains the manner in which Æschylus conceived the true idea of tragedy from Homer’s epic poems. The poet himself used to say, that his works were the remnants of the feasts given by Homer in the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_.

Tragedy therefore took a new form under him. He gave masks(179) to his actors, adorned them with robes and trains, and made them wear buskins. Instead of a cart, he erected a theatre of a moderate elevation, and entirely changed their style; which from being merry and burlesque, as at first, became majestic and serious.

Eschyle dans le chœur jetta les personages:
D’un masque plus honnête habilla les visages:
Sur les ais d’un théâtre en public exhaussé
Fit paroître l’acteur d’un brodequin chaussé.(180)

From Æschylus the chorus learnt new grace:
He veil’d with decent masks the actor’s face,
Taught him in buskins first to tread the stage,
And rais’d a theatre to please the age.

But that was only the external part or body of tragedy. Its soul, which was the most important and essential addition of Æschylus, consisted in the vivacity and spirit of the action, sustained by the dialogue of the persons of the drama introduced by him; in the artful working up of the stronger passions, especially of terror and pity, which, by alternately afflicting and agitating the soul with mournful or terrible objects, produce a grateful pleasure and delight from that very trouble and emotion; in the choice of a subject, great, noble, interesting, and contained within due bounds by the unity of time, place, and action: in short, it is the conduct and disposition of the whole piece, which, by the order and harmony of its parts, and the happy connection of its incidents and intrigues, holds the mind of the spectator in suspense till the catastrophe, and then restores him his tranquillity, and dismisses him with satisfaction.

The chorus had been established before Æschylus, as it composed alone, or next to alone, what was then called tragedy. He did not therefore exclude it, but, on the contrary, thought fit to incorporate it, to sing as chorus between the acts. Thus it supplied the interval of resting, and was a kind of person of the drama, employed either(181) in giving useful advice and salutary instructions, in espousing the party of innocence and virtue, in being the depository of secrets, and the avenger of violated religion, or in sustaining all those characters at the same time according to Horace. The coryphæus, or principal person of the chorus, spoke for the rest.

In one of Æschylus’s pieces, called the _Eumenides_, the poet represents Orestes at the bottom of the stage, surrounded by the Furies, laid asleep by Apollo. Their figure must have been extremely horrible, as it is related, that upon their waking and appearing tumultuously on the theatre, where they were to act as a chorus, some women miscarried with the surprise, and several children died of the fright. The chorus at that time consisted of fifty actors. After this accident, it was reduced to fifteen by an express law, and at length to twelve.

I have observed, that one of the alterations made by Æschylus in tragedy, was the mask worn by his actors. These dramatic masks had no resemblance to ours, which only cover the face, but were a kind of case for the whole head, and which, besides the features, represented the beard, the hair, the ears, and even the ornaments used by women in their head-dresses. These masks varied according to the different pieces that were acted. The subject is treated at large in a dissertation of M. Boindin’s, inserted in the _Memoirs of the Academy of Belles Lettres_.(182)

I could never comprehend, as I have observed elsewhere,(183) in speaking of pronunciation, how masks came to continue so long upon the stage of the ancients; for certainly they could not be used, without considerably deadening the spirit of the action, which is principally expressed in the countenance, the seat and mirror of what passes in the soul. Does it not often happen, that the blood, according as it is put in motion by different passions, sometimes covers the face with a sudden and modest blush, sometimes enflames it with the heat of rage and fury, sometimes retires, leaving it pale with fear, and at others diffuses a calm and amiable serenity over it? All these affections are strongly imaged and distinguished in the lineaments of the face. The mask deprives the features of this energetic language, and of that life and soul, by which it is the faithful interpreter of all the sentiments of the heart. I do not wonder, therefore, at Cicero’s remark upon the action of Roscius.(184) “Our ancestors,”’ says he, “were better judges than we are. They could not wholly approve even Roscius himself, whilst he performed in a mask.”

(M4) Æschylus was in the sole possession of the glory of the stage, with almost every voice in his favour, when a young rival made his appearance to dispute the palm with him. This was Sophocles. He was born at Colonos, a town in Attica, in the second year of the seventy-first Olympiad. His father was a blacksmith, or one who kept people of that trade to work for him. His first essay was a masterpiece. (M5) When, upon the occasion of Cimon’s having found the bones of Theseus, and their being brought to Athens, a dispute between the tragic poets was appointed, Sophocles entered the lists with Æschylus, and carried the prize against him. The ancient victor, laden till then with the wreaths he had acquired, believed them all lost by failing of the last, and withdrew in disgust into Sicily to king Hiero, the protector and patron of all the learned in disgrace at Athens. He died there soon after in a very singular manner, if we may believe Suidas. As he lay asleep in the fields, with his head bare, an eagle, taking his bald crown for a stone, let a tortoise fall upon it, which killed him. Of ninety, or at least seventy, tragedies, composed by him, only seven are now extant.

Nor have those of Sophocles escaped the injury of time better, though one hundred and seventeen in number, and according to some one hundred and thirty. He retained to extreme old age all the force and vigour of his genius, as appears from a circumstance in his history. His children, unworthy of so great a father, upon pretence that he had lost his senses, summoned him before the judges, in order to obtain a decree, that his estate might be taken from him, and put into their hands. He made no other defence, than to read a tragedy he was at that time composing, called _Œdipus at Colonos_, with which the judges were so charmed, that he carried his cause unanimously; and his children, detested by the whole assembly, got nothing by their suit, but the shame and infamy due to so flagrant ingratitude. He was twenty times crowned victor. Some say he expired in repeating his _Antigone_, for want of power to recover his breath, after a violent endeavour to pronounce a long period to the end; others, that he died of joy upon his being declared victor, contrary to his expectation. The figure of a hive was placed upon his tomb, to perpetuate the name of Bee, which had been given him, from the sweetness of his verses: whence, it is probable, the notion was derived, of the bees having settled upon his lips when in his cradle. (M6) He died in his ninetieth year, the fourth of the ninety-third Olympiad, after having survived Euripides six years, who was not so old as himself.

(M7) The latter was born in the first year of the seventy-fifth Olympiad, at Salamis, whither his father Mnesarchus and mother Clito had retired when Xerxes was preparing for his great expedition against Greece. He applied himself at first to philosophy, and, amongst others, had the celebrated Anaxagoras for his master. But the danger incurred by that great man, who was very near being made the victim of his philosophical tenets, inclined him to the study of poetry. He discovered in himself a genius for the drama, unknown to him at first; and employed it with such success, that he entered the lists with the great masters of whom we have been speaking. His works(185) sufficiently denote his profound application to philosophy. They abound with excellent maxims of morality; and it is in that view that Socrates in his time, and Cicero long after him,(186) set so high a value upon Euripides.

One cannot sufficiently admire the extreme delicacy expressed by the Athenian audience on certain occasions, and their solicitude to preserve the reverence due to morality, virtue, decency, and justice. It is surprising to observe the warmth with which they unanimously reproved whatever seemed inconsistent with them, and called the poet to an account for it, notwithstanding his having a well-founded excuse, as he had given such sentiments only to persons notoriously vicious, and actuated by the most unjust passions.

Euripides had put into the mouth of Bellerophon a pompous panegyric upon riches, which concluded with this thought: “Riches are the supreme good of the human race, and with reason excite the admiration of the gods and men.” The whole theatre cried out against these expressions; and he would have been banished directly, if he had not desired the sentence to be respited till the conclusion of the piece, in which the advocate for riches perished miserably.

He was in danger of incurring serious inconveniences from an answer he puts into the mouth of Hippolytus. Phædra’s nurse represented to him, that he had engaged himself under an inviolable oath to keep her secret. “My tongue, it is true, pronounced that oath,” replied he, “but my heart gave no consent to it.” This frivolous distinction appeared to the whole people, as an express contempt of the religion and sanctity of an oath, that tended to banish all sincerity and good faith from society and the intercourse of life.

Another maxim(187) advanced by Eteocles in the tragedy called the _Phœnicians_, and which Cæsar had always in his mouth, is no less pernicious: “If justice may be violated at all, it is when a throne is in question; in other respects, let it be duly revered.” It is highly criminal in Eteocles, or rather in Euripides, says Cicero, to make an exception in that very point, wherein such violation is the highest crime that can be committed. Eteocles is a tyrant, and speaks like a tyrant, who vindicates his unjust conduct by a false maxim; and it is not strange that Cæsar, who was a tyrant by nature, and equally unjust, should lay great stress upon the sentiments of a prince whom he so much resembled. But what is remarkable in Cicero, is his falling upon the poet himself, and imputing to him as a crime the having advanced so pernicious a principle upon the stage.

Lycurgus, the orator,(188) who lived in the time of Philip and Alexander the Great, to reanimate the spirit of the tragic poets, caused three statues of brass to be erected, in the name of the people, to Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; and having ordered their works to be transcribed, he appointed them to be carefully preserved amongst the public archives, from whence they were taken from time to time to be read; the players not being permitted to represent them on the stage.

The reader expects, no doubt, after what has been said relating to the three poets, who invented, improved, and carried tragedy to its perfection, that I should point out the peculiar excellencies of their style and character. For that I must refer to father Brumoi, who will do it much better than it is in my power. After having laid down, as an undoubted principle, that the epic poem, that is to say Homer, pointed out the way for the tragic poets; and having demonstrated, by reflections drawn from human nature, upon what principles and by what degrees this happy imitation was conducted to its end, he goes on to describe the three poets above mentioned, in the most lively and brilliant colours.

Tragedy took at first from Æschylus its inventor, a much more lofty style than the _Iliad_; that is, the _magnum loqui_ mentioned by Horace. Perhaps Æschylus, who had a full conception of the grandeur of the language of tragedy, carried it too high. It is not Homer’s trumpet, but something more. His pompous, swelling, gigantic diction, resembles rather the beating of drums and the shouts of battle, than the noble harmony of the trumpets. The elevation and grandeur of his genius would not permit him to speak the language of other men, so that his Muse seemed rather to walk in stilts, than in the buskins of his own invention.

Sophocles understood much better the true excellence of the dramatic style: he therefore copies Homer more closely, and blends in his diction that honeyed sweetness, from whence he was denominated “the Bee,” with a gravity that gives his tragedy the modest air of a matron, compelled to appear in public with dignity, as Horace expresses it.

The style of Euripides, though noble, is less removed from the familiar; and he seems to have affected rather the pathetic and the elegant, than the nervous and the lofty.

As Corneille, says father Brumoi in another place, after having opened to himself a path entirely new and unknown to the ancients, seems like an eagle towering in the clouds, from the sublimity, force, unbroken progress, and rapidity of his flight; and, as Racine, in copying the ancients in a manner entirely his own, imitates the swan, that sometimes floats upon the air, sometimes rises, then falls again with an elegance of motion, and a grace peculiar to herself; so Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, have each of them a particular characteristic and method. The first, as the inventor and father of tragedy, is like a torrent rolling impetuously over rocks, forests, and precipices; the second resembles a canal,(189) which flows gently through delicious gardens; and the third a river, that does not follow its course in a continued line, but loves to turn and wind his silver wave through flowery meads and rural scenes.

This is the character which father Brumoi gives of the three poets, to whom the Athenian stage was indebted for its perfection in tragedy. Æschylus(190) drew it out of its original chaos and confusion, and made it appear in some degree of lustre; but it still retained the rude unfinished air of things in their beginning, which are generally defective in point of art and method. Sophocles and Euripides added infinitely to the dignity of tragedy. The style of the first, as has been observed, is more noble and majestic; of the latter, more tender and pathetic; each perfect in their way. In this diversity of character, it is difficult to decide which is most excellent. The learned have always been divided upon this head; as we are at this day, with respect to the two poets of our own nation,(191) whose tragedies have made our stage illustrious, and not inferior to that of Athens.

I have observed, that the tender and pathetic distinguishes the compositions of Euripides, of which Alexander of Pheræ, the most cruel of tyrants, was a proof. That barbarous man, upon seeing the _Troades_ of Euripides acted, found himself so moved with it, that he quitted the theatre before the conclusion of the play, professing that he was ashamed to be seen in tears for the distress of Hecuba and Andromache, who had never shown the least compassion for his own citizens, of whom he had butchered such numbers.

When I speak of the tender and pathetic, I would not be understood to mean a passion that softens the heart into effeminacy, and which, to our reproach, is almost alone, or at least more than any other passion received upon our stage, though rejected by the ancients, and condemned by the nations around us of greatest reputation for their genius, and taste for the sciences and polite learning. The two great principles for moving the passions amongst the ancients, were terror and pity.(192) And, indeed, as we naturally refer every thing to ourselves, or our own particular interest, when we see persons of exalted rank or virtue sinking under great evils, the fear of the like misfortunes, with which we know that human life is on all sides invested, seizes upon us, and from a secret impulse of self-love we find ourselves sensibly affected with the distresses of others: besides which, the sharing a common nature(193) with the rest of our species, makes us sensible to whatever befalls them. Upon a close and attentive inquiry into those two passions, they will be found the most deeply inherent, active, extensive, and general affections of the soul; including all orders of men, great and small, rich and poor, of whatever age or condition. Hence the ancients, accustomed to consult nature, and to take her for their guide in all things, with reason conceived terror and compassion to be the soul of tragedy; and that those affections ought to prevail in it. The passion of love was in no estimation amongst them, and had seldom any share in their dramatic pieces; though with us it is a received opinion, that they cannot be supported without it.

It is worth our trouble to examine briefly in what manner this passion, which has always been deemed a weakness and a blemish in the greatest characters, got such footing upon our stage. Corneille, who was the first who brought the French tragedy to any perfection, and whom all the rest have followed, found the whole nation enamoured with the perusal of romances, and little disposed to admire any thing not resembling them. From the desire of pleasing his audience, who were at the same time his judges, he endeavoured to move them in the manner they had been accustomed to be affected; and, by introducing love in his scenes, to bring them the nearer to the predominant taste of the age for romance. From the same source arose that multiplicity of incidents, episodes, and adventures, with which our tragic pieces are crowded and obscured; so contrary to probability, which will not admit such a number of extraordinary and surprising events in the short space of four-and-twenty hours; so contrary to the simplicity of ancient tragedy; and so adapted to conceal, by the assemblage of so many different objects, the sterility of the genius of a poet, more intent upon the marvellous, than upon the probable and natural.

Both the Greeks and Romans have preferred the iambic to the heroic verse in their tragedies; not only because the first has a kind of dignity better adapted to the stage, but, whilst it approaches nearer to prose, retains sufficiently the air of poetry to please the ear; and yet has too little of it to put the audience in mind of the poet, who ought not to appear at all in representations, where other persons are supposed to speak and act. Monsieur Dacier makes a very just reflection on this subject. He says, that it is the misfortune of our tragedy to have almost no other verse than what it has in common with epic poetry, elegy, pastoral, satire, and comedy; whereas the learned languages have a great variety of versification.

This inconvenience is highly obvious in our tragedy; which consequently is obliged to lose sight of nature and probability, as it obliges heroes, princes, kings, and queens, to express themselves in a pompous strain in their familiar conversation, which it would be ridiculous to attempt in real life. The giving utterance to the most impetuous passions in an uniform cadence, and by hemistichs and rhymes, would undoubtedly be tedious and offensive to the ear, if the charms of poetry, the elegance of expression, and the spirit of the sentiments, and perhaps, more than all of them, the resistless force of custom, had not in a manner subjected our reason, and spread a veil before our judgment.

It was not chance, therefore, which suggested to the Greeks the use of iambics in their tragedy. Nature itself seems to have dictated that kind of verse to them. Instructed by the same unerring guide, they made choice of a different versification for the chorus, better adapted to the motions of the dance, and the variations of the song; because it was necessary for poetry here to shine out in all its lustre, whilst the mere conversation between the real actors was suspended. The chorus was an embellishment of the representation, and a relaxation to the audience, and therefore required more exalted poetry and numbers to support it, when united with music and dancing.

Of the Old, Middle, and New Comedy.

Whilst tragedy was thus rising to perfection at Athens, comedy, the second species of dramatic poetry, and which, till then, had been much neglected, began to be cultivated with more attention. Nature was the common parent of both. We are sensibly affected with the dangers, distresses, misfortunes, and, in a word, with whatever relates to the lives and conduct of illustrious persons; and this gave birth to tragedy. And we are as curious to know the adventures, conduct, and defects of our equals; which supply us with occasions of laughing, and being merry at the expense of others. Hence comedy derives itself; which is properly an image of private life. Its design is to expose defects and vices upon the stage, and, by affixing ridicule to them, to make them contemptible; and, consequently, to instruct by diverting. Ridicule, therefore, (or, to express the same word by another, pleasantry,) ought to prevail in comedy.

This species of entertainment took at different times three different forms at Athens, as well from the genius of the poets, as from the influence of the government, which occasioned various alterations in it.

The old comedy, so called by Horace,(194) and which he dates after the time of Æschylus, retained something of its original rudeness, and the liberty it had been used to take of throwing out coarse jests and reviling the spectators from the cart of Thespis. Though it was become regular in its plan, and worthy of a great theatre, it had not learnt to be more reserved. It represented real transactions, with the names, dress, gestures, and likeness, in masks, of whomsoever it thought fit to sacrifice to the public derision. In a state where it was held good policy to unmask whatever carried the air of ambition, singularity, or knavery, comedy assumed the privilege to harangue, reform, and advise the people upon their most important interests. No one was spared in a city of so much liberty, or rather licentiousness, as Athens was at that time. Generals, magistrates, government, the very gods were abandoned to the poet’s satirical vein; and all was well received, provided the comedy was diverting, and the Attic salt not wanting.

In one of these comedies,(195) not only the priest of Jupiter determines to quit his service, because no more sacrifices are offered to the god; but Mercury himself comes, in a starving condition, to seek his fortune amongst mankind, and offers to serve as a porter, sutler, bailiff, guide, door-keeper; in short, in any capacity, rather than return to heaven. In another,(196) the same gods, reduced to the extremity of famine, from the birds having built a city in the air, whereby their provisions are cut off, and the smoke of incense and sacrifices prevented from ascending to heaven, depute three ambassadors in the name of Jupiter to conclude a treaty of accommodation with the birds, upon such conditions as they shall approve. The chamber of audience, where the three famished gods are received, is a kitchen well stored with excellent game of all sorts. Here Hercules, deeply smitten with the smell of roast meat, which he apprehends to be more exquisite and nutritious than that of incense, begs leave to make his abode, and to turn the spit, and assist the cook upon occasion. The other pieces of Aristophanes abound with strokes still more satirical and severe upon the principal divinities.

I am not much surprised at the poet’s insulting the gods, and treating them with the utmost contempt, as from them he had nothing fear; but I cannot help wondering at his having brought the most illustrious and powerful persons of Athens upon the stage, and presuming to attack the government itself, without any manner of respect or reserve.