πατρὸς δ’ ἔτισας φόνον δικαίως.

Act v.

This last circumstance puts the widest difference between the two

cases. The one shews a perfect distraction of mind, which cannot even

bear the consciousness of its crimes: the other, a firm and steddy

spirit, sensible indeed to its misery, but not oppressed or astonished

by it.

2. But this measure of grief, so delicately marked, and, with such

truth of character, ascribed to Electra, ought not, it is further

insisted, to have shewn itself, immediately, on the murder of

Clytæmnestra. But why not? There is nothing in the _character of

Electra_, _the maxims of those times_, or _in the disposition of the

drama itself_, to render this change improper or incredible. On the

contrary, there is much under each of these heads, to lead one to

expect it.

1. _Electra’s character_ is indeed that of a fierce, and determined,

but withal of a generous and virtuous woman. Her motives to revenge

were, principally, a strong sense of justice, and superior affection

for a father; not a rooted, unnatural aversion to a mother. She acted,

as appears, not from the perturbation of a tumultuous revenge (in

that case indeed the objection had been of weight) but from a fixed

abhorrence of wrong, and a virtuous sense of duty. And what should

hinder a person of this character from being instantly touched with the

distress of such a spectacle?

2. _The maxims of those times also favour this conduct._ For, 1. The

notions of strict remunerative justice were then carried very high.

This appears from the _Lex talionis_, which, we know, was in great

credit in elder Greece; from whence it was afterwards transferred into

the Law of the XII Tables. Hence _blood for blood_ [αἷμα δ’ αἵματος

δανεισμὸς,—as the messenger, in his account of the death of Ægysthus,

expresses it, Act iv.] was the command and rule of justice. This the

Chorus, as well as the parricides, frequently insist upon, as the

ground and justification of the murder. 2. This severe vengeance on

enormous offenders was believed, not only consonant to the rules of

_human_, but to be the object, and to make the especial care of the

_divine_, justice. And thus the ancients conceived of this very case.

_Juvenal_, speaking of Orestes,

_Quippe ille_ DEIS AUCTORIBUS _ultor

Patris erat cæsi media inter pocula_.

Sat. viii.

And to this opinion agrees that tradition, or rather fiction, of the

poets, who, though they represent the judges of the Areopagus as

divided in their sentiments of this matter, yet make no scruple of

bringing in Minerva herself to pronounce his absolution. _Hoc etiam

fictis fabulis doctissimi homines memoriæ prodiderunt, eum, qui patris

ulciscendi causâ matrem necavisset, variatis hominum sententiis, non

solum divinâ, sed etiam sapientissimæ Deæ sententiâ absolutum_ [CIC.

pro MILON.] The venerable council of Areopagus, when judging by the

severe rules of _written_ justice, it seems, did not condemn the

criminal; and the _unwritten_ law of equity, which the fable calls

the _wisdom of Pallas_, formally _acquitted_ him. The murder then was

not against _human_, and directly agreeable to the determinations of

_divine_, justice. Of this too the Chorus takes care to inform us:

Νέμει τοι δίκαν θεὸς ὅταν τύχῃ.

Act. iv.

This explains the reason of Electra’s question to Orestes, who had

pleaded the impiety of murdering a mother,

Καὶ μὲν ἀμύνων πατρὶ, δυσσεβὴς ἔσῃ;

the force of which lies in this, that a father’s death revenged upon

the guilty mother, was equally _pious_ as just. 3. This vengeance was,

of course, to be executed by the nearest relations of the deceased.

This the law prescribed in judicial prosecutions. Who then so fit

instruments of fate, when that justice was precluded to them? This is

expressed, in answer to the plea of Orestes, that he should suffer the

vengeance of the Gods for the murder of his mother; Electra replies,

Τῷ δαὶ πατρῴαν διαμεθῇς τιμωρίαν;

i. e. Who then shall repay vengeance to our father? She owns the

consequence, yet insists on the duty of incurring it. There was no

other, to whom the right of vengeance properly belonged.

4. Further the pagan doctrine of fate was such, that, in order to

discharge duty in one respect, it was unavoidable to incur guilt, in

another. This was the case here, Phœbus commanded and fate had decreed:

yet obedience was a crime, to be expiated by future punishment. This

may seem strange to us, who have other notions of these matters, but

was perfectly according to the pagan system. The result is, that they

knowingly exposed themselves to vengeance, in order to fulfil their

fate. All that remained was to lament their destiny, and revere the

awful and mysterious providence of their Gods. And this is, exactly,

what Orestes pleads, in vindication of himself, elsewhere:

Ἀλλ’ ὡς μὲν οὐκ εὖ, μὴ λεγ’, εἴργασται τάδε,

Ἡμῖν δὲ τοῖς δράσασιν οὐκ εὐδαιμόνως.

Orest. Act. ii.

5. Lastly, it should be remembered, how heinous a crime adultery

was esteemed in the old world; when, as well as murder, we find

it punished with death. The law of the XII Tables expressly says,

ADVLTERII CONVICTAM VIR ET COGNATI, VTI VELINT, NECANTO. Now, all these

considerations put together, Electra might assist at the assassination

of her mother, consistently with the strongest feelings of piety and

affection. That these then should instantly break forth, so soon as the

debt to justice, to duty, and to fate was paid, is nothing wonderful.

And this, by the way, vindicates the Chorus from the inconsistency,

by some charged upon it, in condemning the act, when done, which

before they had laboured to justify. The common answer, “That the

Chorus follows the character of the people,” is insufficient. For

(besides that the Chorus always sustains a moral character) whence that

inconsistency in the people themselves? The reason was, the popular

creed of those times. It had been an omission of duty to have declined,

it was criminal to execute, the murder.

3. The disposition of the drama (whether the most judicious, or

not, is not the question) was calculated to introduce this change

with the greatest probability. Electra’s principal resentment was

to Ægysthus. From him chiefly proceeded her ill treatment, and from

him was apprehended the main danger of the enterprize. Now, Ægysthus

being taken off in the beginning of the preceding act, there was time

to indulge all the movements and gratulations of revenge, which the

objection supposes should precede, and for a while suspend the horrors

of remorse, before they come to the murder of Clytæmnestra. This is

rendered the more likely by the long parley, that goes before it; which

rather tends to soften, than exasperate, her resentments, and seems

artfully contrived to prepare the change, that follows.

On the whole, Electra’s concern, as managed by the poet, is agreeable

to the tenor of her character, and the circumstances of her situation.

To have drawn her otherwise, had been perhaps in the taste of modern

tragedy, but had certainly been beside the line of nature, and practice

of the ancients.

II. The case of Iphigenia, though a greater authority stand in the way,

is still easier. Aristotle’s words are, τοῦ δὲ ἀνωμάλου [παράδειγμα]

ἡ ἐν Αὐλίδι Ἰφιγένεια. Οὐδὲν γὰρ ἔοικεν ἡ ἱκετεύουσα τῇ ὑστέρᾳ, i. e.

“Iphigenia is an instance of the inconsistent character: for there is

no probable conformity betwixt her fears and supplications at first,

and her firmness and resolution afterwards.” But how doth this appear,

independently of the name of this great critic? Iphigenia is drawn

indeed, at first, fearful and suppliant: and surely with the greatest

observance of nature. The account of her destination to the altar was

sudden, and without the least preparation; and, as Lucretius well

observes, in commenting her case, NUBENDI TEMPORE IN IPSO; when her

thoughts were all employed, and, according to the simplicity of those

times, confessed to be so, on her promised nuptials. The cause of such

destination too, as appeared at first, was the private family interest

of Menelaus. All this justifies, or rather demands, the strongest

expression of female fear and weakness. “But she afterwards recants

and voluntarily devotes herself to the altar.” And this, with the

same strict attention to probability. She had now informed herself of

the importance of the case. Her devotement was the demand of Apollo,

and the joint petition of all Greece. The glory of her country, the

dignity and interest of her family, the life of the generous Achilles,

and her own future fame, were, all, nearly concerned in it. All this

considered, together with the high, heroic sentiments of those times,

and the superior merit, as was believed, of voluntary devotement,

Iphigenia’s character must have been very unfit for the distress of

a whole tragedy to turn upon, if she had not, in the end, discovered

the readiest submission to her appointment. But, to shew with what

wonderful propriety the poet knew to sustain his characters, we find

her, after all, and notwithstanding the heroism of the change, in a

strong and passionate apostrophe to her native Mycenæ, confessing some

involuntary apprehensions and regrets, the remains of that instinctive

abhorrence of death, which had before so strongly possessed her.

Ἔθρεψας Ἑλλάδι μέγα φάος—

θανοῦσα δ’ οὐκ ἀναίνομαι.

Once the bright star of Greece—

But I submit to die.

This, I take to be not only a full vindication of the consistency of

Iphigenia’s character, but as delicate a stroke of nature, as is,

perhaps, to be found in any writer.

After the writing of this note, I was pleased to find, that so sensible

a critic, as P. Brumoi, had been before me in these sentiments

concerning the character of Iphigenia. The reasons he employs, are

nearly the same. Only he confirms them all by shewing, that the

Iphigenia of Racine, which is modelled, not according to the practice

of Euripides, but the Comment of Aristotle, is, in all respects, so

much the worse for it. In justice to this ingenious writer, it should

be owned, that he is almost the only one of his nation, who hath

perfectly seen through the foppery, or, as some affect to esteem it,

the refinement of French manners. This hath enabled him to give us, in

his _Théatre des Grecs_, a masterly and very useful view of the Greek

stage; set forth in all its genuine simplicity, and defended on the

sure principles of nature and common sense.

* * * * *

128. DIFFICILE EST PROPRIE COMMUNIA DICERE: Lambin’s Comment is

_Communia hoc loco appellat Horatius argumenta fabularum à nullo

adhuc tractata: et ita, quæ cuivis exposita sunt et in medio

quodammodo posita, quasi vacua et à nemine occupata_. And that this

is the true meaning of _communia_ is evidently fixed by the words

_ignota indictaque_, which are explanatory of it: so that the sense,

given it in the commentary, is unquestionably the right one. Yet,

notwithstanding the clearness of the case, a late critic hath this

strange passage: _Difficile quidem esse proprie communia dicere, hoc

est, materiam vulgarem, notam, et è medio petitam ita immutare atque

exornare, ut nova et scriptori propria videatur, ultro concedimus; et

maximi proculdubio ponderis ista est observatio. Sed omnibus utrinque

collatis, et tum difficilis, tum venusti, tam judicii quam ingenii

ratione habita, major videtur esse gloria fabulam formare penitus

novam, quam veterem, utcunque mutatam, de novo exhibere._ [Poet. Præl.

v. ii. p. 164.] Where having first, put a wrong construction on the

word _communia_, he imploys it to introduce an impertinent criticism.

For where does the poet prefer the glory of refitting _old_ subjects,

to that of inventing new ones? The contrary is implied in what he urges

about the superior difficulty of the latter; from which he dissuades

his countrymen, only in respect of their abilities and inexperience in

these matters; and in order to cultivate in them, which is the main

view of the Epistle, a spirit of correctness, by sending them to the

old subjects, treated by the Greek writers.

* * * * *

131. PUBLICA MATERIES PRIVATI JURIS ERIT, &c.] _Publica materies_

is just the reverse of what the poet had before stiled _communia_;

the latter meaning such subjects or characters, as, though by their

nature left in common to all, had yet, in fact, not been _occupied_

by any writer—the former those, which had already been made _public_

by _occupation_. In order to acquire a property in subjects of this

sort, the poet directs us to observe the three following cautions: 1.

_Not to follow the trite, obvious round of the original work_, i. e.

not servilely and scrupulously to adhere to its plan or method. 2.

_Not to be translators, instead of imitators_, i. e. if it shall be

thought fit to imitate more expressly any part of the original, to do

it with freedom and spirit, and without a slavish attachment to the

mode of expression. 3. _Not to adopt any particular incident, that may

occur in the proposed model, which either decency or the nature of the

work would reject._ M. Dacier illustrates these rules, which have been

conceived to contain no small difficulty, from the Iliad; to which the

poet himself refers, and probably not without an eye to particular

instances of the errors, here condemned, in the Latin tragedies. For

want of these, it may be of use to fetch an illustration from some

examples in our own. And we need not look far for them. Almost every

modern play affords an instance of one or other of these faults. The

single one of Catiline by B. Jonson is, itself, a specimen of them all.

This tragedy, which hath otherwise great merit, and on which its author

appears to have placed no small value, is, in fact, the Catilinarian

war of Sallust, put into poetical dialogue, and so offends against the

_first_ rule of the poet, _in following too servilely the plain beaten

round of the Chronicle_. 2. Next, the speeches of Cicero and Catiline,

of Cato and Cæsar are, all of them, direct and literal translations

of the historian and orator, in violation of the _second_ rule, which

forbids _a too close attachment to the mode, or form of expression_.

3. There are several transgressions of that rule, which injoins _a

strict regard to the nature and genius of the work_. One is obvious

and striking. In the history, which had, for its subject, the whole

Catilinarian war, the fates of the conspirators were distinctly to be

recorded, and the preceding debates, concerning the manner of their

punishment, afforded an occasion, too inviting to be overlooked by an

historian, and above all a republican historian, of embellishing his

narration by set harangues. Hence the long speeches of Cæsar and Cato

in the senate have great propriety, and are justly esteemed among the

leading beauties of that work. But the case was totally different in

the drama; which, taking for its subject the single fate of Catiline,

had no concern with the other conspirators, whose fates at most should

only have been hinted at, not debated with all the circumstance and

pomp of rhetoric on the stage. Nothing can be more flat and disgusting,

than this calm, impertinent pleading; especially in the very heat

and winding up of the plot. But the poet was misled by the beauty it

appeared to have in the original composition, without attending to the

peculiar laws of the drama, and the _indecorum_ it must needs have in

so very different a work.

* * * * *

136. NEC SIC INCIPIES, UT SCRIPTOR CYCLICUS OLIM:] All this [to v. 153]

is a continuation of the poet’s advice, given above,

_Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus

Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus_.

For, having first shewn in what respects a close observance of the epic

form would be vicious in tragedy, he now prescribes how far it may be

usefully admitted. And this is, 1. [from 136 to 146] in the simplicity

and modesty of the exordium; and, 2. [to v. 153] in the artificial

method and contexture of the piece. 1. The reason of the former rule is

founded on the impropriety of raising a greater expectation, at setting

out, than can afterwards be answered by the sequel of the poem. But,

because the epic writers themselves, from whom this conduct was to be

drawn, had sometimes transgressed this rule, and as the example of such

an error would be likely to infect, and, in all probability, actually

did infect, the tragic poets of that time, he takes occasion, 1. to

criticize an absurd instance of it; and, 2. to oppose to it the wiser

practice of Homer.

2. The like conduct he observes under the second article. For, being

to recommend to the tragic writer such an artificial disposition

of his subject, as _hastens rapidly to the event_, and rejects, as

impertinent, all particulars in the round of the story, which would

unnecessarily obstruct his course to it—a plan essentially necessary

to the legitimate epic—he first glances at the injudicious violation

of this method in a certain poem on _the return of_ Diomed, and then

illustrates and lays open the superior art and beauty of the Iliad. And

all this, as appears, for the sole purpose of explaining and enforcing

the precept about forming the plots of tragedies from epic poems.

Whence we see, how properly the examples of the errors, here condemned,

are taken, not from the _drama_, as the less attentive reader might

expect, but solely from the epos; for, _this_ being made the object

of imitation to the dramatic poet, as the tenor of the place shews,

it became necessary to guard against the influence of bad models.

Which I observe for the sake of those, who, from not apprehending the

connection of this and such like passages in the epistle, hastily

conclude it to be a confused medley of precepts concerning the art of

poetry, in general; and not a regular well-conducted piece, uniformly

tending to lay open the state, and to remedy the defects, of the Roman

stage.

* * * * *

148. SEMPER AD EVENTUM FESTINAT; &c.] The disposition, here recommended

to the poet, might be shewn _universally_ right from the clearest

principles. But the propriety and beauty of it will, perhaps, be best

apprehended by such, as are unused to the more abstract criticism,

from attending to a _particular_ instance. Let us conceive an objector

then to put the following query: “Supposing the author of the Æneis

to have related, in the natural order, the destruction of Troy, would

not the subject have been, to all intents and purposes, as much _one_,

as it is under its present form; in which that event is told, in the

second book, by way of episode?” I answer by no means. The reason

is taken from _the nature of the work_, and from _the state and

expectations of the reader_.

1. The _nature of an epic or narrative poem_ is this, that it lays the

author under an obligation of shewing any event, which he formally

undertakes in his own person, at full length, and with all its material

circumstances. Every figure must be drawn in full proportion, and

exhibited in strong, glowing colours. Now had the subject of the second

book of the Æneis been related, in this extent, it must not only have

taken up one, but many books. By this faithful and animated _drawing_,

and the time it would necessarily have to _play_ upon the imagination,

the event had grown into such importance, that the remainder could only

have passed for a kind of Appendix to it.

2. The same conclusion is drawn from considering _the state of the

reader_. For, hurried away by an instinctive impatience, he pursues the

proposed event with eagerness and rapidity. So circumstantial a detail,

as was supposed, of an intermediate action not necessarily connected

with it, breaks the course of his expectations, and throws forward the

point of view to an immoderate distance. In the mean time the action,

thus interposed and presented to his thoughts, acquires by degrees, and

at length ingrosses his whole attention. It becomes the important theme

of the piece; or, at least, what follows sets out with the disadvantage

of appearing to him, as a new and distinct subject.

But now being related by way of episode, that is, as a succinct,

summary narration, not made by the poet himself, but coming from the

mouth of a person, necessarily ingaged in the progress of the action,

it serves for a short time to interrupt, and, by that interruption to

sharpen, the eager expectation of the reader. It holds the attention,

for a while, from the main point of view; yet not long enough to

destroy that impatient curiosity, which looks forward to it. And thus

it contributes to the same end, as a piece of miniature, properly

introduced into a large picture. It amuses the eye with something

relative to the painter’s design, yet not so, as to with-hold its

principal observation from falling on the greater subject. The parallel

will not hold very exactly, because the painter is, of necessity,

confined to the same _instant_ of time; but it may serve for an

illustration of my meaning. Suppose the painter to take, for his

subject, that part of Æneas’s story, where, with his _penates_, his

_father_, and his _son_, he is preparing to set sail for Italy. To

draw _Troy in flames_, as a constituent part of this picture, would be

manifestly absurd. It would be painting two subjects, instead of one.

And perhaps _Troja incensa_ might seize the attention before

_Ascanium Anchisenque patrem Teucrosque penates_.

But a distant perspective of _burning Troy_ might be thrown into a

corner of the piece, that is, episodically, with good advantage; where,

instead of distracting the attention, and breaking the unity of the

subject, it would concenter, as it were, with the great design, and

have an effect in augmenting the distress of it.

* * * * *

153. TU, QUID EGO ET POPULUS, &c.] The connexion is this. “But though

the strict observance of these rules will enable the poet to conduct

his _plot_ to the best advantage, yet this is not _all_ which is

required to a _perfect_ tragedy. If he would seize the attention,

and secure the applause, of the audience, something further must be

attempted. He must (to return to the point, from which I digressed, v.

127) be particularly studious to express the _manners_. Besides the

peculiarities of _office_, _temper_, _condition_, _country_, &c. before

considered, all which require to be drawn with the utmost fidelity, a

singular attention must be had to the characteristic differences of

_age_.”

_Ætatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores._

The reason of this conduct is given in the commentary. It further

serves to adorn this part of the epistle [which is wholly preceptive

from v. 89 to 202] with those beautiful pourtraitures of human life,

in its several successive stages, which nature and Aristotle had

instructed him so well to paint.

* * * * *

157. MOBILIBUSQUE DECOR NATURIS DANDUS ET ANNIS.] MOBILIBUS] _non

levibus aut inconstantibus, sed quæ variatis ætatibus immutantur_.

Lambin. NATURIS] By this word is not meant, simply, that instinctive

_natural_ biass, implanted in every man, to this or that character,

but, in general, _nature_, as it appears diversified in the different

periods of life. The sense will be: A certain _decorum_ or propriety

must be observed in painting the natures or dispositions of men varying

with their years.

There is then no occasion for changing the text, with Dr. Bentley, into

_Mobilibusque decor, maturis dandus et annis_.

* * * * *

179. AUT AGITUR RES IN SCENIS, AUT ACTA REFERTUR: &c.] The connexion

is this. The _misapplication_, just now mentioned, destroys the

_credibility_. This puts the poet in mind of another misconduct, which

hath the same effect, viz. _intus digna geri promere in scenam_.

But, before he makes this observation, it was proper to premise a

_concession_ to prevent mistakes, viz.

_Segnius irritant animos_, &c.

* * * * *

182. NON TAMEN INTUS DIGNA GERI PROMES IN SCENAM:] I know not a more

striking example of the transgression of this rule, than in Seneca’s

Hippolytus; where Theseus is made to weep over the mangled members

of his son, which he attempts to put together on the stage. This,

which has so horrid an appearance in the _action_, might have been so

contrived, as to have an infinite beauty in the _narration_; as may be

seen from a similar instance in Xenophon’s Cyropædia, where Panthea is

represented putting together the torn limbs of Abradates.

* * * * *

185. NE PUEROS CORAM POPULO, &c.] Seneca, whom we before [v. 123]

saw so sollicitous to keep up to one rule of Horace, here makes no

scruple to transgress another. For, in violation of the very letter

of this precept, and of all the laws of decency and common sense, he

represents Medea butchering her children in the face of the people;

and, as if this too faintly painted the fury of her character, he

further aggravates the cruelty of the execution, with all the horrors

of a lingering act. This, seemingly inconsistent, conduct of the poet

was, in truth, owing to one and the same cause, namely, “The endeavour

to sustain Medea’s character.” For, wanting true taste to discern the

exact boundaries, which nature had prescribed to the human character,

or true genius to support him in a due preservation of it, he, as all

bad writers use, for fear of doing too little, unfortunately does too

much; and so, as Shakespear well expresses it, _o’ersteps the modesty

of nature_, inflating her _sentiments_ with extravagant passion, and

blackening her _acts_ with circumstances of unnatural horror. Though

some of these faults I suspect he only copied. For, to say nothing of

_that_ of Ennius, Ovid’s Medea was, at this time, very famous, and

as, I think, may be collected from the judgment passed upon it by

Quinctilian, had some of the vices, here charged upon Seneca. _Ovidii

Medea_, says he, _videtur mihi ostendere, quantum vir ille præstare

potuerit, si ingenio suo temperare, quàm indulgere, maluisset_. It

is not possible indeed to say exactly, wherein this _intemperance_

consisted; but it is not unlikely, that, amongst other things, it might

shew itself in the sorceries and incantations; a subject, intirely

suited to the wildness of Ovid’s genius; and which, as appears from

his relation of this story in the metamorphosis, he knew not how to

treat without running into some excess and luxuriance in that part. But

whether this were the cause, or no, the very treating a subject, which

had gone through such hands, as Euripides, Ennius, and Ovid, was enough

to expose a writer of better judgment, than Seneca, to some hazard.

For, in attempting to outdo originals, founded on the plan of simple

nature, a writer is in the utmost danger of running into affectation

and bombast. And indeed, without this temptation, our writers have

generally found means to incur these excesses; the very best of them

being too apt to fill their plots with unnatural incidents, and to

heighten their characters into caracatures. Though it may be doubted,

whether this hath been owing so much to their own ill taste, as to

a vicious compliance with that of the public; for, as one says, who

well knew the expediency of this craft, and practised accordingly, _to

write unnatural things is the most probable way of pleasing them who

understand not nature_. [Dryd. Pref. to Mock Astrol.]

* * * * *

193. ACTORIS PARTES CHORUS, &c.] See also _Aristotle_ [περ. ποιητ.

κ. ιηʹ.] The judgment of two such critics, and the practice of wise

antiquity concurring to establish this precept concerning the Chorus,

it should thenceforth, one would think, have become a fundamental rule

and maxim of the stage. And so indeed it appeared to some few writers.

The most admired of the French tragic poets ventured to introduce it

into two of his latter plays, and with such success, that, as one

observes, _It should, in all reason, have disabused his countrymen

on this head: l’essai heureux de M. Racine, qui les [chœurs] a fait

revivre dans_ ATHALIE _et dans_ ESTHER, _devroit, ce semble, nous

avoir detrompez sur cet article_. [P. Brumoi, vol. i. p. 105.] And,

before him, our _Milton_, who, with his other great talents, possessed

a supreme knowledge of antiquity, was so struck with its use and

beauty, as to attempt to bring it into our language. His _Sampson

Agonistes_ was, as might be expected, a master-piece. But even his

credit hath not been sufficient to restore the Chorus. Hear a late

Professor of the art declaring, _De choro nihil disserui, quia non

est essentialis dramati, atque à neotericis penitus_, ET, ME JUDICE,

MERITO, REPUDIATUR. [Præl. Poet. vol. ii. p. 188.] Whence it hath come

to pass, that the chorus hath been thus neglected, is not now the

inquiry. But that this critic, and all such are greatly out in their

judgments when they presume to censure it in the ancients, must appear

(if we look no further) from the double use, insisted on by the poet.

For, 1. A _chorus_ interposing, and bearing a part in the progress

of the action, gives the representation that _probability_[14], and

striking resemblance of real life, which every man of sense perceives

and _feels_ the want of upon our stage; a want, which nothing but such

an expedient as the chorus can possibly relieve. And, 2. The importance

of its other office [v. 196] to the _utility_ of the representation,

is so great, that, in a moral view, nothing can compensate for this

deficiency. For it is necessary to the truth and decorum of characters,

that the _manners_, bad as well as good, be drawn in strong, vivid

colours, and to that end that immoral sentiments, forcibly expressed

and speciously maintained, be sometimes _imputed_ to the speakers.

Hence the sound philosophy of the chorus will be constantly wanting

to rectify the wrong conclusions of the audience, and prevent the ill

impressions that might otherwise be made upon it. Nor let any one

say, that the audience is well able to do this for itself: Euripides

did not find even an Athenian theatre so quick-sighted. The story is

well known [Sen. Ep. 115.] that when this painter of the _manners_ was

obliged, by the rules of his art, and the character to be sustained,

to put a run of bold sentiments in the mouth of one of his persons,

the people instantly took fire, charging the poet with the _imputed_

villany, as though it had been his _own_. Now if such an audience could

so easily misinterpret an attention to the truth of character into the

real doctrine of the poet, and this too, when a chorus was at hand

to correct and disabuse their judgments, what must be the case, when

the _whole_ is left to the sagacity and penetration of the people?

The wiser sort, ’tis true, have little need of this information. Yet

the reflexions of sober sense on the course and occurrences of the

representation, clothed in the noblest dress of poetry, and inforced

by the joint powers of _harmony_ and _action_ (which is the true

character of the chorus) might make it, even to such, a not unpleasant

or unprofitable entertainment. But these _two_ are a small part of the

_uses_ of the chorus: which in every light is seen so important to the

truth, decorum, and dignity of the tragic scene, that the _modern_

stage, which hath not thought proper to adopt it, is even, with the

advantage of, sometimes, the justest moral painting and sublimest

imagery, but a very faint shadow of the _old_; as must needs appear

to those, who have looked into the ancient models, or, divesting

themselves of modern prejudices, are disposed to consult the dictates

of plain sense. For the use of such I once designed to have drawn into

one view the several important benefits, arising to the drama from

the observance of this rule, but have the pleasure to find myself

prevented by a sensible dissertation of a good French writer, which the

reader will find _in the_ VIII _Tom. of the history of the Academy of

Inscriptions and Belles Lettres_.—Or, it may be sufficient to refer

the English Reader to the late tragedies of ELFRIDA and CARACTACUS;

which do honour to modern poetry, and are a better apology, than any I

could make, for the ancient chorus.

* * * * *

193. OFFICIUMQUE VIRILE] Heinsius takes _virile_ adverbially for

_viriliter_. But this is thought harsh. What hinders, but that it may

be taken _adjectively_? And then, agreeably to his interpretation,

_officium virile_ will mean a strenuous, diligent office, such as

becomes a person interested in the progress of the action. The precept

is leveled against the practice of those poets, who, though they allot

the part of a _persona dramatis_ to the _chorus_, yet for the most part

make it so idle and insignificant an one, as is of little consequence

in the representation: by which means the advantage of _probability_,

intended to be drawn from this use of the _chorus_, is, in great

measure, lost.

* * * * *

194. NEU QUID MEDIOS INTERCINAT ACTUS, QUOD NON PROPOSITO CONDUCAT

ET HAEREAT APTE.] How necessary this advice might be to the writers

of the Augustan age cannot certainly appear; but, if the practice of

Seneca may give room for any suspicion, it should seem to have been

much wanted; in whom I scarcely believe there is one single instance

of the chorus being employed in a manner, consonant to its true end

and character. To support this general censure, which may seem to bear

hard on the poet, let us examine, in this view, one of the best of his

plays, I mean, the Hippolytus; whose chorus, throughout, bears a very

idle and uninteresting part—hath no share in the action—and sings

impertinently.

At the end of the _first_ act, when Phædra had avowed her passion

for Hippolytus, instead of declaiming against her horrid purpose,

enlarging on the danger and impiety of giving way to unnatural lusts,

or something of this nature, which was surely the office of the chorus,

it expatiates wantonly, and with a poetic luxuriance, on the sovereign,

wide-extended powers of love.

In the close of the _second_ act, instead of applauding the virtuous

obstinacy of Hippolytus, and execrating the mad attempt of Phædra, it

coolly sings the danger of beauty.

The _third_ act contains the false accusation of Hippolytus, and the

too easy deception of Theseus. What had the chorus to do here, but

to warn against a too great credulity, and to commiserate the case

of the deluded father? Yet it declaims, in general, on the unequal

distribution of _good_ and _ill_.

After the _fourth_ act, the chorus should naturally have bewailed the

fate of Hippolytus, and reverenced the mysterious conduct of Providence

in suffering the cruel destiny of the innocent. This, or something like

it, would have been to the purpose. But, as if the poet had never heard

of this rule of _coherence_, he harangues, in defiance of common sense,

on the instability of an high fortune, and the security of a low.

It will further justify this censure of _Seneca_, and be some amusement

to the critical reader, to observe, how the several blunders, here

charged upon him, arose from an injudicious imitation of _Euripides_.

I. There are two places in the Greek Hippolytus, which Seneca seems to

have had in view in his first chorus. We will consider them both.

1. When the unhappy Phædra at length suffers the fatal secret of her

passion to be extorted from her, she falls, as was natural, into all

the horrors of self-detestation, and determines not to survive the

confession of so black a crime. In this conjuncture, the _nutrix_, who

is not drawn, as in modern tragedy, an unmeaning confidante, the mere

depositary of the poet’s secrets, but has real manners assigned to

her, endeavours, with the highest beauty of character, to divert these

horrid intentions, and mitigate in some sort the guilt of her passion,

by representing to her the resistless and all-subduing force of love.

“Venus, says this virtuous _monitrix_, is not to be withstood, when she

rushes upon us with all her power. Nor is any part of creation vacant

from her influence. She pervades the air, and glides through the deeps.

We, the inhabitants of the earth, are all subject to her dominion.

Nay, ask of the ancient bards, and they will tell you, that the Gods

themselves are under her controul.” And so goes on, enumerating

particular examples, from all which she infers at last the necessity of

Phædra’s yielding to her fate. Again,

2. Towards the close of the Greek play, when, upon receiving the

tragical story of his son’s sufferings, Theseus began to feel his

resentments give way to the workings of paternal affection, and, on

that account, though he was willing to conceal the true motive, even

from himself, had given orders for the dying Hippolytus to be brought

before him, the chorus very properly flings out into that fine address

to Venus,

Σὺ τὰν θεῶν ἄκαμπτον φρένα, &c.

the substance of which is, “That Venus, with her swift-winged boy, who

traverses the earth and ocean, subdues the stubborn hearts of Gods

and men: inspiring into all, on whom her influence rests, whether

inhabitants of the land or deep, and more especially the race of man, a

soft and sympathizing tenderness; demonstrating hereby, that she alone

extends her all-controuling dominion over universal nature.” This

song, as thus connected with the occasion, is apparently very proper,

and, when reduced from the pomp of lyric eloquence to plain prose, is

only an address of congratulation to the powers of love; confessing and

celebrating their influence, in thus softening the rigors of a father’s

hate, and awakening in his breast the soft touches of returning pity

and affection.

Now these two places, taken together, are plainly the ground-work of

that song,

_Diva, non miti generata ponto_, &c.

but how improperly applied, has appeared, in respect of the latter

of them, from what has been observed concerning the _occasion_; and

must be acknowledged of the other, from the different _character_ of

the person to whom it is given; and also from hence, that the chorus

in the Greek poet expressly condemns the impiety of such suggestions

in the nurse, and admonishes Phædra not to lend an ear to them. The

chorus, when it comes to sing in him, is far otherwise employed; not in

celebrating the triumphs, but deprecating the pernicious fury of this

passion, and in lamenting the fatal miscarriages of Hymeneal love.

II. The second song, on the graces of the prince’s person, and the

danger of beauty, which follows on the abrupt departure of Hippolytus,

rejecting, with a virtuous disdain, the mad attempts of Phædra and her

confidante, is so glaringly improper, as not to admit an excuse from

any example. And yet, I am afraid, the single authority, it has to

lean on, is a very short hint, slightly dropped by the chorus in the

Greek poet on a very different occasion. It is in the entrance of that

scene, where the mangled body of Hippolytus is brought upon the stage;

on the sight of which the chorus very naturally breaks out,

Καὶ μὲν ὁ τάλας ὅδε δὴ στείχει

Σάρκας νεαρὰς

Ξανθόν τε κάρα διαλυμανθείς.

and yet, as the reader of just taste perceives, nothing beyond a single

reflexion could have been endured even here.

III. The next song of the chorus may seem directly copied from

Euripides. Yet the two occasions will be found extremely different.

In Seneca, Theseus, under the conviction of his son’s guilt, inveighs

bitterly against him, and at last supplicates the power of Neptune to

avenge his crimes. The chorus, as anticipating the effects of this

imprecation, arraigns the justice of the Gods. In the Greek poet, the

father, under the like circumstances, invokes the same avenging power,

and, as some immediate relief to his rage, pronounces the sentence

of banishment, and urges the instant execution of it, against him.

Hippolytus, unable to contend any longer with his father’s fury, breaks

out into that most tender complaint (than which nothing was ever more

affecting in tragedy)

Ἄρηρεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ τάλας ἐγώ. &c.

containing his last adieu to his country, companions, and friends. The

chorus, touched with the pathos of this apostrophe, and commiserating

his sad reverse of fortune, enters with him into the same excess

of lamentation, and, as the first expression of it, lets fall this

natural sentiment, “That though from coolly contemplating the divine

superintendency of human affairs, there results abundant confidence

and security against the ills of life, yet when we look abroad into

the lives and fortunes of men, that confidence is apt to fail us,

and we find ourselves discouraged and confounded by the promiscuous

and undistinguishing appointments of _good_ and _ill_.” This is the

thought, which Seneca hath imitated, and, as his manner is, outraged in

his chorus of the third act:

_O magna parens, Natura, Deûm_, &c.

But the great difference lies here. That, whereas in _Euripides_ this

sentiment is proper and agreeable to the state and circumstances of

the chorus, which is ever attentive to the progress of the action, and

is most affected by what immediately presents itself to observation;

in _Seneca_ it is quite foreign and impertinent; the attention of

the chorus naturally turning, not on the distresses of Hippolytus,

which had not yet commenced, but on the rashness and unhappy delusion

of Theseus, as being that, which had made the whole subject of the

preceding scene. But the consequence of that delusion, it will be said,

was obvious. It may be so. But the chorus, as any sensible spectator,

is most agitated by such reflexions, as occur to the mind from those

scenes of the drama, which are actually passing before it, and not from

those which have not yet taken place.

IV. What was remarked of the _second_ song of the chorus will be

applicable to the _fourth_, which is absurdly founded on a single

reflexion in the Greek poet, but just touched in a couple of lines,

though much more naturally introduced. Theseus, plunged in the deepest

affliction by the immature death of Phædra, and not enduring the sight

of the supposed guilty author of it, commands him into banishment,

“Lest, as he goes on, his former triumphs and successes against the

disturbers of mankind, should in consequence of the impunity of such

unprecedented crimes, henceforth do him no honour.” The chorus, struck

with the distressful situation of the old king, and recollecting with

him the sum of his former glories, is made to exclaim,

Οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅπως εἴποιμ’ ἂν εὐτυχεῖν τινα

Θνητῶν· τὰ γὰρ δὴ πρῶτ’ ἀνέστραπται πάλιν.

i. e. _there is henceforth no such thing, as human happiness, when the

first examples of it are thus sadly reversed_. Which casual remark

Seneca seizes and extends through a whole chorus; where it visibly

serves to no other end, but to usurp a place, destined for far more

natural and affecting sentiments.

If I have been rather long upon this head, it is because I conceive

this critique on the Hippolytus will let the reader, at once, into

the true character of _Seneca_; which, he now sees, is that of a mere

_declamatory moralist_. So little deserving is he of the reputation of

a just dramatic poet.

* * * * *

196. ILLE BONIS FAVEATQUE, &c.] _The chorus_, says the poet, _is to

take the side of the good and virtuous_, i. e. is always to sustain a

moral character. But this will need some explanation and restriction.

To conceive aright of its office, we must suppose the _chorus_ to

be a number of persons, by some probable cause assembled together,

as witnesses and spectators of the great action of the drama. Such

persons, as they cannot be wholly uninterested in what passes before

them, will very naturally bear some share in the representation. This

will principally consist in declaring their sentiments, and indulging

their reflexions freely on the several events and distresses as they

shall arise. Thus we see the _moral_, attributed to the chorus, will be

no other than the dictates of plain sense; such as must be obvious to

every thinking observer of the action, who is under the influence of

no peculiar partialities from _affection_ or _interest_. Though even

these may be supposed in cases, where the character, towards which they

_draw_, is represented as virtuous.

A chorus, thus constituted, must always, it is evident, take the

part of virtue; because this is the natural and almost necessary

determination of mankind, in all ages and nations, when acting freely

and unconstrained. But then it is to be observed,

1. That this moral character, or approbation of virtue, must also

be considerably influenced by the common and established notions of

_right_ and _wrong_; which, though in essential points, for the most

part, uniformly the same under all circumstances, yet will, in some

particular instances, be much distorted by the corrupt principles and

practices of different countries and times. Hence the _moral_ of the

stage will not be always strictly philosophical; as reflecting to us

the image not of the sage’s speculation, but, of the obvious sense of

common, untutor’d minds. The reader will find this observation applied

to the case of the _chorus_ in the Medea, in note on v. 200, and it

might further, perhaps, be extended to the vindication of some others,

to which the ignorant temerity of modern criticism hath taken occasion

to object. But,

2. The _moral character_ of the chorus will not only depend very

much on the several mistaken notions and usages, which may happen,

under different circumstances, to corrupt and defile _morality_; but

allowance is also to be made for the _false policies_, which may

prevail in different countries; and especially if they constitute any

part of the subject, which the drama would represent. If the _chorus_

be made up of free citizens, whether of a republic, or the milder

and more equal royalties, they can be under little or no temptation

to suppress or disguise their real sentiments on the several events,

presented to their observation; but will be at liberty to pursue their

natural inclination of speaking the truth. But should this venerable

assembly, instead of sustaining the dignity of free subjects, be, in

fact, a company of slaves, devoted by long use to the service and

interests of a master, or awed, by the dread of tyrannical power,

into an implicit compliance with his will, the baleful effect, which

this very different situation must have on their moral character,

is evident. Their opinions of persons and things will cease to be

oracular; and the interposition of the _chorus_ will be more likely

to injure the cause of virtue, than to assist and promote it. Nor can

any objection be made, on this account, to the conduct of the poet;

who keeps to nature and probability in drawing the chorus with this

imperfectly moral character; and is only answerable for his ill choice

of a subject, in which such a pernicious representation is required.

An instance will explane my meaning more perfectly. The chorus in

the _Antigone_, contrary to the rule of Horace, takes the side of

the _wicked_. It consists of a number of old Thebans, assembled by

the order of Creon to assist, or rather to be present, at a kind of

mock council; in which he meant to issue his cruel interdict of the

rites of sepulture to the body of Polynices; a matter of the highest

consequence in those days, and upon which the whole distress of the

play turns. This veteran troop of vassals enter at once into the

horrid views of the tyrant, and obsequiously go along with him in

the projects of his cruelty; calmly, and without the appearance of

any virtuous emotion, consenting to them all. The consequence is that

the interludes of the chorus are, for the most part, impertinent, or

something worse; cautiously avoiding such useful reflexions, as the

nature of the case must suggest, or indulging, by their flatteries,

the impotent tyranny of their prince. And yet no blame can be fairly

charged upon the great poet, who hath surely represented, in the most

striking colours, the pernicious character, which a chorus, under such

circumstances, would naturally sustain. The fault must therefore fall,

where the poet manifestly intended to throw it, on the accursed spirit

of despotism; which extinguishes, or over-rules, the suggestions of

common sense; kills the very seeds of virtue, and perverts the most

sacred and important offices, such as is that of the chorus, into the

means and instruments of vice. The glory, which he designed, by this

representation, to reflect upon the government and policy of his own

state, is too glaring to be overlooked. And he hath artfully contrived

to counter-act any ill impressions on the minds of the people, from the

prostituted authority of the chorus, by charging them, in the persons

of Hæmon and Antigone, with their real motives and views. In all

indifferent things, in which the passions or interests of their master

were not concerned, even this chorus would of course preserve a moral

character. But we are to look for it no further. This is the utmost

verge and boundary of a slave’s virtue. An important truth, which,

among many greater and more momentous instructions, furnishes this to

the dramatic poet, “That, if he would apply the chorus to the uses of a

sound and useful moral, he must take his subjects, not from the annals

of despotic tyranny, but from the great events, which occur in the

records of free and equal commonwealths.”

* * * * *

200. ILLE TEGAT COMMISSA] This important advice is not always easy to

be followed. Much indeed will depend on the choice of the subject,

and the artful constitution of the fable. Yet, with all his care, the

ablest writer will sometimes find himself embarrassed by the chorus.

I would here be understood to speak chiefly of the moderns. For the

ancients, though it has not been attended to, had some peculiar

advantages over us in this respect, resulting from the principles and

practices of those times. For, as it hath been observed of the ancient

epic muse, that she borrowed much of her state and dignity from the

false _theology_ of the pagan world, so, I think, it may be justly

said of the ancient tragic, that she has derived great advantages

of probability from its mistaken _moral_. If there be truth in this

reflexion, it will help to justify some of the ancient choirs, that

have been most objected to by the moderns. To give an instance or two,

and leave the curious reader to extend the observation at his leisure.

I. In the Hippolytus of Euripides, the chorus, which is let into

Phædra’s design of killing herself, suffers this rash attempt to take

effect, rather than divulge the intrusted secret. This, to a modern

reader, seems strange; and we are ready to arraign the poet of having

allotted a very unfit and unbecoming part to his _chorus_, which,

in order to observe a _critical_, is thus made to violate a _moral_

precept, or at least to sacrifice the more essential part of its

character to a punctilio of honour. But the case was quite otherwise.

This suicide of Phædra, which, on our stricter moral plan, is repugnant

to the plain rules of duty, was, in the circumstances supposed, fully

justified on the pagan system. Phædra had confessed the secret of her

criminal passion. By the forward zeal of her confident, her disgrace

is made known to Hippolytus; and thereby, as she conceives, rendered

notorious to the public. In this distress she had only one way to

vindicate her honour, and that was at the expence of her life. Rather

than bear the insupportable load of public infamy, she kills herself.

That this was a justifiable cause of self-murder in the eye of the

chorus is clear from the reason, there assigned, of her conduct,

manifestly in approbation of it. “Phædra, says the chorus, oppressed

and borne down by her afflictions, has recourse to this expedient of

suicide,

τάν τ’ εὔδοξον ἀνθαιρουμένα

Φάμαν, ἀπαλλάσσουσά

Τ’ ἀλγεινὸν φρενῶν ἔρωτα.

for the sake of her good fame, and in order to free herself from

the tortures of a cruel passion.” And how agreeable this was to the

pagan system, in general, let the reader collect from the following

testimonies in Cicero: _Si omnia fugiendæ turpitudinis adipiscendæque

honestatis causâ faciemus, non modo stimulos doloris, sed etiam

fulmina fortunæ contemnamus licebit: præsertim cum paratum sit illud

ex hesternâ disputatione perfugium. Ut enim, si, cui naviganti

prædones insequantur, Deus quis dixerit, Ejice te navi; præsto est,

qui excipiat_, &c. _omnem omittas timorem; sic, urgentibus asperis

et odiosis doloribus, si tanti non sint ut ferendi sint, quo sit

confugiendum vides._ [Tusc. Disp. l. ii. 26.] And, again, in the close

of the V^{th} disputation, _Mihi quidem in vita servanda videtur illa

lex, quæ in Græcorum conviviis obtinet: Aut bibat, inquit, aut abeat.

Et recte. Aut enim fruatur aliquis pariter cum aliis voluptate potandi;

aut, ne sobrius in violentiam vinolentorum incidat, ante discedat: sic_

INJURIAS FORTUNÆ, QUAS FERRE NEQUEAS, DEFUGIENDO RELINQUAS.

II. Another example may, I think, be fetched from the _Medea_. Scarcely

any thing has been more the subject of modern censure, than the

part, which the chorus is made to act in this tragedy. _Whence comes

it_, says M. Dacier, _that the chorus, which consists of Corinthian

women, is faithful to a stranger against their sovereign[15]?_ This

good Frenchman, it seems, thought it a kind of treason, even on the

stage, and where a moral character was to be sustained, to take part

against a tyrant. But he will further say, that the moral character

of the chorus was forfeited in thus concealing, and, in effect,

abetting the impious cruelties of Medea. _The laws of nature and of

God were transgressed in rendering this service to her._ All which is

very true, supposing the reader to judge of this matter by the purer

christian moral. But how will he prove this to be the case on the

received notions and practices of paganism? It appears, this critic

did not apprehend, what a moderate attention to ancient history and

manners might have taught him, that the violation of conjugal fidelity

was a crime of that high nature, as to deserve in the public opinion,

and to excuse, the severest vengeance of retaliation. This the laws

expresly allowed to the injuries of the husband. And, it is probable,

the wife might incline to think the reason of the case extended also

to her. What is certain is, that we find some of the deepest scenes

of horror, which ancient history furnishes, or ancient fiction could

paint, wrought up from the occasion of this neglect of conjugal

faith. And it is well observed by one, in speaking of the difference

between the ancient and modern stage, that what is now held the fit

subject of comic mirth and ridicule in christian theatres, was never

employed but to stir up the utmost horror and commiseration, on the

heathen. “We do not find, says this agreeable writer, any comedy in

so polite an author, as Terence, raised upon the violations of the

marriage-bed. The falsehood of the wife or husband has given occasion

to noble tragedies; but a Scipio and Lælius would have looked upon

incest or murder, to have been as proper subjects for comedy.” This

is strictly and precisely the truth. And, therefore, as the crimes of

incest or murder were believed deserving of the highest punishment

by the Pagans, and every good man was ready to interest himself in

seeing it inflicted[16]; so, in the case of the open violation of the

marriage-compact, the fiercest acts of revenge were justified in the

public opinion, and passed only for acts of strict justice. And for

this, if we wanted further authority, we have the express word of the

chorus. The Corinthian women do not barely consent to secrecy, in

virtue of an extorted oath or promise (though more might have been said

for this, than every reader is aware of) but in consequence of their

entire and full approbation of her intentions. For thus, in answer to

Medea’s petition to them, without the least reserve or hesitation, they

are made to reply,

Δράσω τάδ’· ἐνδίκως γὰρ ἐκτίσῃ πόσιν

Μήδεια.

_I will do it; for this revenge on a husband is just._ We see then the

chorus, in keeping the secret of Medea’s murders, was employed in its

great office of countenancing and supporting _salubrem justitiam_,

_wholesome justice_. And, therefore, the scholiast, with M. Dacier’s

leave, gave a fit and proper account of the matter (so far was it from

being _impious_ and _ridiculous_) in saying, _that the Corinthian women

being free_, i. e. not devoted to the service of Creon, by the special

duties of any personal attachment, _take the side of justice, as the

chorus is wont to do on other occasions_. The circumstance of their

_freedom_ is properly mentioned. For this distinguishes their case

from that of the _nutrix_, who upon receiving the account of Jason’s

cruelties, cries out,

Ὄλοιτο μὲν μὴ, δεσπότης γάρ ἐστ’ ἐμὸς,

Ἀτὰρ κακός γ’ ὢν εἰς φίλους ἁλίσκεται.

And that the chorus enter’d into Medea’s designs against her husband,

the tyrant Creon, and her rival, on reasons of justice and equity only,

and not (as is hastily believed by some, who have not enough attended

to the decorum of the ancient tragedy) for the sake of forwarding the

poet’s plot, may be certainly shewn. For when, in the fury of her

resentments, and as the full completion of her revenge, the mother

comes to propose the murder of her innocent children, the chorus starts

with horror at the thought, dissuades her from it in the most earnest

and affecting manner[17], and seems to have concealed the dreadful

secret only from the persuasion, that it was too horrid and unnatural

to be perpetrated. The reader will collect this with pleasure, by

turning to the fine song, which follows. It may be further observed,

that Medea herself, in opening this last purpose of her rage to the

chorus, exacts fidelity of them only, _as they wished well to an

injured queen, and were women_;

Εἴπερ φρονεῖς εὖ δεσπόταις, γυνή τ’ ἔφυς.

which is beautifully contrived by the poet, to discriminate the two

cases, and to intimate to us, that reasons of justice were now no

longer to be pleaded.

In sum, though these acts of severe avenging justice might not be

according to the express letter of the laws, or the more refined

conclusions of the PORCH or ACADEMY; yet there is no doubt, that they

were, in the general account, esteemed fit and reasonable. And, it

is to be observed, in order to pass a right judgment on the ancient

chorus, that, though in virtue of their office, they were obliged

universally to sustain a moral character; yet this moral was rather

political and popular, than strictly legal or philosophic. Which is

also founded on good reason. The scope and end of the ancient theatre

being to serve the interests of virtue and society, on the principles

and sentiments, already spread and admitted amongst the people, and not

to correct old errors, and instruct them in philosophic truth.

* * * * *

202. TIBIA NON, UT NUNC, ORICHALCO, &c.] [from v. 202 to v. 220.] This

is one of those many passages in the epistle, about which the critics

have said a great deal, without explaining any thing. In support of

what I mean to offer, as the true interpretation, I observe,

That the poet’s intention certainly was, not to censure the _false_

refinements of their stage-music; but, in a short digressive history

(such as the didactic form will sometimes require) to describe

the rise and progress of the _true_. This I collect, 1. From _the

expression itself_; which cannot, without violence, be understood in

any other way. For, as to the words _licentia_ and _præceps_, which

have occasioned much of the difficulty, the _first_ means a _freer

use_, not a _licentiousness_, properly so called; and the _other_ only

expresses a vehemence and rapidity of language, naturally productive of

a quicker elocution, such as must of course attend the more numerous

harmony of the lyre:—not, as M. Dacier translates it, _une eloquence

temeraire et outrée_, an extravagant straining and affectation of

style. 2. From _the reason of the thing_; which makes it incredible,

that the music of the theatre should then be most complete, when the

times were barbarous, and entertainments of this kind little encouraged

or understood. 3. From _the character of that music itself_; for the

rudeness of which, Horace, in effect, apologizes in defending it only

on the score of the imperfect state of the stage, and the simplicity of

its judges. But what shall we say then to those lines,

_Indoctus quid enim saperet liberque laborum,

Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto?_

which seem to imply a censure on these Improvements, as unworthy the

approbation of _wise_ men; contrary to what I have just now supposed to

be the scope of this whole passage.

On the strictest attention, I believe we are to understand them as a

_Sneer_, in passing, on what grave and philosophic men have observed

of these refinements, which they constantly treat, as _Corruptions_.

See note on v. 218. But the mixed auditories of these days, says the

poet with his usual _badinage_, were not so _wise_. ’Tis, as if he had

said, “What I mention here as an improvement in dramatic music is, in

the ideas and language of some grave men, an abuse and perversion of

it to immoral purposes. It may be so: but consider, for what sorts of

people these theatrical entertainments were designed: for the _ignorant

clown and citizen, the plebeian and gentleman_, huddled together into

one confused mass, and crowding to the theatre, on a holyday, for some

relief from their ordinary toils and occupations. And alas, what do

these men know, or consider of this austere _wisdom_?

But the cast of the whole passage is, besides, such as favours the

supposition of an intended Irony. Hence the _Tibia non, ut nunc,

orichalco vincta_, &c. delivered in the usual tone of declaimers

against modern manners. Hence the epithets, _frugi castusque

verecundusque_, to denote the quality of those who assisted, of old, at

these _virtuous_ entertainments. And hence the enormity of that state

of things, when the people were afterwards permitted to regale on holy

days, _impune_. This intention too accounts for the terms _licentia_,

_luxuries_, _facundia_, _præceps_, and others, which being of ambiguous

interpretation, the poet purposely chose, to mimic, and humour, as

it were, the objectors in their favourite language on this occasion.

Till at last, impatient to continue the raillery any further, he

concludes at once with an air of solemnity very proper to confound the

impertinence of such criticism.

Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri

Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.

All this the reader sees is agreeable to the poet’s _prescription_

elsewhere,

—Sermone opus est tristi, sæpe _jocoso_.

and indeed to his own _practice_ on an hundred occasions. So that on

the whole there is little doubt of his intention in the lines,

Indoctus quid enim _saperet_, &c.

At least, in this view the poet, I am apt to think, will be found

intelligible and even elegant. Whereas, on any other supposition of his

numerous commentators, I cannot see that the verses before us (as they

here stand) have either propriety or common sense.”

The interpretation then of this whole passage, from v. 202 to 220,

will stand thus. “The Tibia, says the poet, was at first _low_ and

_simple_. The _first_, as best agreeing to the _state of the stage_,

which required only a soft music to go along with, and assist the

chorus; there being no large and crowded theatres to _fill_ in those

days. And the _latter_, as suiting best to the _state of the times_;

whose simplicity and frugal manners exacted the severest temperance, as

in every thing else, so, in their dramatic ornaments and decorations.

But, when conquest had enlarged the territory, and widened the walls

of Rome; and, in consequence thereof, a social spirit had dispelled

that severity of manners, by the introduction of frequent festival

solemnities; then, as was natural to expect, a freer and more varied

harmony took place. Nor let it be objected that this _freer harmony_

was itself an abuse, a corruption of the severe and _moral_ music

of ancient times. Alas! we were not as yet so _wise_, to see the

inconveniencies of this improvement. And how should we, considering

the nature and end of these theatrical entertainments, and the sort of

men of which our theatres were made up? But, leaving the Philosopher

to speculate at his ease, on this matter, thus, in _fact_, it was,

“that the _Tibicen_, the musician, who played to the declamation in

the acts, instead of the rude and simpler strain of the old times,

gave a richness and variety of tone; and, instead of the old inactive

posture, added the grace of motion to his art. Just in the same

manner, continues he, it happened to the _Lyre_, i. e. _the music in

the chorus_, which originally, as that of the _Tibia_, was severe

and simple; but, by degrees, acquired a quicker and more expressive

modulation, such as corresponded to the more elevated and passionate

turn of the poet’s style, and the diviner enthusiasm of his sentiment.”

All that is further wanting to support and justify this interpretation,

will be found in the notes on particular passages.

* * * * *

203. TENUIS SIMPLEXQUE, &c.] It may here be observed of the manner,

in which the poet hath chosen to deliver this whole part [from v. 202

to 295] that, besides its other uses, it tends directly to convey

to his readers, and impress upon them in the strongest manner, the

principal instruction, he has in view, and with which the epistle more

expresly concludes, _viz. The uses and importance of a spirit of

critical application_. For, in speaking of the _stage music_, of the

_satyrs_, and the _Greek tragedy_ (all which come naturally in his

way, and are very artfully connected) he chuses to deduce the account

of each from its ruder and less polished original; tracing it through

its several successive stages, and marking out to us the gradual

polish and refinement, which it acquired from increasing diligence and

correctness. The _Tibia_ at first was _simple_ and _rude_—The _satyrs

naked_ and _barbarous_—and the _Greek tragedy itself deformed and

shapeless_ in the cart of Thespis. Care and attention reformed each. It

follows,

_Nil intentatum nostri liquere poetæ, &c._

_i. e._ our poets have not been wanting in their attempts to excel in

these several particulars. What is necessary to their success is, _limæ

labor et mora_. If the reader bear this in mind, it will help him to

see the order and scope of this part more distinctly.

* * * * *

204. ASPIRARE ET ADESSE CHORIS, &c.] _Chorus_ here means the whole

dramatic performance, which was originally nothing else.

* * * * *

206. UTPOTE PARVUS, ET FRUGI CASTUSQUE VERECUNDUSQUE, &c.] M. _Dacier_

finds here _four_ causes _of the little regard the ancients had

for plays_ [he should have said, of their being satisfied with the

_Tibia_, all rude and simple as is here described] _la premiere, que

le peuple Romain étoit encore alors en petit nombre: la seconde, qu’il

étoit sage: la troisiéme, qu’il étoit chaste, c’est à dire pieux: et

la quatriéme, qu’il étoit modeste_. But the three last epithets are

synonymous, all of them expressing what, though he took three guesses

for it, he had the ill fortune to miss at last, _that plainness and

simplicity_ of character, _that frugal reserve and moderation in

the use of any thing_, which so essentially belongs to rude minds,

uninstructed in the arts of life. His _four_ causes are, in fact, then

but two; which have been fully considered in note on v. 202.

* * * * *

211. ACCESSIT NUMERISQUE MODISQUE LICENTIA MAJOR.] M. _Dacier_ takes

_licentia major_ in a bad sense, as implying _lasciveté_, _a culpable

and licentious refinement_. But the _licence_, here spoken of, with

regard to _numbers_ and _sounds_, like that in another place, which

respects _words_ [l. 51.] is one of those, which is allowed, when

_sumpta pudenter_. The comparative _major_, which is a _palliative_,

shews this; and is further justified by a like passage in _Cicero_,

_De Oratore_ [l. iii. c. 48.] where speaking of this very licence

in poetry, he observes, that out of the Heroic and Iambic measure,

which were at first strictly observed, there arose by degrees the

Anapæst, _procerior quidam numerus, et ille licentior et divitior

Dithyrambus_; evidently not condemning this change, but opposing it

to the rigorous and confined measure of the elder poets. But the

expression itself occurs in the piece entitled _Orator_, in which,

comparing the freedoms of the poetical and oratorial style, _in ea_ [i.

e. _poetica_] says he, _licentiam statuo majorem esse, quam in nobis,

faciendorum jungendorumque verborum_. The poet says, this _licence_

extended _numeris modisque_, the former of which words will express

that _licence of metre_, spoken of by _Cicero_, and which is further

explained v. 256, _&c._ where an account is given of the improvement of

the Iambic verse.

* * * * *

214. SIC PRISCAE, — — — ARTI

TIBICEN, &c.

SIC ETIAM FIDIBUS, &c.]

This is the application of what hath been said, in general, concerning

the refinement of theatrical music to the case of _tragedy_. Some

commentators say, and to _comedy_. But in this they mistake, as will

appear presently. M. _Dacier_ hath, I know not what conceit about

a comparison betwixt the _Roman_ and _Greek_ stage. His reason is,

_that the lyre was used in the Greek chorus, as appears_, he says,

_from Sophocles playing upon this instrument himself in one of his

tragedies_. And was it not used too in the Roman chorus, as appears

from Nero’s playing upon it in several tragedies? But the learned

critic did not apprehend this matter. Indeed from the caution, with

which his guides, the dealers in antiquities, always touch this point,

it should seem, that they too had no very clear conceptions of it.

The case I take to have been this: The _Tibia_, as being most proper

to accompany the declamation of the acts, _cantanti succinere_, was

constantly employed, as well in the Roman tragedy as comedy. This

appears from many authorities. I mention only two from Cicero. _Quam

multa_ [Acad. l. ii. 7.] _quæ nos fugiunt in cantu, exaudiunt in eo

genere exercitati: Qui, primo inflatu Tibicinis, Antiopam esse aiunt

aut Andromacham, cum nos ne suspicemur quidem._ The other is still more

express. In his piece, entitled _Orator_, speaking of the negligence

of the Roman writers, in respect of _numbers_, he observes, _that

there were even many passages in their tragedies, which, unless the_

TIBIA _played to them, could not be distinguished from mere prose_:

_quæ, nisi cum Tibicen accesserit, orationi sint solutæ simillima_.

One of these passages is expresly quoted from _Thyestes_, a tragedy

of _Ennius_; and, as appears from the measure, taken out of one of

the acts. It is clear then, that the _Tibia_ was certainly used in

the _declamation_ of tragedy. But now the song of the tragic chorus,

being of the nature of the ode, of course required _Fides_, the lyre,

the peculiar and appropriated instrument of the lyric Muse. And this

is clearly collected, if not from express testimonies; yet from some

occasional hints dropt by the ancients. For, 1. the lyre, we are

told, [Cic. De Leg. ii. 9. & 15.] and is agreed on all hands, was an

instrument of the Roman theatre; but it was not employed in comedy.

This we certainly know from the short accounts of the music prefixed to

Terence’s plays. 2. Further, the _Tibicen_, as we saw, accompanied the

declamation of the acts in tragedy. It remains then, that the proper

place of the lyre was, where one should naturally look for it, in the

songs of the chorus; but we need not go further than this very passage

for a proof. It is unquestionable, that the poet is here speaking of

the chorus only; the following lines not admitting any other possible

interpretation. By _Fidibus_ then is necessarily understood the

instrument peculiarly used in it. Not that it need be said that the

_Tibia_ was never used in the chorus. The contrary seems expressed in

a passage of Seneca, [Ep. lxxxiv.] and in Julius Pollux [l. iv. 15. §

107.] ’Tis sufficient, if the _lyre_ was used solely, or principally in

it, at this time. In this view, the whole digression is more pertinent

and connects better. The poet had before been speaking of tragedy.

All his directions, from l. 100. respect this species of the drama

only. The application of what he had said concerning music, is then

most naturally made, 1. to the _Tibia_, the music of the acts; and, 2.

to _Fides_, that of the choir: thus confining himself, as the tenor

of this part required, to tragedy only. Hence is seen the mistake,

not only of M. Dacier, whose comment is in every view insupportable;

but, as was hinted, of Heinsius, Lambin, and others, who, with more

probability, explained this of the Roman comedy and tragedy. For

though _Tibia_ might be allowed to stand for comedy, as opposed to

_Tragœdia_, [as in fact, we find it in l. ii. Ep. 1. 98.] that being

the only instrument employed in it; yet, in speaking expresly of the

music of the stage, _Fides_ could not determinately enough, and in

contradistinction to _Tibia_, denote that of tragedy, it being an

instrument used solely, or principally in the chorus; of which, the

context shews, he alone speaks. It is further to be observed, that, in

the application here made, besides the music, the poet takes in the

other improvements of the tragic chorus, these happening, as from the

nature of the thing they would do, at the same time.

* * * * *

214. SIC PRISCAE MOTUMQUE ET LUXURIEM.] These two words are employed

to express that _quicker movement_, and _richer modulation_ of the new

music; the peculiar defects of the _old_ being, 1. That it moved too

slowly, and, 2. That it had no compass or variety of notes. It was that

_movement_, that velocity and vehemence of the music, which Roscius

required to have slackened in his old age.

* * * * *

215. TRAXITQUE VAGUS PER PULPITA VESTEM.] This expresses not only the

improvement arising from the ornament of proper dresses, but from the

grace of motion: not only the _actor_, whose peculiar office it was,

but the _minstrel_ himself, as appears from hence, conforming his

gesture in some sort to the music.

Of the use and propriety of these gestures, or dances, it will not be

easy for us, who see no such things attempted on the modern stage,

to form any very clear or exact notions. What we cannot doubt of is,

1. That the several theatrical dances of the ancients were strictly

conformable to the genius of the different species of composition, to

which they were applied. 2. That, therefore, the tragic dance, which

more especially accompanied the chorus, must have been expressive of

the highest gravity and decorum, tending to inspire ideas of what is

_becoming, graceful_, and _majestic_; in which view we cannot but

perceive the important assistance it must needs lend to virtue, and

how greatly it must contribute to set all her graces and attractions

in the fairest light. 3. This idea of the ancient tragic dance, is not

solely formed upon our knowledge of the conformity, beforementioned;

but is further collected from the name, usually given to it, which was

Ἐμμέλεια. This word cannot well be translated into our language; but

expresses all that grace and concinnity of motion, which the dignity

of the choral song required. 4. Lastly, it must give us a very high

notion of the moral effect of this dance, when we find the severe Plato

admitting it into his commonwealth.

* * * * *

216. SIC ETIAM FIDIBUS VOCES, &c.] He is here speaking of the great

improvement in the tragic chorus, after the Roman conquests, when the

Latin writers began to enquire

_Quid Sophocles et Thespis et Æschylus utile ferrent_.

This improvement consisted, 1. In a more instructive moral sentiment:

2. In a more sublime and animated expression; which of course produced,

3. A greater vehemence in the declamation: to which conformed, 4.

A more numerous and rapid music. All these particulars are here

expressed, but, as the reason of the thing required, in an inverted

order. The music of the lyre (that being his subject, and introducing

the rest) being placed first; the declamation, as attending that, next;

the language, _facundia_, that is, the subject of the declamation,

next; and the sentiment, _sententia_, the ground and basis of the

language, last.

_Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia præceps._

literally, “A vehemence and rapidity of language produced an unusual

vehemence and rapidity of elocution in the declaimer!” This “rapidity

of language,” is exactly the same, as that Cicero speaks of in

Democritus and Plato, [_Orat._ 638. _Elz._] which, because of its quick

and rapid movement, _quod incitatius feratur_, some critics thought

to be poetical. _Unaccustomed_, we may observe, is indifferently a

_censure_ or _encomium_, according as the preceding state of the thing

spoken of was _wrong_, or _right_. Much the same may be concluded of

_præceps_; its _literal_ sense is a degree of _motion_ in any thing

above what it had before. This may be _excessive_, or otherwise, as it

chances: When applied to _the bleak East wind, dispersing a flight of

bees, and dashing them on the stream_,

_si forte morantes

Sparserit, aut præceps Neptuno immerserit Eurus_.

Virg. Georg. iv. 29.

the epithet implies _excess_; but when spoken of the _gentle South,

whose strongest gale is but sufficient to drive the willing ship to

port_, [Æn. vii. 410.] _Præcipiti delata Noto_, it then only expresses

_due measure_.

As for the criticism from Quintilian, who opposes _præcipitia_ to

_sublimibus_, it is doubly impertinent: 1. As the sense is necessarily

fixed by its opposition to _sublimibus_: and 2. As the word is here

used, not as implying _motion_, but _height_, in which view its sense

is _absolute_, and always denotes _excess_.

* * * * *

218. UTILIUMQUE SAGAX RERUM, ET DIVINA FUTURI, SORTILEGIS NON

DISCREPUIT SENTENTIA DELPHIS.] It is amazing that these two lines

should ever have been misunderstood as a censure, the import of them

being highly _encomiastic_, yet with great exactness declaring the

specific boast and excellence of the chorus; which lay, as Heinsius

hath well observed, 1. In inculcating important moral lessons; and 2.

In delivering useful presages and monitions concerning future conduct,

with an almost oracular prudence and authority.

SIC PRISCAE — — — — ARTI.

What hath chiefly misled the Critics in their explanation of this

place, I suspect to have been the frequent encomiums on the severity

of the ancient music, by the Greek and Latin writers. Though here

they seem to have overlooked two very material considerations: 1.

That the _former_ have chiefly treated the subject in a _moral_ or

_political_ view, and therefore preferred the ancient music only as

it was conceived to influence the public manners. For this reason

Plato, one of the chief of those _encomiasts_, applauds, as we find,

the practice of Ægypt, in suffering no change of her poetry, but

continuing, to his time, her fondness for the _Songs of Isis_ [De Leg.

l. ii. sub. init.] which just as much infers the perfection of those

songs, considered in a critical view, as Rome’s sticking to her _Saliar

verses_ would have shewn those poor, obscure orisons to have exceeded

the regular odes and artificial compositions of Horace. And it was this

kind of criticism which, as I suppose, the poet intended to expose

in the famous verses, which I explain in note on v. 202. 2. That the

_latter_, the principal of them at least, who talk in the same strain,

lived under the Emperors; in whose time, indeed, music had undergone

a miserable prostitution, _being broken_, as one of the best of those

writers complains, _into an effeminate and impure delicacy_—_In

scenis effeminata et impudicis modis fracta_, [Quint. I. l. x.] As

to the times in question, I know but of one passage, which clearly

and expresly condemns the music then in vogue; and that will admit of

some alleviation from its being found in a treatise concerning laws.

The passage I mean is in Cicero, [De Leg. l. ii. 15.] who, following

Plato in his high-flown principles of legislation, exclames, _Illa

quæ solebant quondam compleri severitate jucunda Livianis et Nævianis

modis; nunc ut eadem exultent, cervices oculosque pariter eum_ MODORUM

FLEXIONIBUS _torqueant!_ For the _severitas jucunda_ of the music,

to which Livius’s plays were set, it may be tolerably guessed from

hence, that he was the _first_ who brought a written Play upon the

stage; _i. e._ the first writer whose plays were acted to a regular

and precomposed music. And it is not, we know, very usual for the

first essays in any art to be perfect. It should seem then, that the

_flexiones modorum_, as opposed to the plainness of the old music, are

here condemned, not so much in the view of a critic, estimating the

true state of the stage; but, as was hinted, of a legislator, treading

in the steps of Plato. Though indeed I have no doubt, that the music

in those times was much changed, and had even suffered some degree of

corruption. This I infer, not so much from any express authorities that

have occurred, as from the general state of those times, which were

degenerating apace into the worst morals, the sure fore-runners of a

corrupt and vitiated music; for, though it may indeed, in its turn, and

doubtless does, when established, contribute much to help on the public

depravity, yet that depravity itself is originally not the _effect_,

but the _cause_ of a bad music; as is more than hinted to be Cicero’s

real opinion in the place referred to, where, observing that the

manners of many Greek states had kept pace with their music, he adds,

that they had undergone this change, _Aut hac dulcedine corruptelaque

depravati, ut quidam putant; aut cum severitas eorum ob alia vitia

cecidisset, tum fuit in auribus animisque mutatis etiam huic mutationi

locus_. [Leg. ii. 15.] But be this as it will, Horace, as we have seen,

is no way concerned in the dispute about the ancient music.

* * * * *

219. SENTENTIA DELPHIS.] _Sententia_ is properly _an aphorism taken

from life, briefly representing either what is, or what ought to be

the conduct of it_: _Oratio sumpta de vita, quæ aut quid sit, aut quid

esse oporteat, in vita, breviter ostendit_. [Ad Herenn. Rhet. l. iv.]

These aphorisms are here mentioned, as constituting the peculiar praise

and beauty of the chorus. This is finely observed, and was intended to

convey an oblique censure on the practice of those poets, who stuff out

every part of the drama alike with moral sentences, not considering,

that the only proper receptacle of them is the chorus, where indeed

they have an extreme propriety; it being the peculiar office and

character of the chorus to moralize. In the course of the action they

should rarely be used; and that for the plain reason assigned by the

author, just quoted, [for the rule holds on the stage, as well as at

the bar] _Ut rei actores, non vivendi præceptores, esse videamur_. That

there was some ground for this reproof of the Roman drama, is collected

from the few remaining fragments of the old Latin plays, which have

much of this sententious cast, and from what Quintilian expresly tells

us of the old Latin poets, whose fame, it seems, was principally raised

upon this merit. _Tragœdiæ scriptores, Accius et Pacuvius, clarissimi

gravitate sententiarum, &c._ [l. x. c. 1.] To how intolerable an

extreme this humour of moralizing in plays was afterwards carried,

Seneca has given us an example.

But here a question will be started, “Why then did the Greeks moralize

so much, or, if we condemn _Accius_ and _Seneca_, how shall we defend

_Sophocles_ and _Euripides_?” An ingenious[18] modern hath taken some

pains to satisfy this difficulty, and in part, I think, hath succeeded.

His solution, in brief, is, “That the moral and political aphorisms of

the Greek stage generally contained some apt and interesting allusion

to the state of public affairs, which was easily catched by a quick,

intelligent auditory; and not a dry, affected moral, without further

meaning, as for the most part was that of the Latins.” This account is

not a little confirmed by particular instances of such acknowledged

allusions, as well as from reflexions on the genius and government of

the Athenians, at large. But this, though it goes some way, does not

fully extricate the matter. The truth is, these sentences are too thick

sown in the Greek writers, to be fully accounted for from the single

consideration of their democratical views. Not to observe, that the

very choice of this _medium_ for the conveyance of their political

applications, presupposes the prior acknowledged use and authority of

it. I would then account for it in the following manner.

I. In the virtuous simplicity of less polished times, this spirit of

moralizing is very prevalent; the good sense of such people always

delighting to shew itself in sententious or proverbial γνῶμαι, or

observations. Their character, like that of the clown in Shakespear,

is _to be very swift and sententious_. [As you like it, Act v. sc.

1.] This is obvious to common experience, and was long since observed

by the _philosopher_, οἱ ἄγροικοι μάλιστα γνωμοτύποι εἰσὶ, καὶ ῥᾳδίως

ἀποφάινονται, [Arist. Rhet. l. ii. c. 21.] an observation, which of

itself accounts for the practice of the elder poets in Greece, as in

all other nations. A custom, thus introduced, is not easily laid aside,

especially when the oracular cast of these sentences, so fitted to

_strike_, and the moral views of writers themselves (which was more

particularly true of the old dramatists) concurred to favour this

taste. But, 2. there was added to this, more especially in the age

of Sophocles and Euripides, a general prevailing fondness for moral

wisdom, which seems to have made the fashionable study of men of all

ranks in those days; when schools of philosophy were resorted to for

recreation as well as instruction, and a knowledge in morals was the

supreme accomplishment in vogue: The fruit of these philosophical

conferences would naturally shew itself in certain brief, sententious

conclusions, which would neither contradict the fashion, nor, it

seems, offend against the ease and gaiety of conversation in those

times. _Schools_ and _pedantry_, _morals_ and _austerity_, were not so

essentially connected, in their combinations of ideas, as they have

been since; and a sensible moral truth might have fallen from any

mouth, without disgracing it. Nay, which is very remarkable, the very

_scholia_, as they were called, or drinking catches of the Greeks,

were seasoned with this moral turn; the sallies of pleasantry, which

escaped them in their freest hours, being tempered for the most part,

by some strokes of this national sobriety. “During the course of their

entertainments, says Athenæus, [l. xv. c. 14.] they loved to hear, from

some wise and prudent person, an agreeable song: and those songs were

held by them most agreeable, which contained exhortations to virtue, or

other instructions relative to their conduct in life.”

And to give the reader a taste of these _moral_ songs, I will take

leave to present him with a very fine one, written by no less a person

than Aristotle himself; and the rather, as I have it in my power to

present him, at the same time, with an elegant translation of it. But

its best recommendation will be that it comes from the same hand which

has so agreeably entertained us of late with some spirited imitations

of Horace[19].

Ἀρετὰ πολύμοχθε γένει βροτείῳ,

Θήραμα κάλλιστον βίῳ.

Σᾶς πέρι, Παρθένε, μορφᾶς

Καὶ θανεῖν ζηλωτὸς ἐν Ἑλλάδι πότμος,

Καὶ πόνους τλῆναι μαλεροὺς ἀκάμαντας.

Τοῖον ἐπὶ φρένα βάλλεις καρπὸν εἰς ἀθάνατον,

Χρυσοῦ τε κρέσσω καὶ γονέων,

Μαλακαυγητοῖό θ’ ὕπνου.

Σοῦ δ’ ἕνεκ’ ἐκ Διὸς Ἡρακλέης

Λήδας τε κοῦροι πόλλ’ ἀνέτλασαν,

Ἔργοις σὰν ἀγορεύοντες δύναμιν.

Σοῖς τε πόθοις Ἀχιλλεὺς

Αἴας τ’ αἴδαο δόμους ἦλθον·

Σᾶς δ’ ἕνεκα φιλίου μορφᾶς

Ἀταρνέως ἔντροφος

Ἀελίου χήρωσεν αὐγάς.

Τοίγαρ ἀοίδιμον ἔργοις,

Ἀθάνατόν τε μιν αὐξήσουσι μοῦσαι,

Μναμοσύνας θύγατρες,

Διὸς ξενίου σέβας αὔξουσαι

Φιλίας τε γέρας βεβαίου[20].

I.

Hail, Virtue! Goddess! sov’reign Good,

By man’s bold race with pain pursu’d!

Where’er thou dart’st thy radiant eye,

Greece sees her sons with transport fly;

Danger before thee disappears,

And death’s dark frown no terror wears.

II.

So full into the breast of man descends

Thy rich ambrosial show’r;

A show’r, that gold, that parents far transcends,

Or, sleep’s soft-soothing pow’r.

III.

By thee ALCIDES soar’d to fame,

Thy influence LEDA’S twins proclaim;

Heroes for thee have dauntless trod

The dreary paths of hell’s abode;

Fir’d by thy form, all beamy bright,

Atarneus’ nursling left the light.

IV.

His deeds, his social love (so will the nine,

Proud to spread wide the praise

Of friendship and of friendly Jove) shall shine

With ever-living rays.

This moralizing humour, so prevalent in those times, is, I dare be

confident, the true source of the sententious cast of the Greek

dramatic writers, as well as of that sober air of moral, which, to the

no small disgust of modern writers, is spread over all their poets.

Not but there would be some difference in those poets themselves, and

in proportion as they had been more or less conversant in the Academy,

would be their relish of this moral mode; as is clearly seen in the

case of Euripides, that philosopher of the stage, as the Athenians

called him, and who is characterized by Quinctilian, as _sententiis

densus, et in iis, quæ a sapientibus tradita sunt, pæne ipsis par_. [L.

x. c. 1.] Yet still the fashion was so general, that no commerce of the

world could avoid, or wholly get clear of it; and therefore Sophocles,

though his engagements in the state kept him at a greater distance from

the schools, had yet his share of this philosophical humour. Now this

apology for the practice of the Greek poets doth by no means extend to

the Roman; Philosophy having been very late, and never generally, the

taste of Rome.

Cicero says, _Philosophia quidem tantum abest ut proinde, ac de hominum

est vitâ merita, laudetur, ut a plerisque neglecta, a multis etiam

vituperetur_. In another place he tells us, that in his time Aristotle

was not much known, or read, even by the philosophers themselves.

[_Cic. Top. sub init._]

And, though in the age of Seneca, _Sentences_, we know, were much in

use, yet the cast and turn of them evidently shew them to have been

the affectation of the lettered _few_, and not the _general_ mode and

practice of the time. For the quaintness, in which Seneca’s aphorisms

are dressed, manifestly speaks the labour and artifice of the closet,

and is just the reverse of that easy, simple expression, which cloaths

them in the Greek poets, thus demonstrating their familiar currency in

common life. Under any other circumstances than these, the practice, as

was observed, must be unquestionably faulty; except only in the chorus,

where for the reason before given, it may always, with good advantage,

be employed.

* * * * *

220. CARMINE QUI TRAGICO, &c.] The connexion with v. 201, from whence

the poet had digressed, is worth observing. The digression had been

taken up in describing the improved state of dramatic music; the

application of which to the case of tragedy, brings him round again to

his subject, the tragic chorus; to which alone, as hath been observed,

the two last lines refer. This too is the finest preparation of what

follows. For to have passed on directly from the _tibia_ to the

_satyrs_, had been abrupt and inartificial; but from _tragedy_, the

transition is easy, the _satyrs_ being a species of the tragic drama.

That it was so accounted may be seen from the following passage in Ovid,

_Est et in obscænos deflexa tragædia risus,

Multaque præteriti verba pudoris habet_.

Trist. l. ii. v. 409.

For the _tragedy_, here referred to, cannot be the regular Roman

tragedy. _That_ he had distinctly considered before, and, besides,

it in no age admitted, much less in this, of which we are speaking,

so intolerable a mixture. As little can it be understood of the

proper Atellane fable, for besides that Ovid is here considering the

_Greek_ drama only, the Atellane was ever regarded as a species, not

of tragedy, but comedy: The authority of Donatus is very express;

“_Comædiarum_ formæ sunt tres: Palliatæ, Togatæ, _Atellanæ_, salibus

et jocis compositæ, quæ in se non habent nisi vetustam elegantiam.”

[Prol. in Terent.] And Athenæus [l. vi.] speaking of some pieces of

this sort, which L. Sylla had composed, calls them σατυρικὰς κωμῳδίας,

satyric comedies; _comedies_, because, ss Donatus says, “salibus et

jocis compositæ:” and _satyric_, not that satyrs were introduced

in them, but, according to Diomedes, from their being “argumentis

dictisque _similes_ satyricis fabulis Græcis.” Of what then can Ovid

be understood to speak, but the true satyric piece, which was always

esteemed, and, as appears from the Cyclops, in fact is, what Demetrius

[περὶ ἑρμηνείας] elegantly calls it, τραγῳδία παιζούση, a lighter kind

of _tragedy_; the very name, which Horace, as well as Ovid in this

place, gives to it? But this is further clear from the instance quoted

by Ovid, of this loose tragedy; for he proceeds:

_Nec nocet autori, mollem qui fecit Achillem,

Infregisse suis fortia facta modis_.

which well agrees to the idea of a satyric piece, and, as Vossius takes

notice, seems to be the very same subject, which Athenæus and others

tell us, Sophocles had work’d into a satyric tragedy, under the title

of Ἀχιλλέως ἐρασταί.

* * * * *

221. MOX ETIAM, &c.] It is not the intention of these notes to retail

the accounts of others. I must therefore refer the reader, for whatever

concerns the history of the satyric, as I have hitherto done, of

the tragic, and comic drama, to the numerous dissertators on the

ancient stage; and above all, in the case before us, to the learned

Casaubon; from whom all that hath been said to any purpose, by modern

writers, hath been taken. Only it will be proper to observe one or two

particulars, which have been greatly misunderstood, and without which

it will be impossible, in any tolerable manner, to explane what follows.

I. The design of the poet, in these lines, is not to fix the origin of

the satyric piece, in ascribing the invention of it to Thespis. This

hath been concluded, without the least warrant from his own words,

which barely tell us, “that the Representation of tragedy was in elder

Greece, followed by the _satyrs_;” and indeed the nature of the thing,

as well as the testimony of all antiquity, shews it to be impossible.

For the _satyr_ here spoken of, is, in all respects, a regular drama,

and therefore could not be of earlier date, than the times of Æschylus,

when the constitution of the drama was first formed. ’Tis true indeed,

there was a kind of entertainment of much greater antiquity, which by

the ancients is sometimes called _satyric_, out of which (as Aristotle

assures us) tragedy itself arose, ἡ δὲ τραγῳδία, διὰ τὸ ἐκ σατυρικοῦ

μεταβαλεῖν, ὀψὲ ἀπεσεμνώθη, [περ. ποιητ. κ. δ.] But then this was

nothing but a chorus of satyrs [Athenæus, l. xiv.] celebrating the

festivals of _Bacchus_, with rude songs, and uncouth dances; and had

little resemblance to that, which was afterwards called _satyric_;

which, except that it retained the chorus of satyrs, and turned upon

some subject relative to Bacchus, was of a quite different structure,

and, in every respect, as regular a composition, as tragedy itself.

II. There is no doubt but the poem, here distinguished by the name of

SATYRI, was in actual use on the Roman stage. This appears from the

turn of the poet’s whole criticism upon it. Particularly, his address

to the Pisos, v. 235. and his observation of the offence which a loose

dialogue in this drama would give to a _Roman_ auditory, v. 248. make

it evident that he had, in fact, the practice of his own stage in

view. It hath, however, been questioned, whether by _Satyri_ we are to

understand the proper Greek _Satyrs_, or the Latin _Atellane_ fable,

which, in the main of its character, very much resembled that drama.

If the authority of Diomedes be any thing, the _former_ must be the

truth, for he expresly asserts, “that the Satyric and Atellane pieces,

though similar in the general cast of their composition, differed in

this essential point, that the persons in the former were satyrs, in

the other, not.” [L. iii. c. De poëm. gen.] Now the poet expresly tells

us, the Persons in the drama he is here describing, were _Satyrs_, and

accordingly delivers rules for the regulation of their characters. As

to the _Atellane_, according to the way in which Vossius reads the

words of Diomedes, the characters were _Oscan_, _personæ Oscæ_, which

is very probable, not so much for the reasons assign’d by this Critic

(for they are indeed very frivolous) but because, as it should seem

from a passage in Strabo, [Lib. v. 233.] the language of the OSCI was

used in these Atellanes, and therefore common sense would require,

that the persons also introduced should be Oscan. The difficulty is

to know how it happened that, in a work written purposely to reform

the Roman stage, the poet should say nothing of one species, the

_Atellane_, which was of great authority and constant use at Rome, and

yet say so much of another, the _Satyrs_, which was properly a Greek

entertainment and certainly much less cultivated by the Roman poets.

The plain solution of the matter, is, that, when now the Romans were

become acquainted with the Greek models, and had applied themselves

to the imitation of them, these Oscan characters were exchanged for

the Greek satyrs, which they before resembled in the main parts of

their character; and which appear, on other occasions, to have been

no strangers at Rome; as we collect from the Sileni and Satyrs making

a part (as Dionysius relates it) in their triumphal processions. So

that this change of the Oscan persons for _Satyrs_ is to be considered

only as an improvement of the old _Atellane_, and not the introduction

of an intirely new drama. In every other respect the precepts here

given for the regulation of the _Satyrs_ are such as would equally

serve to improve the _Atellane_. The probable reason why the poet

chose to insist so much on this alteration, or rather why he laboured

so strenuously to _support_ it, will be given in its place. In the

mean time supposing his view to have been this of countenancing the

introduction of _satyric persons_ into the Atellane (and that they

were, in fact, introduced, we learn from an express authority[21])

every thing said on the subject will not only be pertinent and

agreeable to what is here taught to be the general tenor of the

epistle, but will be seen to have an address and contrivance, which

will very much illustrate this whole part, and recommend it to the

exact reader.

But before I quit this subject of the Atellane fable it will be proper

to observe, That when I every where speak of it, as of early original,

and ancient use on the Roman stage, I am not unmindful that Velleius

Paterculus speaks of Pomponius as the Inventor of this Poem; which, if

taken in the strict sense, will bring the date of it very low. “Sane

non ignoremus eâdem ætate fuisse Pomponium, sensibus celebrem, verbis

rudem, et _novitate inventi a se operis_ commendabilem.” L. ii. c. ix.

For the age he is speaking of is that of SYLLA. But the authorities

for the high antiquity of the Atellane fable are so express, that,

when Pomponius is called the _Inventor_ of it, it is but as Horace

calls Lucilius the Inventor of the Roman Satire. That is, he made so

considerable a change in the form and conduct of this poem, as to run

away with all the honour of it. The improvements made by Lucilius in

Satire have been taken notice of in the _Introduction_. And it happens

that a curious passage in Athenæus will let us into the Improvements

made by Pomponius in the Atellanes.

But first we are to understand that this sort of entertainment, as the

name speaks, was imported to Rome from ATELLA, a town of the OSCI in

Campania; and that the Dialect of that people was constantly and _only_

used in it, even when the Osci themselves had ceased to be a people.

This we learn from Strabo. ΟΣΚΩΝ ἐκλελοιπότων, ἡ διάλεκτος μένει παρὰ

τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις· ὧστε καὶ ποιήματα σκηνοβατεῖσθαι κατά τινα ἀγῶνα πάτριον

καὶ μιμολογεῖσθαι. L. v. 233.

The OSCAN language, we see, was made use of in the Atellane plays, just

as the Welsh, or some Provincial Dialect, is often employed in our

Comedies.

But now we learn from Athenæus that L. Sylla writ some of these

Atellanes in the ROMAN LANGUAGE. ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ γραφεῖσαι σατυρικαὶ κωμῳδίαι

ΤΗΙ ΠΑΤΡΩΩΙ ΦΩΝΗΙ. [L. vi. p. 261. Ed. Casaub.] The difficulty then

clears up. For the Pomponius whom Velleius speaks of was contemporary

with L. Sylla. So that to give any propriety to the term of _Inventor_,

as applied to Pomponius, we must conclude that he was the _first_

person who set this example of composing Atellane plays in the vulgar

dialect: which took so much that he was even followed in this practice

by the Roman General. This account of the matter perfectly suits

with the encomium given to Pomponius. He would naturally, on such

an alteration, endeavour to give this buffoon sort of Comedy a more

rational cast: And this reform of itself would entitle him to great

honour. Hence the SENSIBUS CELEBRIS of Paterculus[22]. But to preserve

some sort of resemblance (which the people would look for) to the old

Atellane, and not to strip it of all the pleasantry arising from the

barbarous dialect, he affected, it seems, the _antique_ in the turn of

his expression. Hence the other part of his character (which in the

politer age of Paterculus grew offensive to nice judges) VERBIS RUDIS.

The conclusion is, That the Atellane Fable was in its first rude form

and Oscan Dialect of ancient use at Rome, where it was admitted, as

Strabo speaks, ΚΑΤΑ ΤΙΝΑ ΑΓΩΝΑ ΠΑΤΡΙΟΝ: That Pomponius afterwards

_reformed_ its barbarities, and brought it on the Stage in a _Roman_

dress; which together were thought so great improvements, that later

writers speak of him as the INVENTOR of this Poem. But to return to our

proper subject, the _Greek Satyrs_.

III. For the absolute merit of these satyrs, the reader will judge

of it himself by comparing the Cyclops, the only piece of this kind

remaining to us from antiquity, with the rules here delivered by

Horace. Only it may be observed, in addition to what the reader will

find elsewhere [_n._ v. 223.] apologized in its favour, that the

double character of the satyrs admirably fitted it, as well for a

sensible entertainment to the wise, as for the sport and diversion of

the vulgar. For while the grotesque appearance, and jesting vein of

these fantastic personages amused the one; the other saw much further;

and considered them, at the same time, as replete with science, and

informed by a spirit of the most abstruse wisdom. Hence important

lessons of civil prudence, interesting allusions to public affairs,

or a high, refined moral, might, with the highest probability, be

insinuated, under the slight cover of a rustic simplicity. And from

this instructive cast, which from its nature must be very obscure, if

not impenetrable, to us at this day, was, I doubt not, derived the

principal pleasure which the ancients found in this species of the

drama. If the modern reader would conceive any thing of the nature and

degree of this pleasure, he may in part guess at it, from reflecting on

the entertainment he himself receives from the characters of the clowns

in Shakespear; _who_, as the poet himself hath characterized them,

_use their folly, like a stalking horse, and, under the presentation of

that, shoot their wit_. [As you like it.]

* * * * *

221. AGRESTIS SATYROS, &c.] It hath been shewn, that the poet could

not intend, in these lines, to _fix the origin of the satyric drama_.

But, though this be certain, and the dispute concerning that point be

thereby determined, yet is it to be noted, that he purposely describes

the satyr in its ruder and less polished form; glancing even at some

barbarities, which deform the Bacchic chorus; which was properly the

satyric piece, before Æschylus had, by his regular constitution of the

drama, introduced it, under a very different form on the stage. The

reason of this conduct is given in _n._ on v. 203. Hence the propriety

of the word _nudavit_, which Lambin rightly interprets, _nudos

introduxit Satyros_, the poet hereby expressing the monstrous indecorum

of this entertainment in its first unimproved state. Alluding also to

this ancient character of the _Satyr_, he calls him _asper_, i. e.

rude and petulant; and even adds, that his jests were intemperate, and

without the _least mixture of gravity_. For thus, upon the authority of

a very ingenious and learned critic, I explane _incolumi gravitate_, i.

e. rejecting every thing serious, bidding _farewell_, as we say, _to

all gravity_. Thus [L. iii. O. 5.]

_Incolumi Jove et urbe Roma;_

_i. e._ bidding farewell to Jupiter [Capitolinus] and Rome; agreeably

to what is said just before,

_Anciliorum et nominis et togæ_

OBLITUS, _æternæque Vestæ_.