be duly revered.* It is highly criminal in Eteocles, or rather in Euripides, says Cicero, to make an exception in that very point, wherein such violation is the highest crime that can be committed. Eteocles is a tyrant, and speaks like a tyrant, who vindicates his unjust conduct by a false maxim; and it is not strange, that Cæsar, who was a tyrant by nature, and equally unjust, should lay great stress upon the sentiments of a prince whom he so much resembled. But what is remarkable in Cicero, is his falling upon the poet himself, and imputing to him as a crime, the having advanced so pernicious a principle upon the stage.

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

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

Tragedy took at first, from Eschylus its inventor, a much more lofty style than the filiad; that is, the magnum loqui mentioned by Horace. Perhaps Eschylus, who was its author, was too pompous, and carried the tragic style too high. It is not Homer's trumpet, but something more. His pompous, swelling, gigantic diction, resembles rather the beating of drums and the shouts of battle, than the nobler harmony and silver sound of the trumpet. The elevation and grandeur of his genius would not permit him to speak the language of other men, so that his muse seemed rather to walk on stilts, than in the buskins of his own invention.

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

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

As Corneille, says M. Brumoi in another place, after having opened to himself a path entirely new and unknown to the ancients, seems like an eagle towering in the clouds, from the sublimity, force, unbroken progress, and rapidity of his flight; and as Racine, in copying the ancients, in a manner entirely his own, imitates the swan, that sometimes floats upon the air, sometimes rises, then falls again with an elegance of motion, and a grace peculiar to herself; so Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, have each of them a particular and characteristic method. The first, as the inventor and father of tragedy, is like a torrent rolling impetuously over rocks, forests, and precipices; the second

* Ipse autem socer (Cæsar) in ore semper Græcos versus Euripidis de Pœnissis habebat, quos dicam ut potero, incondite fortasse, sed tamen ut res possit intelligi:

Nam, si violandum est jus, regnandi gratia
Violandum est; aliis rebus pietatem colas.

Capitalis Eteocles, vel potius Euripides, qui id unum, quod omnium sceleratissi mum fuerat, exceparit. Offic. 1. iii. n. 82.

VOL. I.

resembles a canal,which flows gently through delicious gardens;* and the third a river, that does not follow its course in a continual fine, but loves to turn and wind its silver wave through flowery meads and rural scenes.

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

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

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

It is worth our trouble to examine briefly in what manner this passion, which has always been deemed a weakness and a blemish in the greatest characters, got such footing upon our stage. Corneille, who was the first who brought the French tragedy to any perfection, and whom all the rest have followed, found the whole nation enamoured to madness with the perusal of romances, and little disposed to admire any thing not resembling them. From the desire of pleasing his audience, who were at the same time his judges, he endeavoured to move them in the same manner as they had been accus

* I know not whether the idea of a canal, that flows gently through delicious gardens, may properly describe the character of Sophocles, which is peculiarly distinguished by nobleness, grandeur, and eleva tion. That of an impetuous and rapid stream, whose waves, from the violence of their motion, are loud, and to be heard afar off, seems to me a more suitable image of that poet.

Tragedias primus in lucem schylus protulit: sublimis, et gravis, et grandiloquus sæpe usque ad vi tium; sed rudis in plerisque et incompositus.Quintil. Corneille and Racine. Ο Φόβος και ἵλεος.

Homo sum: humani gihil a me alienum puto. Te

tomed to be affected; and by introducing love in his scenes, to bring them the nearer to the predominant taste of the age for romance. From the same source arose that multiplicity of incidents, episodes, and adventures, with which our tragic pieces are crowded and obscured, so contrary to probability, which will not admit such a number of extraordinary and surprising events in the short space of four-and-twenty hours; so contrary to the simplicity of ancient tragedy, and so adapted to conceal, in the assemblage of so many different objects, the sterility of the genius of a poet, more intent upon the marvelous, than upon the probable and natural.

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

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

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

OF THE ANCIENT, MIDDLE, AND NEW COMEDY.

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

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

The ancient comedy, so called by Horace, and which he dates after the time of Eschylus, retained something of its original rudeness, and the liberty it had been used to take of coarse jesting and reviling spectators, from the

cart of Thespis.* Though it was become regular in its plan, and worthy of a great theatre, it had not learnt to be more reserved. It represented real transactions, with the names, habits, gestures, and likeness in masks, of whomsoever it thought fit to sacrifice to the public diversion. In a state where it was held good policy to unmask whatever carried the air of ambition, singularity or knavery, comedy assumed the privilege to harangue, reform, and advise the people, upon the most important occasions and interests. No one was spared in a city of so much liberty, or rather license, as Athens was at that time. Generals, magistrates, government, the very gods, were abandoned to the poet's satirical vein; and all was well received, provided the comedy was diverting, and the Attic salt not wanting.

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

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

Cleon, having returned triumphant, contrary to the general expectation, from the expedition against Sphacteria, was looked upon by the people as the greatest captain of that age. Aristophanes, to set that bad man in a true light, who was the son of a currier, and a currier himself, and whose rise was owing solely to his temerity and imprudence, was so bold as to make him the subject of a comedy,§ without being awed by his power and influence: but he was obliged to play the part of Cleon himself, and appeared, for the first time upon the stage, in that character; not one of the commedians daring to represent him, or to expose himself to the resentment of so formidable an enemy. His face was smeared over with wine-lees; because no workman could be found that would venture to make a mask resembling Cleon, as was usual when persons were brought upon the stage. In this piece he reproaches him with embezzling the public treasures, with a violent passion for bribes and presents, with craft in seducing the people, and denies him the glory of the action at Sphacteria, which he attributes chiefly to the share his colleague had in it.

In the Acharnians, he accuses Lamachus of having been made general rather by bribery than merit. He imputes to him his youth, inexperience, and idleness; at the same time that he, and many others, whom he covertly designates, convert to their own use the rewards due only to valour and real services. He reproaches the republic with their preference of the younger citizens to the elder in the government of the state, and the command of their

* Successit vetus his Comoedia non sine multa
Laude.

† Plutus.

The Birda.

Hor. in Art. Poet.

The Knights.

armies. He tells them plainly, that when peace shall be concluded, neither Cleonymus, Hyperbolus, nor many other such knaves, all mentioned by name, shall have any share in the public affairs; they being always ready to accuse their fellow citizens of crimes, and to enrich themselves by such informations. In his comedy called the Wasps, imitated by Racine, in his Plaideurs, hẹ exposes the mad passion of the people for prosecutions and trials at law, and the enormous injustice frequently committed in passing sentence and giving judgment.

The poet, concerned to see the republic obstinately bent upon the unhappy expedition to Sicily, endeavours to excite in the people a thorough disgust for so ruinous a war, and to inspire them with the desire of a peace, as much the interest of the victors as the vanquished, after a war of several years' duration, equally pernicious to each party, and capable of involving all Greece in ruin.*

None of Aristophanes's pieces explains better his boldness, in speaking upon the most delicate affairs of the state in the crowded theatre, than his comedy called Lysistrata. One of the principal magistrates of Athens had a wife of that name, who is supposed to have taken it into her head to compel Greece to conclude a peace. She relates how, during the war, the women inquiring of their husbands the result of their counsels, and whether they had not resolved to make peace with Sparta, received no answers but imperious looks, and orders to mind their own affairs; that, however, they perceived plainly to what a low condition the government was declined; that they took the liberty to remonstrate mildly to their husbands upon the rashness of their counsels; but that their humble representations had no other effect than to offend and enrage them; that, in fine, being confirmed by the general opinion of all Attica, that there were no longer any men in the state, nor heads for the administration of affairs, their patience being quite exhausted, the women had thought it proper and advisable to take the government upon themselves, and preserve Greece, whether it would or not, from the folly and madness of its resolves. "For her part, she declares, that she has taken possession of the city and treasury, in order," says she, "to prevent Pisander and his confederates, the four hundred administrators, from exciting troubles according to their custom, and from robbing the public as usual. (Was ever any thing so bold?)-She goes on to prove, that the women only are capable of retrieving affairs, by this burlesque argument, that, admitting things to be in such a state of perplexity and confusion, the sex, accustomed to untangling their threads, were the only persons to set them right again, as being best qualified with the necessary address, patience, and moderation. The Athenian politics are thus made inferior to those of the women, who are only represented in a ridiculous light, in derision of their husbands as administrators of the government.

These extracts from Aristophanes, taken almost word for word from Father Brumoi, seemed to me very proper to give a right insight into that poet's character, and the genius of the ancient comedy, which was, as we see, a satire of the most poignant and severe kind, that had assumed to itself an independency in respect to persons, and to which nothing was sacred. It was no wonder that Cicero condemns so licentious and uncurbed a liberty. It might, he says, have been tolerable, had it only attacked bad citizens, and seditious orators, who endeavoured to raise commotions in the state, such as Cleon, Cleophon, and Hyperbolus; but when Pericles, who for many years had governed the commonwealth both in war and peace with equal wisdom and authority, (he might have added, and a Socrates, declared by Apollo the wisest of mankind,) is brought upon the stage to be laughed at by the public, it is as if our Plautus, or Nævius, had attacked the Scipios, or Cæcilius had dared to revile Marcus Cato in his writings.†

*The Peace,

↑ Quem illa non attigit, vel potius quem non vexavit? Esto, populares homines, improbos, in remp,