While there is an active literary faction in America, who decry the
study of the ancient classics, it is still pleasing to observe, upon a
comprehensive survey, that these consecrated remains are assuming in
public esteem the place which they deserve. I hope therefore to meet
with some indulgence when I offer a few desultory remarks, not in
behalf of classic lore in general, so much as in commendation of a
single branch. The observations which follow are meant to shew some
reasons why our scholars should devote special attention to the _Greek
Tragedies_.
It is believed that these relics, unfortunately not more than thirty
in number, have been more neglected in our schools and among our
private scholars than any portion of ancient letters. That this has
not been the case in England will be very apparent to any one who is
familiar with the lives and labors of such men as Bentley, Porson,
Markham, and Blomfield. Especially in the University of Cambridge the
ardor with which these works have been restored to purity of text, and
elucidated by indefatigable research, has been almost excessive.
The intrinsic difficulties in the Greek plays are not such as should
deter any well grounded scholar. After an ordinary training in the
Attic idioms of Zenophon, Plato, and Demosthenes, the labor will be
small. From the nature of the versification, there is a limit to the
construction, so that the sense cannot be thrown beyond a few lines.
And the metres themselves, except in the most difficult choral parts,
have been robbed of their intricacies by the labors of the critics.
There is this obvious inducement for the scholar to take up a Greek
tragedy, that it is short. Even if he {553} study with minute
analysis, a few days will complete his task. But he who begins the
Odyssey is loth to lay it aside until he has finished it, which is the
work of months. The tragedy is complete in itself, “_totus teres atque
rotundus_.”
It has been maintained by some scholars, that no human productions
have the perfection of literary finish, as it is possessed by the
dramas of Euripides. And we may include his two great predecessors in
the remark, that their works, like the Hellenic sculptures, will
remain unrivalled, the models of all who aim to present nature
idealized to its utmost point.
The ancient tragedy, from its very nature, contains the concentration
of high passion. This was the very notion of it, as tragedy. And this
quality renders it an indispensable study to all those whose province
it is to scrutinize or to awaken the active powers; in other words, to
the metaphysician, the poet, and especially the orator. No doubt it
was this view of the subject which led a man no less visionary than
Mr. Fox to declare, as he does in his correspondence with Dr. Parr,
that if he had a son to educate for the senate, he would cause him to
be profoundly versed in the writings of Euripides.[1] And yet so far
as mere passion is concerned, we find it more strongly developed in
the “desolate simplicity” of Aeschylus, than in either of his
followers. This use of dramatic composition is doubtless involved in
that celebrated and vexed passage of Aristotle's Poetics, in which
tragedy is said to be efficacious to _purge the passions_. Barker
quotes Jamblichus, in illustration of this _παθηματων καθαρσις_, where
he says: “By contemplating the passions of others in tragedy and
comedy, we settle our own passions, render them more temperate, and
purify them.” Milton also, whose whole soul was steeped in Grecian
poesy, alludes in the introduction to his Samson Agonistes, to this
same remark of Aristotle, where tragedy is said “to be of power by
raising pity and fear or terror, to purge the mind of those and such
like passions, that is, to temper and reduce them to just measure.”
[Footnote 1: See Appendix to Parr's Works, Johnstone's edition. Vol.
vii. and viii.]
Alike in name, ancient and modern tragedy scarcely belong to the same
species. The grand distinction of the former is the chorus, which is
altogether inadmissible in the latter. According to the most specious
hypothesis this was the nucleus of the Greek drama, around which, by
slow degrees, the dialogue was gathered. It was the chorus, as a train
of personages unconnected with the plot, that relieved the tedium or
directed the excitement of the dialogue. Sometimes, as they appear in
significant dance, they advise, exhort, or suggest a moral; sometimes
they echo back the feeling of the actors, and always augment the
grandeur of the pageant. Thus we find the chorus ever and anon
breaking in to temper the unnatural rage of Medea, and in this respect
discharging the duty indicated by Horace,
Ille bonis faveat, et concilietur amice:
Et regat iratos, et amet pacare tumentes:
Ille dapes laudet mensac brevis: ille salubrem
Justitiam, legesque, et apertis otia portis:
Ille tegat commissa, &c.
_Ad Pisones_ 195.
The mere English reader will have a fair conception of this singular
ingredient of the ancient drama, by perusing Milton's tragedy
above-named, which is cast in the most rigorous Attic mould; and
which, we are tempted to imagine would have been received even at
Athens, if it could have been brought out in the astonishing Greek
version of Glasse. If Gray had not dissipated his matchless powers
upon mere fugitive efforts, he might have done more than all other
scholars to produce a spirited repristination of the antique chorus.
Mason's _Elfrida_ on the same plan has been thought a failure. His
estimate of the ancient chorus however merits attention. “Shakspeare”
says he, speaking of the _poetic_ element in the drama, “had the power
of introducing this naturally, and what is most strange, of joining it
with pure passion; but I make no doubt, if we had a tragedy of his
formed on the Greek model, we should find in it more frequent, if not
nobler, instances of his high poetical capacity. I think you have a
proof of this in those parts of his historical plays, which are called
choruses, and written in the common dialogue metre. And your
imagination will easily conceive, how fine an ode the description of
the night preceding the battle of Agincourt would have made in his
hands, and what additional grace it would receive from that form of
composition.” He also shows that the chorus augmented the pathetic,
both in its odes and dialogue; by music, by the dance, by aiding and
carrying forward the impression, and by showing to the spectators
other spectators strongly affected by the action. These remarks are
cited merely to throw light on this cardinal attribute of the ancient
drama, not to recommend its revival among the moderns. The German
scholar will find the “Iphigenia in Tauris” perhaps the severest and
happiest imitation of the antique; yet it does not “come home to our
business and bosoms.”
The relative importance of these great productions should cause them
to be placed in a commanding position at our great schools. This has
already been effected in England. A taste for this branch of study is
fostered by the rank which it is made to hold in the university
examinations. Porson's noted prize is awarded annually to the best
translation into Greek verse of a given passage of Shakspeare. In the
Cambridge examinations, the three great objects of competition in
classical literature, are the University Scholarships—the Classical
Tripos, and the Chancellor's Medal. Among other exercises demanded of
candidates, they are expected to translate into _English verse_ any
given portions of the three tragedians, as well as of Aristophanes. A
passage, usually from Shakspeare or Milton, is assigned, to be
translated into _Greek verse_. The metre is generally Tragic Iambic;
sometimes Tragic Trochaic; sometimes Anapæstic; rarely Heroic, and
still more seldom Comic Iambic. The obvious tendency of such measures,
is to excite the most intense emulation in the whole literary corps,
and to keep before the mind of the learned the highest models.
Familiarity with these amazing conflicts of passion is not merely a
literary luxury; it is a great preparative for those real scenes in
which the statesman, the advocate and the orator, are called upon to
reach the hidden springs of human action, to sway the motives, and
wield “at will the fierce democraty.” The American student therefore
who is awake to his own interest, will not deem it beneath his notice
to work in this mine, and will say with Milton,
Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptered pall come sweeping by, {554}
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the Tale of Troy divine;
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskined stage.