86 



DRAM A. 



Drama, for a pretext to let the her* or heroine tell their own 

 "-ir-'O story, the ancient >t:i-<- Mih-tituted what was worse, 

 to whole train- of secret-bearers and confidential adviser-. 



The chorus prevented soliloquies, which, with us, are 

 often in-ipid ; hut who would exchange .such a bolilo- 

 quy as tliat of Hamlet or \Vol-cy, for any speech that 

 could be made to a chorus ? The circumstance of the 

 chorus being unable to follow individuals into privacy, 

 was in fact a detriment to the Greek stage ; for it obli- 

 ged them to receive secrets in public places, when- it 

 i- revolting to think of such communications being 

 made ; an, when CKdipus tells of his incest in the pub- 

 lic street. lilt bonis fnveal, says Horace, speaking of 

 the chorus thet are to take the side of the good and 

 virtuous ; but this was not universally the moral merit 

 of the Greek chorus. The chorus in Antigone, (a tra- 

 gedy of the moral Euripides), takes the side of the 

 wicked. It consists of a number of old Thebans, as- 

 sembled by the order of Creon, to assist at a mock 

 council, in which lie meant to issue his cruel interdict 

 of the rites of sepulture to the body of Polynices. This 

 veteran troop of vassals enter at once into the horrid 

 views of the tyrant. Besides, the chorus, though in 

 general moral and friendlv advisers, were, from their 

 confidential character, frequently obliged to be the de- 

 positories of horrid intentions which it would have 

 been inconsistent with the progress of the plot, as well 

 as with their characters, if they shouM have revealed. 

 With regard to the external pomp and beauty of the 

 chorus, it is certainly in the power of modern tragedy 

 to atone for the deficiency of these, by a stronger de- 

 velopement of the heart ; and if the poet cannot inter- 

 weave in his dialogue the charms of fancy, feeling, and 

 moral reflection, we shall hardly expect them in a cho- 

 ral shape. What we have lost by disusing dances in 

 tragedy, k is difficult to conceive; and though the union 

 of music with poetry may occasionally heighten its ef- 

 fect, still we know that the Italian opera, which is in 

 fact the lineal descendant, and nearest resemblance of 

 the ancient Greek drama, has been rather unfavoura- 

 ble tlian propitious to the dramatic jioetry of Italy. 

 To return to .ASschylus : Only seven of the pieces, out of 

 ten times the number which he is said to have writ- 

 ten, have come down to posterity. All these tragedies 

 betray the infancy of the dramatic art ; their beauties 

 are rather epic than tragic; they display a genius of 

 Isold and gigantic, but of rude character, nourished on 

 the poetry of Homer, and doing little more than dra- 

 matizing his scenes. Indeed, j^schylus used to say, that 

 his pieces were but dishes from the feast of the Iliad. 

 His seven pieces that have reached us, are, the Pro- 

 metheus bound The Persians The Seven Chiefs be- 

 fore Thebes The Suppliant his Agamemnon The 

 Furies and The Cha-phora?. The subject of Prome- 

 theus is too mythological to be interesting ; Vulcan, 

 rromtthcus accompanied by Strength and Violence, the minister of 

 Jupiter, chains Prometheus to a rock for having stolen 

 fire, and taught the arts to mankind. The Ocean, and 

 the ocean Nymphs, and lo, come to listen to the com- 

 plaints of Prometheus, whom Mercury summons to 

 tell the secret of which he boasts, namely, the means 

 which Jupiter may employ to save himself from being 

 one day hurled from the throne of heaven. Prometheus 

 haughtily persists in refusing to tell the secret the 

 thunder descends, and the sufferer is left to his rwk 

 and tormenting vulture. In all this it is difficult to 

 discover any thing moral or affecting. The subject of 

 his Persians, is the defeat of that people at Salamis : 

 it is full of recitations, descriptions, presages, dreams, 



IV:' ;-.-.-.- ..f 

 Kscbylus. 



| .!.!. 



i t rv. 



and lamentations, without any regular or interesting Drama, 

 plot. Some aged men, w ho comjx>se the churn-, 

 with anxiety for news of Xerxes' expedition Atossa, 

 the mother of Xerxes, relates to them a dream which 

 has terrified her A soldier arrives from the army, w ho 



di'-eriln-s the disasters of the 1'ersiaii' Atossa conjures 



up the -hade of Darius; and. contrary to the ordinary- 

 intelligence which we expect from such visitants, the 

 -pcctro comes, not to reveal a secret to the ii\in>r, but 

 to hear from At,,--., what has been lately told her by 

 the messenger, of the defeat of \erxes. Towards the 

 clo-r of the play. Xerv< arrives, and is saved with 

 abundance of trouble : he weeps and groans, and does 

 little more than recommend to his mother and the old 

 men, to weep and to groan in concert with him. The 



whole tragedy is one tissue of the praises of Atheir 



the terrors, the humiliation, and the tears of the Per- 

 sians. It is easy to conceive a self-sufficient republican 

 people, intoxicated with recent glory, receiving such a 

 piece with applause. After the defeat of the Athenian* 

 in Sicily, such extravagant praises would not, perhaps, 

 have been a substitute for dramatic entertainment. 

 JEschylus's tragedy on the death of Agamemnon, has 

 beauties of a higher cast. There is, it is true, too much 

 exposition of the catastrophe before it happens, and the 

 atrocity of C'lytemnestra is frigid and unexplained by 

 sufficient motives. She is neither apparently very 

 jealous, nor impelled to revenge by any passion that 

 speaks aloud ; she is merely desirous of killing her 

 husband. Now, in the drama, actions are interesting 

 only in proportion to the strength of their motives. 

 We may shudder at motives, but we should never be 

 left doubtful of their existence or of their impulse, 

 however criminal it may appear. The tragedy , how- 

 ever, has traits of sublime and impressive terror in the 

 part of Cassandra, the Trojan prophetess, who is brought 

 home a captive, and foresees, though she cannot com- 

 municate her prediction, so as to be intelligible to those 

 whom she warns of the impending murder. The pas- 

 sage is peculiarly fine, when the chorus thus address 

 her: 



Thy own woes thou wailest, 

 In mournful melody, like the sweet bird 

 That darkling pours her never-ceasing plaint, 

 ------ and wastes, 



In sweetest woe, her melancholy life. 



She replies, 



" Ah, me I the fortune of the nightingale 

 Is to be envied ; on her light poised plumes 

 She wings at will her easy way, nor knows 

 The anguish of a tear ; whilst on my head 

 The impending sword threatens a fatal wound." 



There is great energy in one of the subsequent bursts 

 of her agony : 



" I burn, I burn, Apollo ! O, Apollo ! 



Thin lioness, that in a sensual sty 



ll'ill'd with the wolf, (the generous Lion absent,) 



Will kill me ! And the sorceress, as she brews 



Her filtered cup, nil! drug it with my blood. 



She glories, as against her husband's life 



She whets the axe her vengeance falls on him; 



For that he came accompanied by me. 



Why do I longer wear these useless honours. 



This laurel wand, and these prophetic wreath* t 



Away ! Before I die I cast you from me. 



Thou Sun, whose rising beams shall bins no more 

 These closing eyes ! You, whose vindictive rage 





