sedentary reviewers, how Hermann has | course with him; but we gave up his minor been preserved to such a green and vigor- faults as beyond our medica manus. Mr. ous old age. We have, in consequence, Peile's complaint against us is, in fact, that made every possible inquiry, and have to we did not treat him as incorrigible, or not report that his friends attribute it in no worth amendment; and to this we plead slight degree to his study of some of guilty. Xenophon's minor treatises, viz, de Re Equestri and Magister Equitum, if not also de Venatione. Many of our readers may remember a dissertation in the first volume of his Opuscula, de Verbis quibus Graci incessum equorum indicant. It is written not only con scienza but con amore; and we believe that he has never given up the practical study of the subject. Thus far indeed our own universities show that a vast number of our philological aspirants are adopting the same course-whether from the example of the great professor, or from an intuitive perception of the truth of the principle, we cannot pretend to say. But, if we are not misinformed, Hermann goes a step beyond them; like Achilles, whose spear could heal the wounds it inflicted, when Hermann has dirtied his horse, he can clean him again. If any of the said aspirants find in the day of trial that, notwithstanding all their devoted practice, they are plucked in Xenophon,' let them consider whether their failure may not be attributed to their having neglected this part of the charm. Moreover, on this side of the channel, Mr. Peile is alive and lively :—at least the evidence of his vitality is before us in the substantial form of a second volume, announced as No. II. of the Trilogy, and therefore, we hope, surely portending No. III. We say this in all sincerity, though we are sorry to observe that he looks upon us as his enemies. But mortal men will complain of criticism. We regret that we found it necessary to say some things (they were but few) which we cannot honestly retract because they displease Mr. Peile. Our objections to his plan, and in some instances to the taste in which he had executed it, were openly and fairly stated. But we spoke of him in the terms which his distinction as a scholar deserved; as one who could rub off these excrescences, if their real nature was exhibited. And therefore we alluded to them in such a tone as seemed likely to make him see them as they were certainly not captiously or malignantly. And, however Mr. Peile may dislike it, it is from the above-named article that his publisher has drawn the recommendation with which he advertises Mr. Peile's Agamemnon. If Klausen's eccentricities had been curable by any influence of ours, we should have taken the same 23 VOL. LXX. However, he is right, and we were wrong, after all;-he is incorrigible! Like a true knight-errant, he will maintain most stoutly those precise points which we consider most defenceless; in some things misunderstanding and misrepresenting us; in others setting us at defiance. Now this is an act of downright rebellion, deserving of exemplary punishment. But even reviewers have their melting moods; and this is one of ours; and there is a bonhommie about Mr. Peile which we not only respect, but heartily like; so we shall not enter into further controversy with him-not from fear of damaging our knight's smart surcoat,' though he endeavours to give check to our knight' with his bishop: for, surcoats apart, his thinness of skin makes him less formidable as an antagonist than he would otherwise be; but because, having once for all made our protest against certain principles, it would be unedifying and uninteresting, if not unfriendly, to continue a war which must dwindle into petty criticism. He must not, therefore, think that we are insensible to the value of his labours if we express our regret at his perversity in multiplying his commentary as his text diminishes; and with the remark that he does not appear to have used Mueller's criticism on Klausen's Choëphore, or Hermann's hypercriticism on that, we shake hands with Mr. Peile, and, while we take our way, we wish him good speed on his, and all prosperity in his new sphere of usefulness at Repton.t We have now to consider, in pursuance of our subject, the poetry of the chorus down to the times of the three great tragedians of Athens; for it is by this alone that we shall have a clue sufficient to guide us to a thorough understanding of Eschylus. This is usually traced, upon Horace's authority, simply up to Thespis. But, as Van Heusde remarks, it was a matter of hoar antiquity in Horace's time; and every one knows what miserable antiquarians the Romans For the Germans allow Review upon Review, which, of course, seems to us as thoroughly false heraldry as colour upon colour. + We must remark, in parting, the very creditable manner in which the volume of Mr. Peile's Choëphore has been brought out at the Durham University Press. quote from the German translation, having unluckily In his Encyclopædia, or Socratic School. We mislaid our Low Dutch spectacles. were. He chooses rather to take us at only, and there only at the Dionysia, was once to Plato, who, instead of a mere chro- tragedy the result. By what steps this nology of facts (and this erroneous) attend- took place we cannot now imagine. Hoing its outward cultivation, gives us the race mentions the novelties on which he more philosophical account of the history rests the claims of Eschylus to be thought of the thing itself. Mueller has pointed the second inventor of tragedy: but these out that Horace, while he thinks that he are but the outward decorations, which is giving the history of tragedy, is actually make him rather a machinist and propertydescribing comedy; i.e. rpayudia, not rpaydiú: man than a poet.* Far greater in the the very words prove it, peruncti facibus reality than in these adjuncts was the space ora. Plato enters into the general ques- between Thespis and Æschylus; especially tion of dramatic poetry, as consisting of if we are to adopt the common opinion, imitation—that is, expression or representa- that the tragedy of Thespis was merely a tion-it short, acting; the object being not monologue, or succession of monologues, to tell all concerning the characters (which in the intervals between the choral hymns. is history), but to set them forth as really But this can scarcely be correct. If it bustling about. Even epic poetry aims at were, Thespis is no more the inventor of this; and the poet withdraws as soon as tragedy than Hesiod;-not nearly so much his characters are introduced, leaving them so as Homer. But there can be little doubt to speak for themselves. But the intro- that there was a dialogue in the tragedies duction of a chorus makes a striking differ- of Thespis. Why, indeed, the name of ence; and this is traced as early as the boxpirns, if there was nothing in the chorus Homeric Hymn to Apollo, where the choir for the actor to respond to? We may also of Delian virgins is spoken of as singing, be sure that, with Thespis, as since, one first of Apollo, then of Leto and Artemis, man in his time played many parts, so that and, after that, the lays of men and women he might actually represent a very simple of old time,-skilful to put on the very plot: especially as on the Greek stage so voice and language of all, until each one much is done, even in later days, by mescould fancy that himself was speaking, sengers. Unless there was the dialogue, (v. 158-164). Nay, even this is not the the distinction of dramatic poetry could not primitive chorus: it is the shadow of one hold good with respect to Thespis: there higher still, to which we are carried on- could be no action. But if Thespis brought wards, where the Muses sing, and the the chorus and the actor together by the Hours and Graces weave the dance, with bond of a plot in which both took part Aphrodité at their head; Apollo himself, during the intervals of the hymns, he did lyre in hand, ruling all their tones and make a great step, and his name is deservmovements, and delighting the heart of his edly, though for the most part undiscernparents, who look on, (v. 194-206). Such ingly, honoured as the inventor of tragedy; is the poetic ideal of the Greek chorus, in for an invention it was to combine the two so far as it comprehends the bodying forth elements into a third whole; and of this (pipnois) of the deeds of the old heroic time, Thespis was probably the author. by the harmonious combination of all the means which the various arts of music, dancing, and poetry can furnish. Yet, even granting this, let us look on Eschylus, and remember what a vast difference there is between the merit of ThesApollo and the Muses are, according to pis, taken at the utmost, and his. The Plato, sent down to earth to humanize the year in which the new invention is said to assemblies of men, and inspire them with have been first brought before the public is the spirit of their own harmonies. But B. c. 536. Eschylus was born eleven years they have another god joined in their mis- later: and the boy who stared at some of siou-Dionysus, the god of all exuberant the performances of Thespis might have impulse and excitement, of intoxication listened in maturer years to most of the and enthusiasm-in short, the god of the poetry of Eschylus :-nay, might, before Dionysia, and so of tragedy. This brings to view the peculiar vein of choral poetry which Athens furnishes. Everywhere else there were, as well as at Athens, the choirs, processions, and absurdities; but at Athens In his History of Greek Literature, to which it will be convenient to refer once for all, as a work of the highest utility. The translation, we believe, is from the pen of his friend, Mr. G. C. Lewis. Post hunc personæ, pallæque repertor honestæ If we weigh the whole of the description, it will, we think, be evident that even the magnum loqui does not refer (as one at first would suspect) to his poetry, but simply to some of those mechanical contrivances by which the masks were made to increase the power of the voice, as the cothurnus did the altitude of the figure. his death, have witnessed the exhibition of partly to prove nothing, and partly to go But, in speaking of this chorus, we are treading on smothered fires; for this is one of the chosen spots for learned men to quarrel upon. The ground is narrow indeed; but men fight the better for being closely cooped up. It is admitted that the tragic chorus grew out of the dithyrambic or cyclic chorus which danced round the altar; and this consisted of fifty members. But the point at issue is no less than this, -did the tragic chorus itself consist of twelve or fifteen (these may be taken as one opinion), or of fifty? Startling as the difference is, it is a disputed point. Not that any one supposes the chorus of each particular tragedy to have been so numerous; but that, according to Mueller (Her-line each, for the rest of the chorus; and mann alleges that he borrowed it from some other scholar)—this chorus was portioned out among the four dramas of the tetralogy. This is ingenious and striking: it certainly recommends itself by furnishing a link to connect the two choruses, the cyclic and the tragic; and by the explanation which it affords of that strange blunder of a grammarian about fifty Furies being brought upon the stage in the Eumenides.' As a mere conjecture it is very tempting. But Mueller proceeds to produce arguments and evidence in support of his view: and we are bound to say that we think he has completely failed in this; his reasons seem futile, and his facts desperately uncertain. That there is room for wide speculation is clear from the fact that such a doubt can be entertained and certainly, it may have been as Mueller has suggested; but, as certainly, from none of the reasons which he alleges. Unluckily, the comparative statements of the expenses of the several Xopnyia will not help us here, as might have been hoped. It is much to be regretted that on this particular head our information is so scanty. : # Nor are we satisfied by Mueller's demonstration that twelve was the choral number for the Agamemnon.' In the first place, his theory is not established by the admission of this number, though it falls at once to the ground if we find that there were fifteen; and, secondly, his own arguments in support of the number twelve seem to us A tragic chorus cost the client of Lysias 3000 drachms (about 1201; see Professor Hussey's Ancient Weights and Measures, c. iii.); a cyclic chorus (at the lesser Panathenaea), 300: but if this proves anything, it proves too much. at the end of the play the chorus has seven single trochaic lines. All this indeed does not prove that there are seven pairs of choreutæ, who relieved the coryphæus by taking their share in the minor parts of the dialogue: but it seems to have been anything rather than accidental, and makes such a distribution, à priori, the most probable of all. Is there counter-evidence, then, sufficient to rebut this presumption? Mueller cites the scene where the chorus discuss the propriety of assisting Agamemnon at the moment when his cries are heard from within; and he maintains that they resolve themselves into a counsel of twelve, one of whom puts the question, and again speaks to ratify the decision when all the rest have voted upon it. But, not to dwell on the formal pedantry of such a proceeding (which Hermann is fully justified in ridiculing), we find in this passage fourteen speeches; and it is somewhat more than questionable whether we should be justified in excluding the first because it is of one line only, instead of two, and in as signing the second and fourteenth to the same person, simply to make it fit the framework on which Mueller has determined to stretch it? We hold, on the contrary, that this passage remarkably coincides with those mentioned above, wherein the number seven (here doubled) prevailed. As to * Rejecting Mueller's conjectural interpolation: which, by the bye, if admitted, would not contribute to support his argument. + So in the Persæ, v. 232, seq., we find seven single trochaic lines; then a speech of three trochaics, followed by six commatic strains. As to six voices the lyric portion of the play, in which the chorus and Cassandra take part, it is so complicated a question that we must again refer to Hermann, who seems to us to have effectually disposed of Mueller's theory. This is but a specimen of the controversies which have been mooted between them: but, in pity to our readers, we will not plunge deeper into the discussion. Mueller's Eumenides' is accessible in an English translation, though not such a good one as we could wish:* and there is an unpretending but very neat little edition, edited by Minckwitz, which may advantageously be used along with it; as the editor is a sworn follower of Hermann, and gives the sum of that part of his critique which treats of the text of the play. But our business is not with the editors, but with the drama itself. In the structure of this it is manifest that there was a progressive change from Thespis onwards; a change much greater than that in the external adjuncts by which it was accompanied, and as it were, typified. In this view the one thing to be considered is the chorus; this was at first, as has been already seen, the whole. Afterwards it became only a part-yet still bearing a twofold character; for it was both the chorus of the god and an actor in the play. But here an utter revolution was wrought in the interval between Thespis and Eschylus; and the old saw of oidi pos ALÓGOV is all that antiquity has handed down to us to throw light upon it. This revolution took place in the time of Chorilus and Phrynicus, and was effected by Pratinas, who invented the satyric drama. It is singular that we should know so little of so great a change; one which altogether distinguishable in the evocation and in the concluding ode, we must confess that this is a refinement beyond our comprehension: and even granting that twelve was the number of a Greek yepoveía in the heroic ages, we do not see why this should be inflicted on the Persians of the time of Eschylus, instead of their own national number seven (each having an attendant;) see in the book of Esther, ch. i. 14, the names of the seven princes of Persia and Media, which saw the king's face, and which sat the first in the kingdom;' and compare Ezra, c. vii. 14. We must give a couple of examples to confirm what is said above. At p. 221, Mueller quotes from Plato, eine ueberaus geistreiche Stelle,' which is rendered in the most patronising way, ' an exceedingly clever passage!' And at p. 249, we are referred to Pratinas, in the celebrated fragment on the subject of the hyporchesis,' with as much confidence as if the translator had known what the fragment' was, or what 'the hyporchesis' might be: the German original speaks of a 'hyporchematic fragment' that is, of course, a fragment of a hypor cheme: on which the following writers may be referred toAthenæus, p. 15, D, E; 628 D-F; Lucian, de Saltat. s. 16; Ilgen de Scoliis, p. 34, note 31; Schneider ad Pind. Fragm., pp. 26-23. withdrew the ludicrous element from the tragedy, and compounded with the versatile Athenians by giving one piece of the wine-god's unmixed inspirations without a drop of allaying Tiber in it. Cherilus (B. c. 523-483) was celebrated for his satyric dramas: indeed, the comic poet dates from the epoch ör Badeòs Xoipídos iv carópois. Phrynicus (B. c. 511-476) wrote a tragedy on the taking of Miletus, which therefore must have been entirely without the Dionysiac element: there could be nothing pos Atóvrov here. Pratinas must therefore have introduced the satyric drama before this time; but we have no date recorded; we only know that he was a competitor of Eschylus and Chorilus in the 70th Ol. (B. c. 500— 497.) To Pratinas and his invention we must not digress, having work enough on our hands in the consideration of the effects of this invention on the character of tragedy: and, returning now to this, we find it, as it were, racked off the lees-completely and necessarily changed in its subjects and its tone. The chorus indeed is still there; but no longer the same chorus-no longer the representative of the festival and its god; it now appears as a body of persons connected indeed, but usually not very intimately connected (and hence the especial use of it,) with the actors in the dialogue. Tracing it for a moment onward through its later vicissitudes, it may be remarked that in Eschylus the chorus holds the key to the plot throughout. In Sophocles it has lost this, and rather seems to look on and comment: its strains have now lost the depth of meaning which Eschylus infused into them. In Euripides, the play has well nigh pushed the chorus from its stool altogether; and its beautiful seductive lyrics have as little connection with the piece in which they happen to be placed, as any modern song which has been forwarded to an opera-singer with a douceur, to be interpolated in everything which is brought out during the season. Iu the colloquial part the later character of the chorus is outwardly more like what it was earlier-with the same sort of mixture of shrewdness and simplicity which makes Polonius such a bore; but it is not too much to say that there is a meaning in this in the older drama, which is wanting in the new. As the chorus (in its own department) is not to give vent to the impressions or fancies of an individual or class of men, but to pour forth strains which are inspired, and are to be received as coming from the god, there ought not to be, and there is not, any peculiarity of character-anything to excite an individual in terest in the members of the chorus. We a poet and critic of no slight eminence. He are intended to lose sight of them, and to seems to think that tragedy is to convert receive their strains apart from all such the raw material, as it were, of these feelassociations: and, consequently (as it appears ings into virtuous habits, by bringing their to us,) they are carefully made such per- excess or defect into that mean, in which sons as may be lost sight of. This divest- moralists place true excellence. But here ment of character is indeed often carried to is a difficulty; for as some men labour from an extreme but it has at least the effect of excess, and others from defect, it seems to dissociating the solemn strains which we follow that, if all are to be brought to the hear, from the human iropraι who pour mean, this remedy must have a sort of them forth. double operation, hardly known in the pharmacopoeia,-to be taken in all cases, and to act homeopathically or allopathically, pro re nata. Again, supposing all this to be successfully achieved, the practical result would be, it would appear, to generate pure apathy in the real trials of life. some critics have even persuaded themselves that this is the actual end to be sought for by the contemplation of ills greater than those of real human life. On the other hand, Plato (to whom there is probably a covert controversial allusion in Aristotle's definition, as there is so frequently in his writings) complains of this kind of poetry (TIK), and accuses it of watering and cherishing those passions which we ought to mortify, and make them our masters instead of our becoming theirs. † It must always be remembered that though the chorus lost its immediate and exclusive connection with the god's service, yet tragedy did not lose its consecration. It was no mere invention of man for his own amusement, adopted and worked upon by various artists for good and evil, to be an instrument for carrying out their views upon the souls of men. It was an actaye, the most solemn act-of their religious service. The Sacri Vates wrote for their own god's festival, under his inspiration; and they were, like the magnetic rings of which Plato tells us in his Ion,' the conductors from heaven to earth of a power and influence not their own and as it was primarily to the chorus that this sacred character of tragedy attached, so with the chorus too it necessarily sank. But if, even in its palmy days in Greece, not to say those which have followed, tragedy varied so much, how are we to pick and choose what shall be our standard of it? The best way will be, if possible, to begin with a definition. And it fortunately is possible, as we have one at hand, from the most approved maker, the Stagyrite himself. This, doubtless, will make all clear! Alas! nothing less! But it will do that which is next best; it will narrow the ground of our inquiry, and bring us to issue on a point. Aristotle defines tragedy to be, μίμησις πράξεως σπουδαίας, μέγεθος ἐχούσης, δι' ἐλέου καὶ φόβου περαινουσα τὴν τοιούτων παθημάτων κάθαρσιν. The question is, what does Aristotle mean? It is easy to understand that the subjectmatter of tragedy is such as to strike us with feelings of pity and terror: on these feelings the poet has to work, that he may produce his effect. So far so good; but, again, what is the effect intended? To accomplish the purification of these and the like passions' (pity and terror). But how is tragedy, or any fictitious composition whatsoever, to effect this? In short, how are passions' to be 'purged,' and what becomes of them when they are so? Truly a right pithy and pertinent question; and one which it is hard to answer equally pithily. We have, however, no lack of answers. For instance, let us take Lessing, And After all, there is something which partly reconciles the two opinions. Dramatic skill is the most powerful of all agents to excite intellectually persons of a susceptible temperament. In such, undoubtedly, it stirs the passions into a violent state of emotion; and, perhaps, for the time, due self-control is lost. Here, then, these impulses or passions are turned aside from their true object, which is, to serve under proper discipline as the main-springs of action. But then, the work of fiction, having brought us into this condition, abandons us in it; nothing comes of it; and we are left to get out of our lunes as we best can, instead of being carried forward, as we ought, to something practical, under the guidance of good principle. In fact, we are placed in the unpleasant situation of having our sympathies baulked and wasted on the fictitious case, without our having gained any lesson for a possible one of the same description in real life. And what must be the consequence of this? These feelings, having been once and again summoned from the depths of our soul for nothing but to show themselves and retire, refuse to come when they are called the third time. Bishop Butler tells us (in his Analogy) that going over the theory of virtue in one's thoughts *Werke, vol. xiii. pp. 151-184. |