^ yg 
 
 THE ORI&IN AND DEVELOPMENT 
 
 -OF THE- 
 
 GREEK DRAMA, 
 
 jSl. :F»-A.FEm RB-A.ID 
 
 BEFORE THE 
 
 ijitevavij ami Blstovlcal ^octctvj of CJitcbtc, 
 
 23Bn FEBRUARY, 1883, 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN ^ HARPER, M.A„ F.E.I. S., 
 
 Rector of the Quebec High Scnoot. 
 
 S Rj 
 
 M FIFTY COPIES. § 
 
 *3 e 
 
 QUEBEC: 
 PRINTED AT THE " MORNING CHRONICLE " OFFICE. 
 
 1883. 
 
THE ORI&IN AND DEVELOPMENT 
 
 -OK THE — 
 
 GREEK DRAMA, 
 
 -A. F.A.I=>ER REA.3D 
 
 ItEFORE THE 
 
 l^ltcvuinj aud ^Istovlcal ji»ocicti\ of Ojxxeljjcc^ 
 
 23hi. FEBRUARY, 1883, 
 
 \ 'J • 
 
 JOHN HARPER, M.A., F.E.I.S., 
 
 Rector of the Quebec^ High School. 
 
 % 
 
 FIFTY COPIES. W 
 
 a U E B E C : 
 rUTNTEI) AT THE " MO UMNO CHRONICLE" OFFICE. 
 
 188:'.. 
 
THE ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT 
 
 OF THE 
 
 o-reeik: idi?,.a.:m:-A-. 
 
 Aut ayitur ros in sueiiis itut uctii rofertur 
 Segnius irritant aniinos deniissa per aurem, 
 Qiiaiu (|uat; sunt ouiilis sulijecta tiilelibus et quae 
 ll'so sil)i trailit spectator. 
 
 The Dniiiiiitic Art, assooiulod us it has been, in its primary 
 efforts, witli the ch'vclopiiiciit ol'thc religions principle, and, 
 in its later and more matured etlorts, with the ui)holdinu' of 
 tho moral viriues. has ever had a most rt»markable influence 
 upon humanity. As an educative ])ro(Vss or civilizing" 
 agency, it is (o In^ classcnl among those mental activities 
 v/hich indicate how th'^ imagination acts upon, and ex- 
 pands, the intellectual l;n'ullies; and as such it has been 
 duly analyzed l)y those whose task it has been to investigate 
 the genesis of society. To the student of (rreek literature, 
 moreover, the lirst fruits of the art, as witnessed at the Attic; 
 festivals, afford a sjx'cial attraction ; and certainly the labour 
 of research and criticism bestowed upon those masterpieces 
 of drnmatit' art which are among the most precious treasures 
 bequeathed to us by the 'j(>nius of (Jreece, has not been 
 witliout its reward. And just as the explorer, in determin- 
 ing a correct opinion resjiectinu' thi^ physical features of a 
 country, unweariedly follows the mighty river to its source 
 to wat;h the varying scenic effects which burst upon him 
 as he takes note of the soil, the fauna and the flora, or just 
 as he (Miuft'rly climbs the rugged mountain to its very sum- 
 mit, in ord(^r to command a more extensive^ prospect of all 
 
o 
 
 that may niatun" his knowlo(li>\' of ihc couiilry, so Wu^ 
 s.'hohir, with an honost desin^ to understand as far as h<^ 
 may, the yrand trilou'ies of th(^ Athenian dramatists, socks 
 out witli ontliusiasni iho orii^in ol' the art which producod 
 them, observinDf with interest th;' outward conditions and 
 occasions which followed that art towards its perfection. 
 Nor is the task of following" the dramatic art ])ack to its 
 orij^in an idle one, even to ih" casual reader of tlie records 
 of antiquity. As ]w passes ;i' ross ilie vast hold of past time, 
 ho reaps his reward in tlie invi^oratim^ exercises of his 
 mental powers, in the pure exliilaratino,' atmosphere to be 
 breathed in the presence ol' jnimitive life, in the new and 
 pleasant scenes opening- up bel'ore liim, and in the many 
 quaint, attractive Uowers of ancient literature lying iu his 
 path. 
 
 That natural law of imitation which is to l)e seen so dis- 
 tinctly at work in children of the most tender years, is also 
 to be observed as an inlluence at work in nations at the 
 period immediately succeeding- their dawn. The earli(\st 
 acts of conscious childhood, notwithstaiiding the wellestab. 
 lished theory of innate tendencies, are for the most ])art 
 only the reflections of the child's- acquired pt^-ceptions. The 
 experieu(!e of tlie child alibrds th(; material out of Avhii'h the 
 mental energies at onc(» proceed to construct " a mirror held 
 up to nature :" and imperfect though such a reflecting sur- 
 face certainly is, its very imperfections add to the interest 
 with which a spectator observes its representations of na- 
 ture, before the organs of special sense jiave been trained to 
 carry to the mind true impressions of th(^ outside world. 
 And as with children .'^o with nations, in their progress to- 
 wards a higher condition of a Hairs. As Macaulay remarks, 
 men in a rude state of socdety are children with a greater 
 variety of ideas; and though it cannot be said of the drama- 
 tic art, as it has been said of poetry, that it is in such a state 
 of society it reaches its highest state of perfection, yet it was 
 
at a timo when men's minds were still nntrummellod by 
 the co-ordinating" inllnonces ol' the higher intellectual fa- 
 culties, — when the imaiiinution, revelling in the freedom 
 which is peculiar to the child in his earlier years, committed 
 the strangest freaks — that Ihc dramatic art received the 
 impetus which never left it in its steady growth towards 
 perfection. It is imh'cd in the earlier stages of society. 
 when the imitative faculties of ukmi have an unlimited free- 
 dom, that we may ex])cct to iind the true origin of the dra- 
 matic art. 
 
 The dramatic art and the art of oratory have much in 
 common, so much so that the form(T may ])e called the ora- 
 tory of poetry. As tlie one acts upon the mind through the 
 intellei't, so the otlier acts upon the whoh^ being through 
 the imagination. Oratory ai)peals to tlie judgmcr.t, the drama- 
 tic art to the emotions. Oratory su (fuses the whole intellect 
 with the knowli^dge of the good and the true, the dramatic 
 art delights, rciines and fills the whole mind with aiioodof 
 enthusiasm. IJotli acting in their truest phase, aim alike at 
 ennobling mankind. Oratory, appealing to those purer in- 
 stincts of man, which cna])l«' him to distinguish the right 
 Irom tlie wrong, the true from the false, quickens \vithin 
 him the consciousness of a personal responsibility, and on 
 the ground of such a consciousness seeks to promote unani- 
 mity in the many ; while the dramatic art, acting iipon the 
 ])assions by scene, and character, and sentiment, lifts hu- 
 manity for the moment oiit of the rut of everyday life to a 
 higher plane of thought and feeling, and IlUs the soul with 
 a purifying araught from the atmosphere of the poet's fancy. 
 And while the inllu(Mice exercised upon man by both of 
 these arts is to a great extent identical in its general ten- 
 dency, that of the latter seems to be the more permanent. 
 Though we of the present time are unable fully to appre- 
 ciate the effect which the drama, as perfected by iEschylus 
 or Sophocles, produced upon the minds of an Athenian 
 
— 4 — 
 
 audioiiir, \vi' ciiii iUirly unJcr.stund how tho tomority and 
 sublimily orthouii;-ht in tho Prometheus Vincitis uud tho viii- 
 dicutiou of fato in tho Guli/ms Ilex would awakoii foolings 
 and opinions oi' tho most olovaiini>' andpovmanont charactor. 
 We cannot outer into the spirit oi' their "ag-ony, eostasy, or 
 plenitude of belief," as thoy sat in the theatre of Dionysus 
 and beheld the piety, wisdom, and modesty of tho hii^h- 
 soulod Amphiaraus, the steadfast unsollishness of AntigoniiV. 
 love towards a brother falh'n in disgrace, or the furious 
 passion of Medea and her vindictive devices, y(;t wo feel 
 assured that the imi)ressions produced must have been any- 
 thing but momentary. As they listened to th«' flow of 
 "Angels' Speech" in ihe choral odes, they must have felt 
 themselves elevati'd t<.) a region ])eyond their own imperfec't 
 natures. Coming in contact with th(^ noble enthusiasm of 
 the poet's own nature, they must have longed for a nolih'r 
 life, and with such a longing for better ihings they must 
 have striven to improve the condition of life in which thoy 
 found themselves. Tho principles thoy hoard eniuicialod 
 in the dramas wore not tho ]:>rinciples of expediency found- 
 ed upon the ue<^^ssity of passing political events. They 
 were the principles of an unalteral)le fato, ant; hence, per- 
 manent as a ('orre<Hivo of the lives and characters of men. 
 Far other is it with oratory. "When Demosthenes thunder- 
 ed his philipics against tho King of Macedon, it is true he 
 succeeded in rousing the ])assions of his countrymen to a 
 fever-heat of indignation and resistance. But there was 
 little that was lasting in the influence thus exorcised by the 
 orator. When his tongue was stilled in the silence of past 
 events, his influence withered aw^ay ; and to-day his 
 speeches are looked upon mt^-oly as embalmed bodies for 
 critical examination or dissection, — bodies which had l)eon 
 the abode of spirits that left them ^vhon the occasion seized 
 upon by the orator had passed away. The occasion with 
 tho dramatist i)ossessod of Iruo genius however seldom 
 
5 
 
 passos away. Tli<' groati'st ol' the Greek plays, in the hands 
 of .skilful artists and actors, have impressed an audience in 
 tl.o twenty- fourth century of their existence. The popu- 
 larity of ^>hakespeare's plays is almost universid, and the 
 inlluence he wields in th»> third century of his immortality'' 
 is tht! influence of an inspired writer. And so it is with 
 the higher lli<i"hts of the higlK^st dramatic; nonius in other 
 i'ountries. Truc^ dramatic art is permanent in its results ; 
 its sway is not limited by the time, place, and circumstance 
 of passing' (n'ents. T he continuous action of its power in 
 moulding men's minds and manners, leaves oratory behind 
 it as a secondary art, unh'ss we recognise it as the highest 
 form of oratory. Indeed the rapidity with which it sprang 
 from infancy into a strength aiul excellence bordering on 
 perfection indicates its origin as nature's own offspring, 
 ^^aviug its root, like the principle of religion, in the strong- 
 :^t of human projiensities. Its growth is spontaneous and 
 natural, and, m order to be consistent, those who continue 
 to contemn the drama even in its legitimate operations, 
 should seek to root out the imitative faculty in the child, 
 and repress altogether the almost divine oi:)erations of the 
 true poet's imagination. 
 
 The dramatic art, as has already hcon said, is to be found 
 in its earlier stages of development, associated with the 
 rites and ceremonies of religious worship. This is specially 
 the case in the history of Grecian ethics. Nor is this to be 
 \vondered at, seeing its origin may be traced to that simple 
 law in human nature, which in its low^'.^r as well as in its 
 higher activities, is ever compelling man to represent his 
 abstract conceptions in the concrete form. Pure subjectivity 
 is a state of mind altogether impossible, unless we put faith 
 in the credulity of those Neo-Platonists, who professed to be 
 able to rise to the contemplation of Being in itself. In every 
 phenomenon of what is called subjective thinking, there is 
 an image or an object lurking somewhere, and however 
 
— — 
 
 trausoendeulal the training- of the mind may liavo been, 
 the energy of instinct throws the perceptive faculty back 
 upon the objecvive for a basis of siij)port. Indeed, the 
 impulse to supx>lant the subjective by some convsponding' 
 objective, the abstract by the concrete, the idea by some 
 physical representation, seems to be almost irresistible. 
 Witness, for example, the varied attempts which have been 
 made to bring the ideal cosmos within the sphere of 
 man's conception. Even Plato, the father of idealism, in 
 telling us of the world beyond, compares us to persons 
 chained in a dark cave, with our backs to the (»ntrance and 
 looking ui^on the shadows projected on the back wall of our 
 prison ; without the image, " the shadows," he can oder us 
 nothing to contemplate but the impotency of our own 
 minds. In like manner, anthropomorj>hism, as the great 
 exponent of all religioiis, appears to be the inevitable residt 
 of the operations of the human mind. As the boldest phase 
 of the law of imitation, it is to l)e encountered in the most 
 ignorant and barbarous condition of life, as well as in com- 
 munities premeated by the highest intelligence. In fact, it 
 may be recognized as one of the earliest results of the 
 instinctive impulse towards the realization of the subjective 
 by means of the objective, \vhich has emanated from men 
 associated with one another in a fixed state of society. And 
 may we not, with some show of reason, seek to iind the origin 
 of the fine arts within the compass of this great religious 
 principle? Has it not, at least, been their parent or foster- 
 parent ? To endow Grod with the characteristics of man — 
 with human-like propensities and desires to l)e gratified, and 
 Avith human necjessities to be provided for — was the 
 initiatory step towards the ultimate erection of a suitable 
 abode for Ilim — some dwelling-pkuie in which He miglit 
 possibly manifest his presence, or in which His jiresence 
 could be manifested by some image or idol. But to indicates 
 the superiority of God, His house would naturally be dis- 
 
— ( 
 
 tiiiguiKlictl by some superiority oi" structure, iVom the other 
 liunible, cave-like iil)odes of primitive .society ; and would 
 not this call into being the lir.st notions of a jirogressive 
 Architecturi' ^ Then again, with such a temple Imi 
 would not the beautifying of its interior, as an early stej* 
 in the decorative art in its progress towards more ambitious 
 aims, lead io the development of the Art of Painting ? And, 
 more prohabk; still, would not the desire naturally excited in 
 the worshi{)i)ers to devise some central figurt', or image-repre- 
 sentation of the humanized divinity (on which their minds 
 might n'st during worshi[) ilnouglithe sense of seeing,) lead 
 to the art of carving in. wood and stone, or, its perfection in 
 the Art of Sculj)ture I- In the ceremonial there would also 
 bo improvements. The emotions, when allowed to act be- 
 yond the control of the will, usually Jind vent in muscular 
 activity ; and, as an actnal fact in history, we know that 
 man, in his jirimilive condition of life, shows the apprecia- 
 tion of the god whom he worships, by an emotional 
 activity which teiuls io the uiler exhaustion of the body. 
 This bodily excitement, a( iirst irr(>gular and iinder no 
 restraint, seems eventually to have been reduced to some 
 uiuformity l)y the ])reliistoric tribes as they advanced 
 towards civilization. This uniformity or rythhiic move- 
 ment of the liml)s, as the origin of the dance, would 
 naturally induce the rythmic action of the vo(nd organs as a 
 iitting accomx^animent. And in this accompaniment, have 
 we not the origin of choral music and the hymn ? But as 
 the gods may claim the bestof everything, men strove, as an 
 act of piety, to excel in the dance and in the song ; and may 
 we not, in reaching the ultimatum of our theory, decide that, 
 from tin; progri»ss promoted by such emulation, the Poetic 
 Art, as a twin-birth ^vith the Kythmic Art, became further 
 developed in the Drama as a religious ceremony through 
 the mimic dance and invocation ode ? 
 From the surmise of theory, we turn with a feeiiug of greater 
 
— 8 — 
 
 security to the records of tradition, rospoctiii^- the orii^iii of 
 the Drama, though it is with the assurance of the explorc^r, 
 who, after wandering through tlie mazes of the wilderness 
 in search of the source of a river, iinds himself in the bed 
 of a stream, whose shallowness is ominously shaded l)y the 
 overhanging forest, and wh(n-e the slippei-y path is a pre- 
 monition of danger. All investigations, whicli have for 
 their purpose the determining of the origin of tli(» drama, 
 must eventually seek a vanishing point in the early history 
 of G-reece, the mother-land of the Jine arts. In the Scrip- 
 tures, we have some examples of what may ])e called 
 dramatic dialogue, and evidence is not wanting to show that 
 the dance was looked upon by the Hebrews as a legitimate 
 accompaniment to their songs of praisi^ and thanksgiving. 
 But ])eyond these, the elements of the drama, the Jews 
 seem to have made no advance towards the invention either 
 of tragedy or I'omedy. In kSanskrit literature, there are to 
 ])e found specimens of dramatic poetry, but the date of their 
 production does not preclude the suspicion that the Hindus 
 learned the art from the (Ireeks. Nor is ihere any certain 
 knowledge that the drama existed among th<' Egyptians- 
 Indeed, it is to Gretn-e, and to (Ireece alone, that \ve must 
 accord the historic birth of the drama, just as it is to Attica 
 we must look for the pc^rfection of the religio-dramatic art. 
 
 There is but one opinion in regard to the origin of the 
 Greek Drama. As will be indicated further on, the tragcnly 
 and comedy of the (rr(>eks were outgrowths from the Diony- 
 sian worship, which, aft(^r the migration of the northern 
 Doric tribes, w^as adorned with a spirited ceremonial ot 
 sacrifice, music and dancing, in imitation of the festivities 
 of the earlier worship of Ajiollo. To no other god have 
 there been ascribed so many fiuu^tions as to Apollo. In these 
 lines of the Iliad — 
 
 Autar cpoit' autoLsi hclo.s cclicpcukcs ophiois 
 Ball' aioi depurai iiokuon kaionto thaiiieiai 
 
— 9 — 
 
 he is introduicH^ 51S tlio deity who avoiigcs injustice; and 
 ai^ain, as the latlicv ol" ^Escuhipius, or under the name oi 
 Paeeon, he: is represented as the i2,"od who sympathises with 
 men in their trou))les and sliields them from dang't;r. As 
 the i^od ol' i^ropliecy, presiding* ovc^r his oratle-temples at 
 Delphi and Delos, his name was lor centuries the most 
 potent in Greece, so ])otent indeed, that ])ut lor the influ- 
 ence of his worshii>, and the faith of the C reeks in his iden- 
 tity, Athens might possi])ly never have produced a Thidias 
 or a Socrates, Sparta a l^ycurgus or a Leonidas, in the pro- 
 cess of attaining to the perfection of human art, knowledges 
 and virtue. Again in the story of Apollo tending the Hocks 
 of Admetus, the god assumes the rdle of protector of the 
 liusbandman, while the ceremonies connected with the 
 founding of a town indicate that his benignity was not 
 supposed to be conlined to lh(> ])ucolit' life, lie was the 
 patron god of civil institutions. In war, he is sometimes 
 represented as usurping the authority of Mars. Indeed the 
 universality of his inlluence for good and evil is typiiied in 
 his name Pluebus Apollo, th(> Sun-god, the god of that 
 store-house orb, which ]iours forlli a recuperating strea.n of 
 energy on man, when he abides l)y nature's laws, but a 
 torrent i he most destru("tive, when these he forgets or re- 
 sists. But it is as the god of music and song that his name 
 occurs in connection with the origin of the Grreek Drama. 
 As the perfect ideal of youthfid manliness, he is usually re- 
 present(>d with the ])o\v in one hand and the lyre in the 
 other, and is otherwise recognised as the inventor of the 
 lyre. He takes rank as the leader of tln^ choir of the Muses 
 under the special title of Musagetes. His victory over 
 Marsyas in a musical contest is referred to by Xenophon in 
 his description of the Palace of C\tus. He also sought to 
 exu:»lthe musical skill of I'an, l)eing indignant with the 
 unlucky Midas for deciding in his rival's favour. And so 
 it is with other traditional references. The god of the sun 
 
-10 — 
 
 is I'requently rcpros^nted as the i)atroii ol' music, llic claiico 
 and the song, lie was tho favourilc deity of the Dorians 
 amid the monnlaiu fastnesses of their northern liome. That 
 hardy race, even after their invasion of ^Southern (heece, 
 seemed to think tliat war, or tlio rehearsal war, was tho only 
 occupation in Avhich a man oi" valour should emrage. Mili- 
 tary discipline, leading to military glory, was evidently tlie 
 moveridi }irinripiiim in the lil'e of th(\><e ancient warriors, and 
 its regulation and supervision engrossed a large share of 
 Dorian legislation. l']v(>ry oilier purpose of life was siU)or- 
 dinated to this, lu'liuion lent part of her ceremonial to the 
 drill-sern-eant. Th<' I'yrrliic and (lymnoptcdian dances, 
 which had been invented in honour of Apollo, became two 
 of the j)rin<'ipal war or drill danc(>s. Th(^ hymns or vsongs 
 of thanksgiving wlii<h liad been sunu' Ix-I'^re the altar, be- 
 came the war-chants and marching choruses of the soldiers. 
 And just as we read of the Covenanters sustaining tlieir 
 courage by singing tlie verses ot thi' Forty-iiixlh Psalm as 
 thej approached C'laverhouse at Drumclog and IJothwell 
 Bridge, or of the (Jermans in modt'rn tim(\s iilling lln-ir 
 souls with enthusiasm I)y the invigoratinu' ihorus of Wurht 
 am Rheln on their way lo the l»attlelields of Alsace and 
 Lorraine, may ^ve not lay our ear to tlie path h'ading back 
 to the darkness and um'ertainty of the past, and In'ar some 
 sacred, sonl-inspirini>' chorus ringing out in Iho pure Doric, 
 all along the line of a Dorian ])aiid, as they rushed into close 
 quarters ith their udversaries. As Apollo not unfrequent- 
 ly usurpiKt tlie authority of Mars over the army, so Mars 
 thought himself justilied in lilchiiig from Apollo jiart of his 
 ceremonial. And, as an issue of this, the first encounter 
 between the rt^ligitms and the secular, ]Mars carried his re- 
 ligio-military chorus with him in his raids upon southern 
 lands, and eventually handed it over to the Athenian 
 dramatist, to be used by him as the warp of a poesy the 
 most sublime the mental activity of man has ever woven. 
 
— 11 — 
 
 Ab an invention oftho Dorians, evidently suggested by the 
 ceremonial of Apollo-worship, and preserved, as it has been 
 in tin; Doric diale<'t, the dithyrambic chonis lies as tlie 
 foundation of the relig'io-draniatic art of iEschylus and 
 Sophocles, through whose transcendent genius the Greek 
 drama ibund a perfection, to be surpassed only by the per- 
 fection of a Divine inspiration. 
 
 From the worship of Apollo we turn to the worship of 
 Dionysus, in order to inquire how the choruses sung in 
 honour of one god camo to be introduced as part of the 
 worshi[)-ceremonial of another god. There is the greatest 
 uncertainty with regard to the introduction of the Dionysian 
 revels into Oreoce. AVhen or by whom they w^ere in- 
 augurated no out' can tell. The god himself, who, like 
 nearly all the deities on the calendar of the ancient mytho- 
 logy, was the impiM'sonation of a well-known natural law — 
 in his case, the personilication of the productive and 
 intoxicating jwwer of nature — must have risen more and 
 more into favour, as the fertility of the country, under the 
 husbandman's imin'oving intelligence became more produc- 
 tive, and as tin; cultivation of the vine extended o^^er Attica 
 and Anadia. The iJacchus-worship of the Pelasgians, the 
 original iijhal)itants of Greece, must have been of thti 
 rud(»st characti'r — hardly to be identiiied with these grand 
 choral processions and extravagant festivities which in 
 later times stirred the people of Crreece w^ith religious 
 frenzy, and suspended for the moment many of the deco- 
 rous impulses of humanity. These rude tribes, it is known, 
 w^n'shipped at least two deities, who performing almost 
 similar functions, held towards each other the relation of 
 male and female luuh^r the names Helios and Selene. This 
 could have been nothing but the primitive Sun-worship ; 
 and as it is a natural stage of development for the savage to 
 pass from the worship of the heavenly bodies to the wor- 
 shij> of their presiding diviniti^'s or gods, it is easy to 
 
— 12 — 
 
 uiidv?rstaiid how the names Helios and Selt^ne, as the names 
 of deities, soon disappeared amon^- the Pehisg-es, and how 
 Dionysus, the god of the sun, and Denu^ter, the divinity 
 of the moon, sprung up in their phice. But among i\n\ 
 Dorians, there was also to be found the notion of a female 
 divinity, a goddess, who took rank as the sistm' of Apollo, 
 and to whom were attributed (.'liavaettn'istics and powers 
 peculiar to that god. In the struggle for the supremacy of 
 southern Greece, there was thus a sympathy between the 
 conqueror and the conquered in th(^ matter of religion. 
 The divinity of th(^ sun was the favoured deity of both 
 races, and the i)roccss of further assimilation in the worship- 
 ceremonial w^as an easy one, esptvially as the Dorians seem 
 to have adopted towards those whom they had subdued, a 
 toleration in rt^ligious matters which might liave been 
 imitated, to the praise of the Christain faith in times more 
 civilized. The celebrations of A]>oll<)-worship ])l(Mided their 
 ceremonies wath the Dionj'^sian festivities. The dances of 
 the Dorian soldier and of the Pelasgian husbandman soon 
 became common to ])oth systems of worship, and those 
 choruses, which probably cheered the heart and sustained 
 the courage of the Dorian invader on his way to Naupactus 
 or Megara, were in days of peace made us(^ of as songs of 
 thanksgiving to the god of th«^ conquered race. 
 
 From the mist of tradition and fable we reach at length 
 the clear light of fact. A])out the lirst thing that strikes 
 the student in his examination of the tragedies of ^schylus 
 and Sophocles is the simplicity of the constructions in the 
 dialogue when compared with those of the choruses. • In 
 the choruses he m(3ets with many words which are not to 
 be found in the Attic prose writers or in Homer. The 
 metres are also very irregular and the style condensed. The 
 dialect is chiefly Doric. And as he carries his studies back 
 to the lyric poets, he soon establishes the identity of the 
 tragic chorus with the dithyramb or invocation ode, written 
 
.3 
 
 in houour oi' Apollo and Dionysus respectively. One of 
 those dithyrambs, written by Pindar as an hyporeheme or 
 danee-soni[^, has })een preserved to us as the model from 
 whieh Sophoeles pro])ably drew the metre and style of that 
 celebrated chorus iu the openinj^ scene of the Antigone, 
 l)eginning : — 
 
 Aktis haclioio, kiiUiston hcptapulo phancn 
 Tholni toll protei'on pliaos, 
 
 Another has been preserved, which Dionysus of llalicarn- 
 assus says was written by the same poet for the Dionysian 
 fi'stivals at Athens, while of his rivals Simonidas and 
 Bacchylides there are extant severix! lyric remnants written 
 in the dithyrambic measure, and indicating how closely 
 the dramatic poets in composing their choruses, imitated 
 the early lyrics. Indeed, to su<h an extent do iEschylus, 
 Sophocles and ]']uripides appear to have borrowed Irom 
 the form and diction of the dithyrambs of preceding poets, 
 that more than one CJerman critic has favoured the theory 
 that there existed a lyrical tragedy, which lay as the medium 
 of development 1)etween the dithyramb and the chorus of 
 Attic tragedy. But such a theory is altogetln^r improbable. 
 The dithyraml) has evidently been the model directly copied 
 by the dramatist. 
 
 The burden of the dithyrambic ode, except in the case of 
 Epigines of t^icyon, who honoured Adrastus in his dithy- 
 rambs, is the mythical sull'enng of Dionysus or some scene 
 in his career. The story of the jealous .liid wilful temerity 
 of his mother, with its frightful consequences, is tragedy 
 itself, while the double-birth of the god, has given rise to 
 the conjecture that the word dithyramb is only another form 
 of didiuramjs. The etymology of th(} word is, however, no 
 assistance to its true meaning, for from the many conjectures 
 in regard to its origin, we learn nothing beyond the fact, 
 that it was first used to denote the poem or invoiation ode, 
 
— 14 — 
 
 and afterwards tho iniinitcombiiiatioii.s of music, poetry and 
 danciiif? at the festivals of Dionysus. 
 
 The iirst to develop th(^ ditliyi'aiul) in its dramatic efleets, 
 was Arion of Metliymna. Amonii^ his aiiistic improvements, 
 he introduced theantistrophe amon^* hischoreuti, now fixed 
 at the numher oflifty — an innovation which specially dis- 
 tin^'uishes his invention of what lias been called the cyclic 
 chorus. In fact, Arion's cyclic chorus is the true historic; 
 origin of trag'edy. It had all the solemnity and dii'-nity of 
 the choral worship of Apollo, and must not be confound(Ml 
 with those rude dithyrambs whicli were suna,- in earlicn- 
 times by a i»'roup of dancers ciniimr round th(> altar of the 
 uod. The cv<"lic <'horus as invented or improved ])v Arion, 
 had notliing' org-iastic in its character ; and, further improv- 
 ed, as it was by Lasus, who introduced it into Athens, it 
 assumed througli its mimetical accompaniments, the true 
 appearance of the drama. The subject-matter of the chorus 
 no longer referred exclusively to Dionysus ; the adventures 
 of othe^ heroes came witliin the scope of the dramatic art, in 
 its literary effort to progress. 
 
 This development of tragedy ])roi)cr. moreover, led indi- 
 rectly to the subsequent introduction of the Satyric Drama. 
 This involved a revival of some of the exciting ceremonies 
 of the rude dithyramb of the country districts. As the drama 
 became more serious in its tone, and more and more dis- 
 sociated from the myth of Dionysus, the common people 
 began to regret the absence of the satyrs, in their goat-like 
 garb, and their nunriment around the l)lazing altar. They 
 also thought that their favorite god was ])eing lU'glected, 
 and on more than oiu^ occasion, the cry of dissatisl'action 
 was raised in the tlieatre, — oudc/i pros ion Diouyson, 
 there is no Dionysus in it. At length, this spi"it of discon- 
 tent produced the desired effei^t, and I'ratinus of Phlius, tln^ 
 first of the satyric dramatists, was induced to r<>store the 
 chorus of tragedy to the satyrs. The satyric drama in this 
 
— 15 — 
 
 way consistod of tragedies with a change in the < horn , and 
 miisl bo distinu'uishod, both in orio-iii and character, from 
 comedy. It is called "si^ortivo trai^vdy."' Partakiiii? mucli 
 of th«« character of tlie modern pantomirao, the o-rotesquo 
 blended with the serious, it stood, as a stai>v performance, 
 in the same relation to tragedy proper, which the after-piece 
 holds to the five-act play of the present time. Indeed, a 
 satjTic play was usually placed upon the Athenian stag-eon 
 the second of the two holidays set apart for theatric reiwesen- 
 tations. The programme for the t /o days generally consisted 
 of a trilogy and a satyric i)lay : the fun and frolic of the 
 satyrs, and their mirth-provoking dam^es, as a vivid contrast 
 to the tragic in one and the same play, forming a very 
 necessary relaxation to the minds of an audience that had 
 patiently listened to three or more consecutive tragedies. 
 
 The origin of dialogue is slirouded in conjecture, although 
 its introduction as an appi'iidage to the cyclic chorus of 
 Arion, may safely be referred to Thespis, the rhapsodist and 
 dramatic poet oflcaria. Becoming a fellow citizen of the 
 tyrant Pisistratus, Thespis brougl^; himself under the notice 
 of that ruler, by exhibitions of his dramatic skill, similar to 
 those he had essayed in his i\ative village. TJie (>arlier j^art 
 of his life ]u\ had spent as a rhapsodist, travelling about 
 from ])lace to ])lace, reciting his owni or the verses of others, 
 and frequently taking the position of coryphicus at the 
 Dionysian revels, for which his nativt; distri'-t was famous. 
 Like the troubadour of the middle ages, the office of ihapso- 
 dist was honoiu'able and remun<»rative, having been 
 sanctified by the divine genius of the old rhapsodes, Homer 
 and llesiod; and the fact that the: rhapsodic art has much 
 in common with the dramatic art in its effects, is significant 
 enough to raise the conjeetare of an historii'al connection 
 between the two. Can the dialogue of tragedy be traced to 
 the alternate speeches in Homer? The arrival of two or 
 more rhapsodists at a Dionysian fi\stival, with all its 
 
— 16 — 
 
 attractions of tho miiiiic daiuo and dithyrambiochorug, may 
 have led to tho alteruato recital of the Kpo(Hh<>s of Homer's 
 heroes. Plato mcMitions an occasion on which a division of 
 labour amouo- the rhapsodists, enabh^d them to recite a whole 
 potnn in one day. ]>nt the practice was not i^eneral. The possi- 
 bility of entertaininii; an audience \vith Homeric dialon'ucs. 
 may have induced the innovation of an actor exchansj^ing 
 speeches with thii leader of the chorus. The conjecture, how- 
 ever, is not fortilied by collateral evidence. The iambics ol" 
 the dramatist have little in common with the hexametric mea- 
 sures of the Iliad or the Odyssey. Their literary character 
 is as distinct as their prosodial. The latter are couched in 
 iigurative lanqiiag'e ; tho former, where tho alternate speeches 
 are short, in the lani^uag(> of every day lif.\ In fact, tho 
 many imitations of the lyric poets, found in the (Ireok 
 tragedies, point to tho source from which the dramatists 
 drew their measures and style of <-om]H)sitiou, and seem to 
 throw discredit upon the notion of an Homeric' origin of th(» 
 dialogue. It has ])oon supposed that the actor was at first 
 introduced during tho ii^i^cM-ludcs of the drama, or during 
 the necessary pause in the oxhau}''iin- operations of the 
 choreuti. Tho i>rinciple of the antistrophe in tho chorus 
 had been recogni/cd in Arion's time, and this in itself, if it 
 did not suggest, w'ould smooth the way lor th(^ innovation 
 of the dialogu(\ 
 
 What part Thospis ])layod, when ho lirst a])p(vin*d as an 
 actor in connection with tho cyclic chorus, it is difficult to 
 say. By moans of pigments on his face and linen masks he 
 was able, it is said, to p»'rsonate more than on(« character 
 during his interruptions of the chortis. An anecdote, told 
 of him, testifies to th<^ improssi\'o character of his representa- 
 tions. When ho first essayed his art as actor before an 
 Athenian audience, tho drama in wdiich he took part was 
 wdtnossed by tho two q-rcatest men of tho age, Solon and 
 Pisistratus. Tho latter, wdio subsequently owed his 
 
— 17 — 
 
 restoration to tho arche, to the dramatic effect produced 
 upon th(! ininds of the po[)iihi(e by a representation 
 oi' Minerva ridini^ through the citj', and whose political 
 obliquities are fori>-ott('n in presence of his protective ::eal 
 for the literary art, en(.'Ourat>'*'d th(^ trai^edian in his elfbrts. 
 But Solon condemned the innovation declaring-, with the 
 sternness of a lawgiver, that if ihlsehood and fiction 
 were tolerated on the stage, they woidd soon iind their way 
 into the eominon occupations of men — an argument falla- 
 cious enough, ])ut whi<'h is us(«d arl nnmmm against the 
 modern theatre, by pt>opl(^ \\\\o know less about the stage 
 as an educative agency Ihtin Solon did, whose premature 
 opinion of tlie art of Tliespis, was certainly unguided by 
 experience. In the yl/-.s Poetini, Horace makes the following 
 allusion to Thespis : — 
 
 Ignotiim tr:vt,'iciK ;;i'mi.i iiiviiiissc cauuciia', 
 Dlcitur, ct iil:iiisl!iH vi'xis>f iKjoinata Thesi)irf, 
 Qiiiic caiU'i'ciit a.^oiviitijii"' piTuacti fa'fibus ura. 
 
 This has giviMi ris,' to the idcii that the theatre of Thespis 
 was a mere peram'huhiting show, a kind of spedacidum gesti- 
 cidnntiiim. The })hras;; vexissc plamtrh pocmata, may possibly 
 refi'r only to the ambulanc.'e which carried the ' properties ' 
 from one town to another. lUit it is more feasible to sup- 
 pose that the Roman poL^t confounds the small stage or 
 platform on which tho actor stood, in order to bo on a level 
 with the chorus, with the applian;'es which Susarion, the 
 comedia)!, used in his excursions round the Isthmian dis- 
 tricts. The part wlii'-li falls to Thespis, in tlie development 
 of th<^ drama, has boon fairly stated in ^Mahally's con- 
 jecture — "We would fain believe that an acquaintance 
 with the mysteries and deeper theology of the day, suggs,'si;ed 
 to Thespis the representation of human sorrow, for a moral 
 purpose. There seems no trace of tliis idea in the earlier 
 dith) rambs, which sang or acted the adventures of Diony 
 
 2 
 
— 18 — 
 
 Ki.s lis :i (lilt and Dot as :i mural Icst-on. But it Koems that 
 \vith Tlii.'.si)is may havi; arisen tho great coiiceptioii, which 
 \vc S(H' full l)lo\vu in JEschylus — tho iutenlion oi" the drama 
 to purii'y human .sympathy, Hy cxiTi-ising it on great and 
 apparently disproportionrd alllirlions of IktoIc nu'n, wIkii 
 tho. iron htiiul of a storn aiid uiiforniving IVovidonoo 
 chastises old trans;:^ressions, or represses tho revolt of private 
 judgment against established ordinance.'' IJe this as it may, 
 his imi)rovomonts, whatever th;^y were, gave to tlu; drama 
 its permanent form. Tho onihu.siastic ingenuity of the 
 poet was fostered by tht; great patron of Athenian literature, 
 and tho " now trag<'dy " grew" into favour with the populace. 
 Pisistratus, we are told, added greatly to his poi)ulaiity by 
 building a temple, in which a record niiglit be kept of 
 vi«'tories "won in dramatic conqiciition^'. indeed, so rapidly 
 did tragedy work its way towards perl' lion, that within a 
 century from tho time of Thespis, the little stage or tabic 
 from which the actor addressed \h(' chorus, or on which he 
 produced his dramatic illusions, had ])Gcn sui)planted by 
 the pulpila inUrala iiiodin's Jign!>i of iEsihylus, who, as IToi'ace 
 says, taught the a' -tors tho art niagimin loqueiuU ct uitcudi 
 cothurno. 
 
 Tho mantle of Thespis fell upon Phrynicus, who reached 
 tho acme of his dramatic fame in tho two plays, which 
 were put upon tho stage under the supervision of Themis- 
 toeles as his choragus. Tho name of the most famous of these, 
 the Phoenissae, is all that is loft of. it, although wo may ac- 
 quire some knowledge of its character from the Vcrsae in 
 which iEschylus is said to have closely imitated tho style of 
 the older dramatists. Another of tho tra2:edies of Phrvnichus 
 has been rendered famous by the circumstances attending 
 its first and only represeirtation on W\(\ stage. Urdor tho 
 title of the Capture of Miletus it stands as one of the earliest 
 of the many unsuccessful attempts to represent dramati<^ally 
 immediate events in history. The malapropos of the piece 
 
— 19 — 
 
 was its coiulemiialiou. It moved the thirty thousand listen- 
 ers to tears ; but it touched their pride and inlianied their 
 remorse, exciting a lull blast oi' their euA'y against the men, 
 of whom riirynichus himseli' had probably been one, who 
 had counselled them wisely. In the v ondmination of Phry- 
 nichus and his play, we get a glinjpsc of that spirit which 
 brought Socrates io the hemlock-cup, which sent Themisto- 
 cles into exile and which defamed Uemosthcnes and Pericles. 
 The unlucky poet had to pay his thousand drachmas, not 
 because his art was on the wane, but because, like Socrates, he 
 had pricked the ignorance and folly of a people whoi)lumed 
 themselves on their intelligence. Several imi>roveinents in 
 t\w drama have been referred toPhrynichus, ])utit is almost 
 impossible to say Avhat these were, so few of the fragments 
 of his waitings are extant, liy separating the actor from 
 the cxarchus, he created the interest of personal antagonism 
 or contrast in the dialogue, drawing out the character repre- 
 sented, by the turn of a phrase or the acumen of an answer 
 or a (juestion. lie is said to have introduced female charac- 
 ters on the stage, and to have made several changes in the 
 metres usually employed. Aristophanes speaks of him thus 
 in the Birds: — 
 
 Enthcn lioapor ho niolitta 
 Plirunichos anibrosion 
 Sleuoa apobojketo karpon aiei 
 Pheron gliiki iuii odan, — 
 
 and Plutarch has preserved an ex)igram in which his skill 
 in inventing iigured dances is referred to. Among his 
 immediate predecessors was Ohoerilus, who is said to have 
 written one hundred and lifty pieces, and to have made 
 changes in the costumes worn by the actor ; but .it is 
 I'hrynichus, who forms the most prominent link in the chain 
 of dramatists that extends historically between Thespis 
 and iEschvlus. 
 
— 20 — 
 
 TliL' duvelopmcut of the (livi-k Drjima (;nlminatos iu the 
 g'onius of jEscliyliis tind ^'oplioclej?. vSopli^clos certainly 
 must 1)0 ivg-uided as ihe /v.r ol'the Crivok dramatists; but 
 as it was iEschylus who, iii limiling the liinctions of the 
 chorus, brought into full play the histrionic faculty, by intro- 
 ducing a second actor on the stn'j- •, and in whoso writings the 
 drama assumed its highest and p:'rmanent form, there is no 
 inconsistency in closing this puii of our paper with his name 
 instead of Sophocles. It is very little wo know of his life. 
 He was born at Elcusis, a lit lie town on the north shore of 
 Salamis. From the humble i)o~.ition of vine-herd, he rose 
 to that of soldier, and is said lo have gained some military 
 distinction at the battles of I\[arathon and Salamis. In his 
 first competition as a writer of tragedies, he was the opponent 
 of Chcei'ilus and Pratinas ; iu liis last he was obliged to leave 
 the victory "witli Sophocles. After travelling ii^ Sicily and 
 other of the outlying Grecian colonies, he died .it (lela, in 
 the seventieth year of his age. This is about all there is left 
 of the personal history of the great dramatist ; and in seeking- 
 the development of the dranuiti;- art in Ih; fruits of his life 
 and genius, we have to pass from the most imperfect of his 
 tragedies to that with which his name has always been the 
 most closely associated, the Provicihcits Viiutns. The 
 Siippliccs^ perhaps the lirst of his w^orks, is the oldest specimen 
 of a Grreek play in existence, if play it may be < alh'd. As 
 may be expected fr n what we know of the primitive charac- 
 ter of the drama, the chorus is predominani . Hamlet, or the 
 chief actor, plays a part so humbly secondary, that the play 
 might easily have been performed with the part of Hamlet 
 left out. There is in the ]iloi neither actioii nor surprise ; 
 in fact, the introductory stanz-as reveal what there is of a 
 plot, and thus the reader has to wade through the mimby- 
 pamby sayings of Danaus, without the hope of being sur- 
 prised. In it, the dramalic ol the dialogue is lost in the 
 poesy of the chorus ; it is the poi>lic struggling towards the 
 
drauuiti,' ; and this .sirngg'lo issocni in several of the plays of 
 iEschylus, ending, as it does, in tlie creation of character, 
 which lies at the bottom ol" tru;? driiniatic power. Indeed, 
 the creative genius ofiEschyhis as a dramatist, is to b(! seen 
 repeated more in Milton than in Shakespeare. The picture 
 of Sattm, as his huge length lies " iloating many a rood " 
 with his i)ride unsubdued, and his angelic dignity litth^ 
 defaced, is the drannitic art in its suljlimest ellect, the 
 dranuiticart which, centuries Ix^lbre Milton, is seen culmina- 
 ting in the Prometheus ofiEschylus. The temerity of genius 
 is seen in both conceptions — the imagination of man playing 
 with the allairs of the gods, and yet producing pictures with 
 a god-like consistency of human knowledge The imarina- 
 tion of Mill on is the imagination of ilCschylus, with the 
 inilucjice of previous models upon it; and it is only the 
 student who, among English students, has fallen under the 
 spell of the sul)lime ligiires and almost divinely inspired 
 thoughts of the English poet, that is able to enter into the 
 s])irit of tlu^ ecstacjy of an Athenian audience, whilst listening 
 to the Attic dramatist through his plays. JSeatod in that 
 vast gallery of tln^ Dionysian theatre, with the grandeur 
 and glitter of an eastern splendour ilhuninating the siage 
 and with tlie ri^ilection of th<^ sun itself from the blue nxult 
 above for a footlight and headlight, those of the thirty 
 thousand auditors, who could hear distinctly, must have 
 been moved, not l)y the action of the play, but l)y the gran- 
 deur of the poet's conceptions. To gratify the Athenian 
 religious sympathies, the poet throws open that store-house 
 01 his, iilled to repletion, with dramatic energy, and over- 
 llowing perennially with mythic lore in the dramatic form. 
 His comparisons between gods and men are as audacious 
 as some of ]\[ilton's invocations. As an orthodox pagau, he 
 revels in the ligures which his imagination, under the 
 influence of the ancient mythology, sends bubbling up in 
 his mind ; and his revelry has in it all the contagion of faith. 
 
oo 
 
 And heroin lay his groat influence to stir the Athenians. 
 His gods and furies and ghostlike personifications were 
 realities to his audience ; through their belief he reached 
 their hearts which he inflamed with his own poetic fire. 
 Strength was to the Greeks an actual personality, sent down 
 from the council of Jupiter to bind rromt^theiis to the rocky 
 shadows of Mount Caucasus, just as Milton's picture of 
 Satan has become a true picture to many l]il)le readers. 
 The Titans, in the days of iEschylus, were still to be seen at 
 work in the earthquakes, and all the known forces of nature 
 were positive personal activities. Th;; (Jorgons were to the 
 Athenians, what witches were to ]\[ac])eth and his vassals; 
 Hades was no fancy, no pro})hctic li'-Il, ])ut the actual abode 
 of the dead, with its presiding deities and shadowy multi- 
 tudes. The war in heaven whicli threw the iinpcrlum into the 
 hands of Jupiter, and sent Saturn dowii to " bottomlef-s per- 
 dition " was to the Greeks no myth, but the actual fact of 
 pre-cosmic times. Every forest, river and mountain had its 
 presiding divinity. Gods and demi-gods were men < reat<»d 
 on a gigantic scale. Between human nature and god nature 
 there was only the measure between the pigmy and the giant. 
 The passions of hatred, de.spair and reveng*> in the gods 
 formed only a higher phase of the same impuls(\s in men. 
 And it was from this treasure house of mythological faith 
 and experience that the genius of vEschylus drew its 
 inspiration. The sublimity of his mind v/as the su])limity of 
 myth, and mythical terror, To inspire the Athenians with 
 tragic awe at the uncontrollabl(» ^ ower of Jupiter, and 
 the evil losults of ambitious tendencies against the will of 
 the gods, is evidently the aim of the Promrtheua. And is not 
 the poet's success the success of trag -dy itself ? The play, 
 like many others of ^Eschylus, is built up of the gloomiest 
 passages of mythical and heroic images. The imagination 
 of the writer gains the mastery over art. The true spirit of 
 genius :'s seen in the vivid conceptions almost unconsciously 
 
— in- 
 born of the mind which stud every chorus and wliioh 
 Kparklo liko ^(Musiu the j^rosscr S(?tling oi' tho actor'.s words. 
 "iEsehyhis doi»s what is rig-ht Avithout knowing- it." said 
 Sophoclt's. "J lis plays are not tragedies, hut tragedy itself," 
 said Schl.egel. " Ilis greatest dramas, like all hig'he.st poetry, 
 formed th(! tranced insight of the imagination," say.s the 
 modern critic. 
 
 TurniiiLT from lln^ higlicr dev«dopment of tragedy in the 
 sul)limity of the dramatic genius of iEschylus we n^trace 
 our steps in i)oiid of lini" to st'ck in tho uncertainty of 
 theory the origin of the CJreek comedy. While tragedy, in 
 its intimate association with r<'ligious rit(\s and ceremo- 
 nies, fell at a very I'arly ])eriod under the fostering pro- 
 tection of the State, comedy seei; to have attained to 
 some delinitt^ dramatic" form only after a long ]ieriod of ir- 
 regular growth. The derivation of the word has some 
 historical imporlanc in stn'ngthening the claim of the Dori- 
 ans as tin* inventors of the art, if we agree to derive it from 
 li-onuL the Doric word for villagt', and not from hvinos, a 
 hand of reveller^ And yet the theory, that as tragedy was 
 develop<'d from the dithyramb and cyclic chorus, so co)nedy 
 took its rise from the productions of the early comic sn- 
 tiri<'al poets and Iromthtj phallic ])roccssions in connection 
 with the vintage festivities, allbrds a reasonable excuse for 
 adoi)trng the latter derivation of I he word. The komoi or 
 vintages processions, ^vere originally ceremonies in honour 
 of Phales, the associate deity of Dionysus, which eventually 
 degenerated into a kind of carnival, at which jests and rilnvld 
 songs were indulged in by those who took part in the fun 
 and frolic of the occasion. During these festivals, the holi- 
 day seekers of Megara wu're accustomed to pass from village 
 to village in their rude w^aggons, singing satirical hymns as 
 a part of the impromptu exhibitions of which the so-called 
 holiday chorus of Dionysus formed the centre, and allowing 
 no one who came in the way of their maudlin frenzy to 
 
— 24 — 
 
 oscapo thoir not altogothor harmless inirlh. Among the 
 
 viHaGrors of Attica iu i.'ter times Ihoiv existed a custom 
 
 somewhat similar in its ellects, according to which they 
 
 would enter the city at night, with their faci\s disguised Ijy 
 
 the lees of wine, and make merry by means of lampoons and 
 
 satirical verses at the expense of those who had given them 
 
 <.'ause of offence in their condu("t of public alfairs. It is 
 
 difficult to say how lar these customs were connected \A'ith 
 
 the origin of comedy, yet there is reasonable ground for ])e- 
 
 lieving that the toleration of this mardi gras of ancient 
 
 times and of its abusive speeches formed th(» traditionary 
 
 excuse or license, which protected Aristo])hanes and the 
 
 ^tti«^ comedy-writers in llicir ridicule of Ihi- i)hilosophers 
 
 and public men of Athens. It is also not improbal)le that 
 
 in the special hymns and choruses sung on tliese holiday 
 
 and turbulent occasions may be recognized \\n' nuclei from 
 
 which comedy was developed, just as lrag(>dy sprung from 
 
 the religious or cyclic chorus ; Ihous'h there is no direct 
 
 historical warrant for saying that any of tliese compositions 
 
 ever assumed a definite dramatic form or V'.'ere incori)orated 
 
 in subsequent comcMlies. 
 
 Beyond mere philological surmise, the idea that comedy 
 had its origin among the Dorians is further fortified by the 
 fact that their descendants, the Spartans, had a kind of 
 comedy iri which the Ilclots made sport lor their masters; 
 but this, which was more or less pantomimic in its chara*- 
 ter, had littl<> in common with the true Greek or Attic 
 comedy. The historic ])iitli-place of the comedy of Aristo- 
 phanes and his contemi)oraries is Megara, whence the art 
 was exported which iSusarion introduced into the country 
 districts of Attica, and Epicharmus developed in Sicily. 
 Susarion was the first of the comic poets to turn comedy- 
 writer, or comedian-author, just as Thespis was the first of 
 the rhapsodists to turn tragedy-writer and actor ; and near- 
 ly all we know of him, is as a kind of itinerant showman 
 
— 25 — 
 
 performing- among the Attio villages. It is Epicharmus 
 \vho lui. been honoured with the title ol' the father of 
 comedy. In the early i)ar^ of Ihe hfth century before Christ 
 the Sicilian colony hud reached the zenith of its glory in the 
 sph'ndour of lliero's court at Syracuse, and it is under the 
 patronage of that king that we are to look for the full 
 develoi^nient of \vhat has b(H^n called the Sicilian comedy 
 in the hands of Epicharmus, I'hormos, and Deinolochus. 
 Of the Itist two wo know little i'xcept the names of the 
 comedies they wrote. Phormos was an Arcadian, and as 
 tutor of the king's children was held in much favour at 
 the Syracusan Court. He is said to have written six com- 
 edies. Deinolochus, tic contemporary and rival of Epi- 
 charmus, wrote fourteen dramas, of live of which the titles 
 have been preserved. ])y fur the greatest of the three 
 writers, howeVi-r, was l']picharmus. He was born in the 
 island of Cos. Alter spending some time as a student 
 under Pythagoras, he took uj) his n^sidence at Megara, in 
 Sicily, and there set himself the task to reform the earlier 
 Sicilian <lrama, and to drive from the stage that vulgar 
 bulloonery which marked the customs from which comedy 
 siH'ung. Several fnigments of his writings have been pre- 
 served. In his phiys there seems to have been as little plot 
 as in the early Attic tragedy. The wit and humour of his 
 pieces, set in clevt'r dialogues, played around the mytholo- 
 gical records of gods and heroes, or parodied the scientific 
 thouuht and inv«'stigation of that dav. As an illustration 
 of his travesties of the gods, may be cited his comedy of the 
 Muiridi^c of Ilrbe, in which the greater part of the fun is 
 drawn irom the supposed gluttony of the Olympic heroes. 
 The habits of the Sicilians, who are said to have deu'enerated 
 from sheer excess, must have added to the piquancy of the 
 \ plot, when they beheld the gods satirized on account of 
 
 that gluttony which was an every day occurrence among 
 ^themselves. In their excess in eating and drinking may 
 
— 2a — 
 
 probably be Ibuiul the cause of the popuhirity of the para- 
 mite, a character which ]']pichaniius has the credit of in- 
 venting, and ■which has been perpi'tuuted in tlie lioman 
 plays of riautus and Terence. Having the reputation of a 
 philosoplier of the Pytliagorean order, Epicharmus also 
 introduced a vein of philosophical thought into some of 
 his plays, \Yhich probably formed the source from which 
 Euripides in this respect largely drew his innovations in 
 Attic tragedy. The fragments of the writings of Epichar- 
 mus remaining to us, howevcM-, give no definite outline of 
 the form which the comedy assumed in his hands, or of 
 the relation between his chorus iind actors. AVe know 
 more of the literary and critical character of his plays, 
 which seem to have embraced a wide variety of topics, 
 mythological, philosophical, social and political, than the 
 manner in which tliey were re[)resentedon the stage. His 
 praises, uttered by later Grecian writers, moreover, leave 
 no room to doubt that his reform in comedy was a reform 
 inaugurated by tlie highest g.Miius. Before his time the 
 Sicilian comedy was little bt>tter than the irregular pas- 
 quinade ol revellers, such as that pourtrayed by iSir AYalter 
 Scott in his description of the "Abbot of Unreason," or the 
 carnival frolics still to be wilnessrd in some of the Italian 
 towns; and thouuh it is diiliculi to establish anv direct 
 historical connection between the so-called Sicilian comedy 
 and the old Attic comedy, except in their common Megarian 
 origin, yet the inventive talent oi Epidiarnuis ha« been 
 duly recognised by all critics as one of the most important 
 elements in the development of the art of comedy writing. 
 Attic comedy is usually considered in its three aspects, 
 the old,''^^ the middle and the new. The old comedy seems 
 
 * There i? some dinienlty in <listin;.'-!ii,sIiiii;,Mlu' olil f.oin the niidilh' roiiiefly. 
 The lihiys which h.ive 'men iiu'Iinled iinilcr (he iniilijli' ((iiiumIv itrc supiidsed to 
 have been ukjii' .siibiliied in tlii'ir lone, witii liicii- wittieisnis Hurnewlml ^,'eneinlii;ed: 
 they were nun-]ioliti';iil. Of the new conndy Wf know mine troni tli'' iniilsitioiia 
 of Latin comedy-writers; (or it was from the new comedy timt I'laiitns and 
 Terence borrowed the (dots which so long amused the Hou'ian ciiiieus in such 
 plays as the Cuptivi and the Adc'jJii. 
 
— 27 — 
 
 to have developed with the growth oi" Athenian democracy. 
 It opened up a new source of amusement to a peophu so 
 engrossed in politics as tlie Athenians, l)y satirizing poli- 
 tical events, and social weiiknesscs, aiul by ridiculing the 
 men who stood proniinenily l)eiV)rc the public gaze- — the 
 statesmen, orators and ]:>hil()S0[)hers of the time ; jind in 
 this way it cam*; to lose much of tlie vulgarity and obscene 
 wit of Susarion's time. Ci<'ero says, that, as an iniluence 
 in politics and a restrain*- on morals, it received the sanc- 
 tion of Imv ; though it is also known that on several 
 occasions its virulence had to be repressed by the Archons. 
 The earliest of llii> old comedy authors to be men- 
 tioned here is Chiunides, who wrote at least three co- 
 medies, of which tilt} names and a few fragments sur- 
 vive. Just suffieient to indicate their political tendency. 
 His contemporaries ^vere Magnes and l']ephantides. The 
 former, a native of the same deme in which Thespis, the 
 father of tragedy, was brought up, is mentioned by Aris- 
 tophanes as an old man neglected by a once favouring 
 public, and as the author of st^veral plays ; from two of 
 these, it may be said, tin; author of the Birth and Frogs 
 borrowed these titles. Eci>hantides is known only from his 
 nickname JO/j/Nias, and from one of his plays the Sat//rs, 
 in whii'h the State appointed a deilnite chorus, aiul there- 
 by for the lirst time raised the Attic comedy to the dig- 
 nity of a satyrical play. 
 
 In tracing the devcloiunent of the Attic comedy up to 
 the time of Aristophanes we need only mention other 
 three of his predecessors. First comes Cratinas, who has 
 been called the iEschylus of political comedy, and who 
 has been spoken of in the following words by a Greek 
 writer: "Those who first in Attica constructed the geni^ral 
 scheme of comedy ])rought in their characters without 
 method, and placed as their higJiest object excitement to 
 laughter. But when Cratinas took it up, he iirst limited 
 
— i>8 — 
 
 tlio number of (lianictor.s to thivo, thu.s » oiTcH'tinfr- tho 
 invi^ularity, aiul moreover, he added a .sei'iovis incral ol)je('t 
 to the mere amusement in eom(>dy, by reviling* evil-doers, 
 and chastising them as it were wiih a i)ubli<' scourn-e 
 Nevertheless, oven he sliows traees oi" earliness, and even 
 slig-htly a want of method."' Tie seems to liave out rivalled 
 on more than ont» occasion Aristophanes, the S(H)hoeles of 
 comedy, whom ho ritlicules as a peclant, and treats to a 
 shower of liis own virulence, lie wrote iweniy-one jilays 
 of which the names and luimerous frjignients are still 
 extant. The second of the three authors is Crates, who in 
 imitating Epicharmus. was less virulent in his satire tlian 
 Cratinas, conlining himself in his ])lots to the all'airs of 
 life in their more generalized aspe( t. and shunning every- 
 thingin the way of personal abuse. Of his plays there is but 
 one fragment left, which indicates, so far, the moderate tone 
 of his writings. The third name is that of Eupolis, iipon 
 whom the mild example ol' Crates seems to have been lost, 
 lie was brilliant in his wit and refined in his style, ])ut 
 was accustomed, it is said, to break out into the scurrility 
 and rude personalities of eiulier times. Somewhat in that 
 spi . which animates the editors of some of our daily 
 journals in their political prejudi<es and i)aitizanship, he 
 seems to have used his pen in lampooning the person 
 against whom his political spleen wa- for the moment 
 aroused, '"pursuing a ndentless o])position policy against the 
 democratic party aiul their aristocratic headers." He is said to 
 have been drowned l)y the Hcrapegra(\^ Alcil)iades whom he 
 had ridiculed in the Bajdni, a play in which tin; ribaldry 
 and obscenity indulged inby the young aristocrats of Athens 
 were exposed. It is uncertain that either the offence or the 
 punishment occurred, though the retribution may have; 
 been held up as a warning to sul^sequent scurrilous writers. 
 There is no doubt but that the vituperative spirit of Eupolis 
 passed all ordinary bounds, especially when he turned his 
 
— 29 — 
 
 poll against his rrioiid Aristophanes whom he had previous- 
 ly assisted In composing the Kniu;hls. 
 
 The comedy-writers above enumerated, however, only 
 glimmer like stars of a secondary magnitude in the morning 
 twilight oi'Aristoplianes' great reputation. The name Aris- 
 tophanes is the synonym ic r Greek Comedy, as it is from 
 his dramas we are a])le to learn for ourselves what it was in 
 the hey-day of its fame and liighest development. AVe 
 know, it is true, from the fragments of his predecessors, and 
 from ri'ferences made by him and other writers, that comedy 
 must have fallen into his hands in a well developed condi- 
 tion : and it is even said by some critics that had fate pre- 
 served the works of his contemporaries, as it has his, the 
 ix-rmanent position he now occupies as the greatest of 
 (ireek comedy-writers might have been I'lidangered. Be 
 this as it may, it is from his eleven plays handed down to 
 nodern times that we can know with cer<^ainty the form 
 comedy had assumed in his tini". lilxtemporaneous etibrt 
 on the stage had disappinired in the iixed dramatic arrange- 
 ment of dialogue and chorus. As in tragedy, the chorus 
 was a Stato-appoinled body, duly trained and regulated in 
 ts actions in the theatre. The number of a-.-tors was re- 
 duced \o three. Tiiere \vere <-omp(>titions among comedy- 
 writers as among tragedy-writers, and ilie emulation to 
 gain tli(> prize was as great in the one as in the other. In 
 his time thi^ parahasis or inti'rlude attained to the fulness 
 of its popularity and influence, while the language employ- 
 ed was developed into the ])urest of Attic, standing as it 
 do(\s midway between the everyday speech of the citizens 
 and the iigurative style of the tragic poets. From his plays 
 we learn with pleasurable effect, of the license whit'h once 
 prevailed in (Jrecian manners, and can analyze the wit and 
 humour, the satire and fancy, the ingenious vi-rsatility of 
 him who has porlayed so well the ludicrous side of Athen- 
 ian civilization. The intellectual power which begat such 
 
— 30 — 
 
 dramas as the Knights, tho Clouds, and the Birds was woll 
 worthy the oulou'y (>nii<! ^nvati'st i.'iud of Groeco, which 
 may bo road in I'lato'.s Uimous oi)i<>-ram. As far as wo of 
 tho prosont timo have boon permit Jod to judge, Aristoph- 
 anes stands uno([uallod among' the eomody-wriiers of 
 Greece. The richness of his imagination is litly governed 
 by the gracefuhioss of his Umguage whicli runs in a pure 
 Attic stream. Nearly every page of his writings indicate 
 tho careful skill of tho linishod artist, vvhilc many of his 
 choruses breathe tho pnr(>st s[)irit of poetry. In nearly 
 every one of his i)lays, Ik? retains his inlluiMice upon the 
 reader by means of his playful irony, his sly allusions and 
 his intimate knowledge of liunian nature. J'Jvon when 
 in tho Clouds, tho satirist belittles the philosopher whom 
 Xenophou and Plato have trained us to admire and njvere, 
 the imagination runs riot with our judgment, and we are 
 apt for the moment to look upon tScjcrates as merely an ad- 
 vanced type of the Sophist, a man of many words, a busy- 
 body. Nor need wi' wonder at tho havoc thus wrought 
 upon our good nature by an iniluenco which worked such 
 mischief to " the noblest of the Greeks," among tho.so who 
 ought to have known him better than W(^ can possibly do. 
 Socrates himself evidently knew how tho Athenian mind 
 had been warped to his disadvantag*^ by Aristophanit; cari- 
 cature ; at least he is represented by I'iato as making at 
 his trial ;i pointed reference to tho evil iniluenco. The 
 prejudice created in the student's mind, however, is only 
 momentary. He soon perceives that tho caricature is too 
 broad to have any hi.storic signili<'ance. It is the conserva- 
 tism of comedy run mad, with a, method in its madness. 
 As is well known, the r(^^-tlessness of thought during the 
 lifetime of S;)cratos was a groat cause of alarm to Athenian 
 orthodoxy. The logical or rather illogical quibbles of the So- 
 phists played havoc with the mythology on which paganism 
 rested ; and when true science lifted its head in the So- 
 
— 31 — 
 
 cratic philosophy, it was an easy iiuitU'r lor the iinrelieetiiig 
 popuhu'e to develope Socrates, tJic lliijiker, into the greatest 
 of the Soplii.sts. Thus when Aristophanes, in the legitimate 
 spirit of the old or politieal comedy, made sport of the So- 
 phists in the person of Socrates, the best known of Athen- 
 ian philosophers, he merely prepared a dish which he 
 believed the Athenians would relish. It was the business 
 of comedy to make sport of every innovation ; and if Socra- 
 tes was not a So|)hist, he was certainly an innovator, and 
 this was im)l)a])ly sufiicient to justify th(? great comedy- 
 writer in his own mind, in as.soiiaiing with his name all 
 the absurdities of the Sophists. In the same light, must 
 be viewed tlu^ pictures which Aristophanes gives us of 
 Cleon, Euripides, and others. As author, he wrote to sa- 
 tisfy the conservatism of a dominant di-mocracy, the bitterest 
 kind of conservatism. To produce a pleasing effect ho 
 appealed to the ignorance* which has light enough oidy to 
 laugh at wisdom; and yet, strange though it may appear, in 
 such service, the (jrr(>ek comedy r(-ach(Hl its culminating 
 point. TragtHly as Aristotle, says, purilies our allections by 
 terror and pity, and the comedy of Aristophanes had evi- 
 dently for its purpose a like puriiication by laughter and 
 ridicule. " N'-ver again," saysGroie, "will the full and un- 
 shackled force of comedy besoexliibitcd. With a universal 
 liberty in point of sid)ject, there is combined a poignancy 
 of deri.sion and satire, a fecundity of imagination and 
 variety of turns, and a richness of poetical expression such 
 as cannot be surjiasscd and such as fully ex}>lains the 
 admiration exiv.ossed for him by the philosopher I'lato, v>'ho 
 in other respects must have regarded him with unquestion- 
 able disapprobation. His comedies are pojnilar in the largest 
 sense of the word, addressed to the entire body of male 
 citizens on a day consecrated to festivity, and providing for 
 their anuisement or derision with a sort of drunken abun- 
 
— 32 — 
 
 dance, out of all persons or things standini^ in any way 
 prominent before the public eye." 
 
 The enterprise of the students of some of our American 
 colleges in resuscitating' the Cl'Jf/i/ins Rc.c and the; Anli'j!;one 
 of Sophocles as stage performances, adds a furthiT deii^roe 
 of interest to any modern investigation in connection with 
 the Greek Drama. The iirst attempt to place a (J reek play 
 upon the stage of a modern theatre was made by the 
 management of Covcnt Garden in 184'). The experiment 
 was repeated in J)iiblin, when the part of Anfi^-onr was 
 taken by an actress, whosi; fame was at its heiglit, when 
 the writer was a student in Glasgow. The representation 
 was spoken of as a great success, just as were the late 
 efforts of the students of Harvnrd and Toronto universities. 
 But the word success in such criticisms can only be used 
 in a limited sense. Such resuscitations can give but a 
 feeble picture of the grand semi-religious dramatic festivals 
 which the Athenian ])opulace was wont to enjoy two 
 thousand years ago. With the exception of the Olympic 
 Games, there was no great(^r event in the routine of Athe- 
 nian existence than a contest among the trau'edy and 
 comedy writers ; and the expense itself of .some of these 
 dramatic representations — frequi»ntly more tha.i five hun- 
 dred thousand dollars — alfords us some idea of the extra- 
 vagant grandeur of the theatre of Dionysus and its 'pro- 
 perties.' With its tiers of seats rising one upon th(^ other 
 in the semi-circular sweep of a hill-side, this great structure 
 is said to have accommodated thirty thousand people, and 
 in such a way that all could see and hear. From far and 
 wide, the country folks flocked to witness the plays which 
 had previously been selected by a council appointed lor 
 that purpose; with the Athenians themselves it was m tre 
 or less a religious duty to attend the theatre. In early 
 times the admission was free, but eventually to prevent 
 disorder and overcrowding a charge of two obols was 
 
•■)>> 
 
 made, though it bocnrnc customaiy for the State to pay for 
 the indigcMit, in ordiT that no one considered worthy would 
 be excluded from joiniuuf in the ceremony of the i)ul)lic 
 adoration of th«? national di'ity. To exclude a Dionysian 
 devotee from the theatrical festivities on account of his 
 poverty would have been as j^ross an insult to Athenian 
 piety, as it would be to Christian piety to shut the cluirch 
 door in tk ) face of one whose all is the widow's mite. 
 Each person provided himself with a cushion for his seat, 
 while there were reserved seats '\ the front for those high 
 in authority. Women wer*^ allowed to be present at the 
 tragedies, but the comedies were only for the males. The 
 expense of training a cliorus was generally assumed by a 
 wealthy citizen who was ambitious to stand well with the 
 democracy. The person who occupied this ollice was 
 known as the choniij^tis, and Xenophon tells us of the dig- 
 nity attached to the i)osition. lie also droits a hint in re- 
 gard to the rivalry which sometimes sprung up between 
 successive choragi, who as supervisors of theatrical arrange- 
 ments became partners or patrons of the poets in competi- 
 tion, and took upon themselves the heaviest share of the 
 responsibility of success or failure. As the chorus was 
 appointed by the State, the needy dramatist in these days 
 as in ours had not un frequently to seek shelter in the po- 
 litical influence of a richer neighbour. Of the manner in 
 which the competitioiis were conducted we know very 
 little; but as might be expected under the active emula- 
 tion of extravagant choragi, no expense was spared in 
 arranging a tetralogy for the stage. Itlverything must have 
 been on a magniiicent scale of splendour. The stage itself 
 was a large oblong platform, facing ^vhat we call the 
 ' pit ' or the open space on the ground floor set apart 
 for the chorus and the satyric dances. Is breadth 
 was very narrow for its length. Above and below it, 
 
 there was the necessary machinery for lowering a god 
 
 8 
 
— 34 — 
 
 through the lleocy clouds of linen, or for raising some 
 wretched shade or demi-god from Pinto's realms. There 
 were, it is said, splendid decorations ot carved wood shining 
 Avith gold, and immense shifting scenes which in later 
 times were arranged according to the principles of perspec- 
 tive. There were three doors for the actors, whose actions 
 on the stagci were subject to the most formal regulations. 
 There was also a curtain which could b.» drawn up through 
 a slit in the ont of the stage, by means of strings running 
 over pulleys, to be used when it was necessary to conceal 
 the operations of the scene-shifting, ll] very thing, however, 
 was constructed on an exaggerati'd s-ah*. The actors and 
 the chorus were alike superbly attired in long llowing 
 robes of brilliant hue- and costly texture. The thick soled 
 buskin added greatly to the natural height of the actors, 
 while their utterance was strengthened by means of a pipe 
 inserted in the mask which they always wore. On this 
 account, notwithstanding all th' pantomimic magnilicence, 
 which neither the students of Harvard nor Toronto could 
 hope to equal, the Athenian stage must have fallen far 
 short of what we nowadays think the stage ouii'lit to be. 
 There must havi> been much of " the art that appears " and 
 little of "the art which hides itself" in tln^ conduct of 
 the Athenian actor upon the stage. The ' tragic walk ' 
 of the Athenian Booth or Irving may have been in 
 keeping with the siiblime iiunbics of the divine ^Eschylus 
 as far as Athenian dramatic taste went, but it could 
 not have been other than unnatural. The heavy cop- 
 per mask must have hidden <'very facial expression. 
 The clumsy buskin must have impeded the natural move- 
 ment of the actor's body as he passed across the stage, 
 just as the mask-tube must have given an artificial tone to 
 every word he uttc^red. The varying emotions excited by 
 the changeful expression of the eye, the muscular play of 
 the features running over the whole gamut of the passions, 
 
the heart and blood action in the? listener produced by the 
 throbbings of the human voice from grave to gay, from 
 deep wrath or indignation to the high tone of jubilancy — 
 these must have been oxporienccd by the Athenians more 
 from their orators than from their actors. The Greek stacre 
 was a mirror convex in its effects : everything was gigan- 
 tic but often out of proportion. And thus it is that when 
 we seek the origin of thai inlluence which the drama exer- 
 cised upon the Athenian mind we must fall back upon the 
 genius of the dramatist. lie it was who by his literary 
 efforts fortified the Athenians' faith in the gods and thus 
 l)romoted Greek civilization. It was the religious spirit 
 more than the intelh^ctuality of Athens which was played 
 upon by the art of its dramatic poets ; and hence with one 
 of the factors of the effect lost in the past, our modern stage 
 representations of Greek plays can only be successful in a 
 very limited sense.