"1 [ ] I ANTITONH AN ACCOUNT OF THE PRESENTATION OF THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES AT THE LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY APRIL SEVENTEENTH AND N1NETEKNTH NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS, SAN FRANCISCO 1903 '"/>)< IX lit , 190} Press >an Francisco WE D E D ! C A T E THIS V O L U M K TO T H K M I ) M O R V OF LINDA I)()\VS COOKS EV WHOSE SYMPATHY AND HELP LIGHTENED CONSTANTLY THE TASK OF THOSE \VHO TOII.KD OVER THE ANTIGONE. CONTEXTS The Antigone at Stanford University, by H. \V. ROLFE i Antigone : A Dramatic Study, by A. T. MURRAY 4 The Choral Side of Antigone, by H. RI/SHTON. FAIRCLOTGH 22 Programme of the Original Presentations at Stanford University 67 THE ANTIGONE AT STANFORD UNIVERSITY. THIS little volume is to commemorate the presentation, at Stanford University, in April, 1902, of the Antigone of Sophocles, in the original Greek, with Mendelssohn's choral music. This enterprise was taken in hand in December of 1901. Four months were given to preparation for it. The roles were assumed by members of the Greek department, students and instructors. The chorus was drawn, largely, from the university Glee Club. The university orchestra prepared the instrumental music. Cast, chorus, and orchestra were self-trained, except for help in stage-grouping from a teacher of dramatic art, Mr. Leo Cooper, of San Francisco, and the general musical oversight exercised by Mr. A. L. Scott Brook, the organist of the memorial church. The costumes were made on the ground. A translation of the Antigone was prepared and published, for purposes of preliminary study and for use at the perform- ances. Lectures were given, before the university, interpretative of the dramatic action, the function of the chorus, the music. The play was read by many in the Greek. The entire university, from the first, took the deepest interest in the matter, as did groups of persons in San Francisco, Berkeley, and San Jose. The initial performances were given in the Assembly Hall, on the evening of Thursday, April ijth, and the morning of Saturday, April i9th. They w r ere successful, so much so that it was decided to take the play to Southern California. This involved further interruption of university work, but it seemed certain that there would be gain to balance that loss. The aim in preparing 2 ANTIGONE tin- ])lay had been, from the outset, to strengthen the cause of < in-ek studies on the Pacific Coast. So excellent a result in that direction had been achieved here in Central California that there could be no doubt of the response in the cities of the South. The university, therefore, granted a week's leave of absence. The play \vas given in Los Angeles, on April 2^1; in 1' den.i, on April 241)1; and in Santa Barbara, on April 2^th. The expenses of the trip, above receipts, were met from the surplt. the Stanford performances. I hiring the week of absence the directors of the play received rdial invitation from the University of California to gi\ e a final performance at Berkeley, in the Harmon (iymnasinm, on May loth. It was accepted. Meanwhile there was a third presentation at Stanford, on May 8th. President \Vheeler placed the matter at Berkeley in the hands of an efficient committee, who made all arrangements and assembled a large and generous audience. This last representation was the best of the series of seven, and the most gratifying. The impression made by the play upon the audience seemed to be the same at every performance. The interest was int<-: he emotion deep. No one's attention wandered. Every one loo much moved for frequent applause. All, even to the children present, were absorbed by the beauty of the costumes and -pictures and acting and music and choral evolutions. At the end, as the chorus man. hed from sight, the audience rose and left the place, it seemed, with much the feeling with which the Greeks must have risen on the slopes of the Acropolis, lifting their eyes to the familiar landscape once more, from the spot where, during the nmniing hours, they had seen only Antigone and Creon and the woes of the house of I.abdacus. The final outcome of the play has been a remarkable inten- sification, throughout the university and in many preparatory schools and high schools, of respect for classical studies and ANTIGONE 3 interest in them. Through these performances many came to see, lor the first time, the truth of Thoreau's fine words: "Two thousand summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian literature, as to her marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal tint, for they have carried their own serene and celestial atmos- phere into all lands, to protect them against the ccirosion of time, works as refined, as solidly done, and as beautiful almost, as the morning itself; for later writers, say what we will of their genius, have rarely, if ever, equaled the elaborate beauty and finish, and the lifelong and heroic literary labors, of the ar.v! -nts." H. W. ROLFE. AN.TIGONE: A DRAMATIC STUDY. THE Antigone of Sophocles, one of a half-do/en extant < ireek tragedies which deal with tin- fortunes of the royal house of Thebes, was produced in 442 or 440 B. C. A bare statement of the story, in so tar a.-^ it des the action of the play, is as follows: CEdipus, son of Laius, Kinu of Thebes, and of his wife [ocasta, had all unwittingly fulfilled the awful doom which the oracle had declared should be his : he had slain his own father and become the husband of his own mother. \Vhen the hori relationship became known Jocasta handed herself, and (Kdipns. snatching the brooch with which her robe was fastened, dashed out his own eyes in horror. From this union had sprung two sons, Polynices and Eteocles, and two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. (Kdipus of whose end varying tales are told had cursed his sons, that they should divide his inheritance with the sword. They resolved to rule alternately, and Polynices. the elder (tor so Soph' conceives him . after rei^nin.u a year, yielded the throne to his brother. When, however, the second year had elapsed. Kteocles refused to iMve place, and Polynices, in wrath, withdreu Ar^os, where he allied himself to the royal house, and, in league with six other chieftains, led an army against his native land to win by force the throne that was his due. Tlu- attack failed, the Arrive host tied in rout, and the two doomed brothers fell each slain by tin- other's spear. It is at this point that the Antigone opens. The kingship has devolved upon Creon, the brother of Jocasta, and hence the 4 ANTIGONE 7 uncle of Antigone and Ismene. He has put forth an edict that Eteocles shall be buried with all honor, but that the corpse of Polynices shall be left unburied, for dogs and birds to rend. It must be remembered that this, to the Greek, was the most dreadful fate that could befall a man, for on the burial of the corpse depended the welfare of the spirit in the world below. It was therefore a sacred duty to perform due rites over the dead if it were only the symbolic sprinkling of a few handfuls of dust and this duty rested with especial weight upon the next of kin. Hence it is easy for us to understand, in measure at least, the position in which Antigone was placed, and the pott, with great art, has at once emphasized that position and shown how impossible it would have been for the high-minded girl, filled with loyalty to the dead brother, traitor though he was, to have chosen any other course. For the characterization of the person- ages in the play is wholly admirable. With the concentration, the restraint of antique art, they are not analyzed with the subtlety which so engrosses us often on the modern stage ; the soul is not laid bare before us ; but the overpowering emotion or resolve is thought of as already possessing the heart, so that we see it in act, moving resistless to its inevitable end. So the proud girl, nobly loyal to the sacred duty that is laid upon her, recks not of the consequences to herself and can be coldly defiant toward Creon, for whose short-sighted maxims of government and civic duty essentially sound though they are she has but contempt; while, in her exalted mood, to do and to (lit- is a priv- ilege. An Antigone, wavering between a sense of duty to the dead and the fear of the consequences of disobeying the king's edict, would be a figure wholly alien to the spirit of Sophoclean art. Beside Antigone stands her sister, Ismene, a character often misunderstood. She is gentle, loving, and lovable, but not cast in the heroic mould. She recogni/es the duty that rests upon s A X T I G O N E her, as upon her sister, hut, under the circumstances, it cannot be fulfilled: the State has forbidden the act, and defy the Stat<- she cannot. She will pray the dead to pardon her, and live as she may in subjection to those stronger than she. She begs her sister to recall the horrible past of their family patricide and incest, though unwitting, a miserable end for both parents, and now again the death in mutual combat ot their two broth' Shall they defy authority and perish most basely of all? Nay, they are powerless; the dead will forgive. Here two points subtle enough, perhaps, to be overlooked by the casual reader suggest themselves. To Umene, (Veon represents the State, and so it is their bounden duty to obey; to Antigone his edict is the expression of the will of one who, through circumstances, has come to stand at the head oft 1 but who is, alter all, a tyrant in the Greek sense: oii<-, that who arrogates all power to himself and rules justly or unjustly, with mildness or severity, as he will. He may be resi- 1 by the good riti/en; and she says to his face that the j>eople of Thebes side with her. In this view, it is to be rememlx-red, the poet himself and the thousands who thronged the theatre on that spring day so long ago, would join. The second point is that this difference in nature, in temper- ament, this radically different point of view, serves to isolate Antigone from the only person in the play to whom she could look for sympathy. There is no chorus of \\oinen upon whom >he could lean : the chorus is made up of Theban elders, cold and politic in their submission to Creon ; and ( ireek feeling ; eluded the introduction of scenes which would have brought into prominence her relation to her betrothed, H.emon. < -n. In this situation, repelled by the very sister who should h.i with her, small wonder if the tension -he i> under makes her harsh cruelly harsh, we feel. Vet all the more effective are the moments when lo\e for that sister finds expression. ANTIGONE 13 In a great scene in which Antigone, caught in the act of pouring libations over the dead, is brought before the angry king, she calmly acknowledges her guilt if guilt it be and appeals to the eternal and unwritten statutes of heaven, in the face of which his edict sinks into insignificance. Here is, in a sense, the prob- lem of the play more clearly a conflict of duties than in most of the thirty-three Greek tragedies we possess. Strictly speaking, there can be no conflict of duties, since only one can be para- mount at one time ; but it is part of life's tragedy that obedience to a high principle may bring the individual into collision with law, with convention, with family ties ; and the individual may suffer or be crushed in consequence. This holds true even if questions of " poetic justice " be flung to the winds. Sophocles did not weigh Antigone and Creon nicely in the balance that he might apportion to each the due measure of suffering. Those who find Antigone's character not flawless must not use that fact to account for her suffering. That suffering is the inevitable result of the situation in which she is placed. If she seems cruel to her weaker sister, that cruelty is to be explained, in part at least, by the strain she is under, and, in part, by a desire to sa\v that sister's life. For, when Ismene is brought in, she appears in a changed mood. Not strong enough to do and dare with her sister, when the deed was planned, now that it is over and Antigone must die, a great wave of emotion sweeps over her. She can at least die with her. So, when asked, she avows her guilt and takes her stand at her sister's side. She is repelled with words so true, and yet so harsh, that the truth is plain even to Creon. Hut amid the harshness there is seen now and again the love of a sister, too true to brook falsehood, yet the very sadness of whose lot con- sists, in part, in that they two must go their separate ways. Finally Antigone is led away to her dreadful doom to be interred alive. Now the strength that enabled her to act regardless of H A X T I G ONE consequences to herself, the strength that nerved her before Creon, tails her, in a measure, and the inevitab! OM8. Lite is so fair, and she must hid it farewell, must leave lovely Thebes with its fountains, leave the light of day and go down into the darkness, with none to pity, none to mourn! I >euied the joys of love, she shall be the bride of I >eath ! O the pity of it, the mystery of it ! Creon, the king, is a character broadly but forcibly drawn. He is honest and well-meaning, and brings to his position of authority abundant loyalty, and a good stock of sound, if some- what conventional, views of government ; but his nature narrow one, and his point of view only too apt to be personal. In his first speech he lays down the principles of his rule honor to the loyal and dishonor to the disloyal. Hence his edict con- i-i niin^ Polynices, an edict springing, it is true, from a sound principle, but itself violating a higher law. When the guard brings word that that edict has been defied, Creon be< once furious. Brushing aside the opinions of others and brooking no advice, however well meant, he asserts his own view: th the work of disaffected citizens who have bribed the guards, them produce the doer under penalty of an awful fate for th> selves. And all this coupled with many commonplaces, many generalities--how characteristic of a narrow nature! The State has been defied, but so has Creon, and we feel already that : this last fact that rank! So we are prepared in advance for the great scene mentioned above. He has been defied, defied, it now appears, by a n girl, who, instead of breaking down, glories in her act and pr about higher laws than his. Verily she is the man, not he, it perish not miserably, sister's child to him though she be, and betrothed to his own son. Then that sou appears, not a frantic lover, but in the \ spirit of filial submission. And the father shows the fitness of ANTIGONE 17 this submission, the wisdom of his course more generalities, more good maxims yet when the young man ventures to sug- gest counter-considerations which directly concern the father in his position as ruler, Creon is again furious. Shall a mere boy teach him wisdom? Nay, though all Thebes side with the disaf- fected, is not he king, and shall he not rule as he will ? So at last the despairing youth rushes from the stage with words which, we know, betoken a resolve not to survive his betrothed, and Creon who had just bidden his attendants to bring forth "the hated thing" that she might die before her lover's eyes declares the terrible fate in store for her. So is it that passion clouds the mind ; even as Antigone is led away, he breaks out once more, and a noteworthy touch asserts that he is pure in the matter of her death ; but die she shall, and her guards shall have cause to rue their slowness. Now comes the aged seer, Tiresias, with words of warning. Creon is startled with dread, for Tiresias' s words are sooth ; but as the seer declares that it is because of the king's act that the gods have been alienated and bids him rectify the wrong he has done, dread gives place to another feeling not to wrath at first, but, as it were, to bewilderment. Was ever well-meaning man so beset ? Even the seer will send a shaft at him ; and again, in self-defense it may be, he comes back to the same thought : Tiresias has been suborned, hired by malcontents to assail him. Then the seer speaks again, and speaks words of doom, telling of the fate that is in store for the unhappy king, the death of one sprung from his loins in requital for the dead, the shrieks of men and women in his house, the hostility of states whose fallen sons have been rent by dogs and birds. Then Creon breaks down ; hurriedly calling his servants he sets out to undo what he has done, but it is too late. From the lips of a messenger we learn that Polynices's corpse was buried, but that when they reached the cave where Antigone was i8 ANTIGONE entombed, they found her hanging in the noose with which she hud hung herself", and H.i-moii, frantic with grief, clinging to her dead body. A maddened rush at the father who had caused this woe, and then the sword plunged into his own side! Such was the tale, told in part before the queen, who in silent anguish goes within to take her life. Here attain a question of much interest suggests it>elf. Creon first proceeds to give interment to the corpse of Poly nices ; he then goes to liberate Antigone, but is too late. This has seemed a dramatic blemish, a flaw in structure, even to so sound and so sympathetic a critic as Sir Richard Jebb, who maintains that " we are not given any reason for the burial being taken in hand before the release." and who himself holds that Soph. here disregarded probability and the fitting order of events solely that the following speech of the messenger, narrating the cat trophe, might end with a climax and so satisfy rhetorical canons. This seems to me impossible and based upon a wrong inter- pretation of Creon' s character. Rightly understood his attitude from the first is that of one who represents the State. In his ches he ever recurs to that idea, and the grounds upon which his cruel edict regarding Poly nices was bused were grounds of State interest. Short-sighted his policy was, but it was sin< Xow through the terrible words of the seer he learns that the wrath of heaven menaces, not him alone, but the State because of the sin he has committed in leaving the corpse of I'olyn unburied, an act as a result of which the very altars of the gods have been polluted. He will therefore seek to make this good by interring the dead. The gods must be propitiated and the safety of the State conserved. !t is only B dary matter that Antigone is to be released. Tiresias had not mentioned her in his opening speech, in which he had so clearly pointed to tin- king as the one by whose act the favor of heaven had been alien- ated. It is this that tills Creon's mind; and he turns first to the ANTIGONE 21 interment of Polynices as the duty that touches him most nearly as the head of the State. His attitude towards Antigone is not essentially changed ; yet he will release her since the seer has declared that in immuring a living soul in the tomb he has again sinned against the gods, and he will leave nothing undone that might restore his peace. After the messenger's speech telling of the fulfilment of the prophet's words the king again appears. Now he is changed indeed all the joy of life and of kingship gone, and through his own folly. There is no more pride, no more self-confidence ; only heartbreaking grief and the wish that death might come to him too a rash, foolish man, who has himself caused the death of those he loved best. For the rest, the simplicity of structure, the long speeches, the dearth, some will say, of action, little need be said. To the Greek the theory of dramatic structure was not summed up in the development of a good fifth act, nor was he inclined to hasten to the end. He loved well the stately, statuesque scenes, the rhythmical movements of the chorus and its lyric' song ; but he loved, too, effective narrative and logical statement ; and in these speeches he found much that, while it appealed to his sense of reasonableness, added no little to the deep delight that came from seeing the poet's profound interpretation of the facts of life as seen in the play. A> T> MuRRAV . THE CHORAL SIDE OF ANTIGONE. A GREEK tragedy resembles a modern <>]>-ra to this extent that certain portions have a musical setting and are presented by a chorus. This chorus. houe\-er, is not an accidental or external element, hut is, historically, the oldest and most essential characteristic. ( )ri^inally, ind- The Chorm tragedies wen- purely lyrical, BtOl -rth *<->itial to wholly in soni; and dance-. With the development mgt'iy. Q j- ( ij a i ()l , lK . < the chorus was gradually subordinated to this more dramatic element, hut not until the decline of ti art had set in, did the Greek chorus serve as a mere ornament. In Sophocles, therefore, representing as he does the hi^li-^ mark of Greek tragedy, the chorus must be regarded as an artistic essential, and in him the lyric and dramatic ek-m<-nt- blended in perfect harmony. The Greeks themsehes regarded the chm iranialis persona, and this is why, in the Stanford programme of the /A I-'nnction ^ nt 'K f all the dramatis persons, it is the one most in evidence during the play, making its ap: iiiiinediately after the introductory scene i. the f>rolo^it<\ in the ('.reek sense of the word |, and bein^ the last to u-a\ p e the stai^e. Its continuous presence throughout the piece secures for the play a harmony, and an unbroken unity, which the modern dram the Romantic school, with all its merits, can never claim. The ANTIGONE 27 chorus are interested spectators of the action from first to last. They receive and impart information, give and accept counsel, interpret the motives of conduct, relieve the monotony incidental to long speeches, and in various ways facilitate a natural outwork- ing of the dramatic situations. As elders of the State, the chorus of the Antigone are vitally concerned in the welfare of both princes and people. They receive with due respect the message of the new illustrated king, and though they betray a doubt as to the from the wisdom of his course, yet they express their loyal Antigone. submission to his decree (211-220). On learning the startling news that some one unknown has paid the burial dues to Poly- nices, they hazard the conjecture (278-9) that divine hands have done the deed, whereupon they are sharply rebuked by the king. The arrest of Antigone makes a profound impression upon the chorus. That she, a royal maiden, the daughter of CEdipus, should wilfully disobey the king, is past their understanding (376-383). They can attribute her act only to passionate folly (470- In the angry scene which follows, both Antigone and Creon claim to have the approval of the chorus, who however wisely hold their peace, until the appearance of Ismene elicits the beau- tiful anapaests, which show where their real sympathy lies. Their genuine grief over the threatened punishment of Antigone leads shortly to an actual remonstrance with the king (574), who by his curt and sarcastic replies soon silences all opposition on their part. Throughout the scene between Haemon and his father, the chorus adopt a strictly neutral attitude (681-2, 724-5), though on the former's departure they suggest to the king that he should make some allowance for the heat of youth. A moment later, a hint from Creon that Ismene is to share her sister's fate calls forth a veiled protest (770), to which Creon deigns to give heed. As 28 ANTIGONE to Antigone, the chorus attempt no more pleading on her behalf, hut simply inquire by what mode he- intends to put her to death. In the king's absence, the chorus freely avow that pity for Antigone tempts them to rebel against his sentence (800 When the doomed maiden appears they offer words of comfort, which, in her distress, sound like hollow mockery (839), where- upon they confess their conviction that, notwithstanding lu-r nobility of conduct, the punishment was inevitable and is. in a sense, self-imposed i ^72-5 ). Antigone' s last words are addrea to the chorus, as " lords of Thebe," who behold tin- sufferings of this last daughter of their kingly race (94* After the stormy scene between Creon and Tiresias, the chorus plainly warn the king that hi- is pursuing a ruinous course, and as he is now disposed to listen to reason, they counsel him to undo the wrong at once by setting Antigoiv llu- king yields. It is at this point that the dramatic- function of the chorus, in its capacity as an actor influencing the action of the piece, can be seen most conspicuously. In the rest of the play, the chorus serve mainly as the recipients of the evil tidings brought by the messenger, or as the confidants of the unhappy monarch, who now confesses his terrible error to the very men whose advice he had so hastily and foolishly rejected. lint notwithstanding this oft-forgotten importance of the dra- matic side of the chorus, we must emphasi/.e the fact that its / -r-'cti/ "lain function is, after all, not dramatic but lyrical. /'uinfion oft/i,- All great tragedies, whether Sophocleanor Sha'.. pearian. are poems charged with emotion, but while in a Shakespearian play this emotion finds expression in outbursts of lofty poetry on the lips of the principal characi in a Sophodean such imaginative flights an- almost wholly . fined to distinctly lyrical j presented by the whole chorus in true lyrical fashion with song-and-dancc accompaniment In ANTIGONE 31 Shakespeare, such exalted poetry as characterizes certain scenes in the dialogue, e. g., Macbeth' s " Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more,'" or again, the great soliloquies, such as Hamlet's "To be or not to be," or Wolsey's " Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! " however beautiful as poetry, are essentially undramatic in spirit, and always present peculiar difficulties to actors in the rendition. Only the greatest can prevent such scenes from becoming gro- tesque. Now, in a Greek tragedy, these imaginative lyrics which, after all, are essential in some form to every great drama, instead of being diffused throughout the play, appear usually in more concentrated form at the most important stages of the action. The result is that, unlike a modern play, for which stage-managers often feel compelled to provide irrelevant interludes, a Greek tragedy is a continuous, unbroken performance, the purely dra- matic scenes being punctuated, as it were, by lofty choral odes "lyrical interbreathings " which interpret the spiritual mean- ing of the play, and are, therefore, perfectly relevant to the -situation, but which, at the same time, from the manner of their rendition, afford a pleasing relief to the strain on the spectator's attention. In the Antigone there are six of these choral odes beauti- ful compositions, which show much variety in lyrical conception. The first (100-154) is a brilliant one, opening choral and closing with strains of joyful exultation. The Odes of the Theban elders, assembling in response to the -'<"/.;'isot/f, a term which practically coincides with the modern act, comprises Creon's lengthy address upon a kind's duties and the announcement of his edict. This is followed by the startling tidings that some daring person has already violated the edict. Hence, in their second ode (332-375 >, the choru- led to reflect upon the marvelous ingenuity of man, who makes himself master of sea and land ; who subdues to himself the fowls of the air, the fishes of the sea, and the beasts of the field ; and who has provided himself with all resources, save only against Death. This inventive skill brings him to evil as well as to good. \V hen he upholds law and justice (as does Croon i. he and his State prosper, but when in his audacity he breaks the laws, ruin must be his lot. " Never may he share my hearth, or think my thoughts, who doth such things ! " When the sentence of death is passed upon Antigone, tin- chorus (582-625), in saddened tone, ponder on the destiny of the royal house of Thebes, upon which the waxes of trouble n< cease to break. Generation after generation is weighed down with calamity, and now utter extinction threatens the race. What mortal, they cry, can set limits to the power of omnipotent '/.< \\\ divine law, inordinate success or ambition brings to man a rurse, for in his blindness he falls into sin, and then " but for the briefest space fares he free from woe." Thus do the ch unconsciously suggest Creon's subsequent punishment. In the third episode. H.rmon vainly intercedes for his betrothed, and then quits the scene in anger. The charming which follo\\ - o) sings the resistless pout-rot" Love, who sways mortals and immortals alike, and warps the minds even of ANTIGONE 37 the just. It is under his spell that Haemon has been disobedient to his father and disloyal to his king. As Antigone passes to her rocky tomb, the chorus, in their fifth ode (944-987), reflect upon the truth that no mortal can escape fate and recall three other royal personages, who have suf- fered the horrors of a cruel punishment. Danae, a princess of Argos, was immured in a brazen chamber ; Lycurgus, king of Thrace, was imprisoned in a rocky cave ; and Cleopatra, of the ancient house of the Erechthidee, and daughter of Boreas, endured in agony the blinding of her sons by the woman who supplanted her as wife of Phineus. The last ode (1115-1154) has a distinct dramatic purpose. The seer Tiresias has warned Creon that divine vengeance for his offenses most surely awaits him, and after a short consultation with the chorus the king has hastened forth to undo, if possible, his terrible misdeeds. The chorus are filled with hope that his repentance will avert the horrors foretold by the seer, and, in fervid and exultant strains of joyful anticipation, invoke the saving presence of the god, whom Thebes delights to honor the bright and glorious Dionysus. But the lyrical quality, which is so conspicuous in a Greek tragedy, is not necessarily confined to the choral odes, nor indeed to the chorus itself. Thus in the Antigone, two /,,,-/,- y //////< passages in the dialogue are distinctly lyrical, and m'a/o^tu- of the in the original are given in the strophic form, with '" " '"'"" metres characteristic of lyric poetry. The fourth episode (806-943) ' s niainly of this character. Antigone is led forth from the palace, to be conducted presently to her rocky tomb. The full significance of her fate seems to be borne in upon her, as she beholds for the last time the light of the sun and the sacred soil of her native land, and in the presence of the elders she pours forth her sad lament in touching strains. It is worth noticing that the measures assigned to the chorus in 38 ANTIGONE this pathetic scene are less emphatically lyrical than those given to Antigone. Her emotion is naturally at its height at this point, whereas the chorus, though extremely sympathetic, are the less impassioned witnesses, who do not lose sight of the logic of the situation. The second passage occurs near the end of the play. Creon enters (1260) with the body of 1 Lemon, and in accents of remorse and despair bewails his unhappy fate, and prays for a speedy death. The metre, assigned here by the poet to Creon, is mainly the dochmiac, which is expressive of the most intense and tem- pestuous emotion, whereas the chorus employs the metre of ordinary dialogue the iambic trimeter which passes into a marching measure, as the broken-hearted Creon leaves the stage and the chorus follow, chanting a sail strain on the fall that waits upon pride. An analysis of this sort shows how intimately blended in Sophocles are the lyric and dramatic elements of tragedy, and this Four Kinds of brings us to the question of their mode of pr< /'<"// 7f.r/>;> \\\- tation. It should always be borne in mind that iousu, Tragedy. tragedy was at first wholly j yrica] forth in a dance-song. The musical element, therefore, far from being extraneous to Greek tragedy, was an original feature, and even when the dramatic side was fully developed, we have ample evidence that much of the dialogue was rendered with a musical delivery. Plutarch, for instance, tells us that the tragedians fol- lowed the custom, first set by Archilochus, of having their iambics (the ordinary dialogue) only partially, not wholly (as had been the custom ) sung, and musical rccitntiri\ we know, was alu employed very largely on the Greek stage. ' In fact, the presen- tation of a Greek tragedy in ancient times necessitated four kinds of vocal expression, :/:.. plain speech, and three forms of musical or semi-musical delivery, all of which involved an instrumental I Stf Stmtif* in H'!->> <' /.',!.;/ f.,nni,-,in I,:. ANTIGONE 41 accompaniment. These were melodramatic declamation, musical recitative, and distinct melody. It is impossible to define with precision the limits assigned to these modes of delivery in regard to any particular Greek play. Probably considerable latitude was allowed in this respect, so that two choregi would follow a different practice for the same play. Plain speech, without musical accompaniment, was the rule for the trimeters of ordinary dialogue, though we know from Lucian (as well as from Plutarch), that even these were sometimes sung. Melodies were, of course, Plain Speech. employed in the choral odes, as well as in the impassioned lyrical scenes in which the actors participated, e. g. , the laments, in strophic form, of Antigone and Creon. Inter- mediate between plain dialogue and pure lyrics were the portions of tragedy which were Melody. delivered either in musical recitative or in melodra- matic declamation. z The form adopted depended, no doubt, upon the emotional character of the scene, and the place it occupies in the play. Thus melodrama, i. e. , ordinary speech with musical accom- paniment, was the form naturally employed in those anapaestic lines with which the coryphaeus, at the close of a choral ode, calls attention to the appearance of a Melodrama. new character on the stage, as in the case of Creon, Antigone, and Haemon (155-161, 376-383, 626-630). From the musical point of view, melodrama would afford a natural transition from the sung lyrics to the spoken dialogue. In the case of Ismene's entrance (526-530), which is made, not at the end of a choral ode, but in the course of the dialogue between Creon and Antigone, the pathos of the lines uttered would account sufficiently for the introduction of music with the anapaests, while i Some writers make the mistake of failing to distinguish these two modes. Thus Haigh, Tlir Attic 7'ln-atis, p. 301. 42 A N T I G O N E on the other hand the position of the lines used (1180-2). the iambic metre, and the commonplace character of the statement made, would all indicate that Eurydice's appearance was heralded without music of any sort. Creon's final appearance at the side of Haemon's bier (1257-1260) is announced by anap;ests, the melodramatic delivery of which would be a natural mode of | ing from the dialogue to the lyrics which were undoubtedly sung by Creon. On the other hand, recitative, by which is meant a mu- chant delivery, not necessarily confined to a single voice, must have been employed in the anap;estic systems h'fcitatirt'. (110-115, 127-133, 141-147) which separate the strophes of the first choral ode, as well as in the like systems, which are employed by the chorus between the strophes of Antigone's lyrical lament (8I7-S2J Further on in this latter scene, the chorus break into full melody, in response to Antigone's song, employing a short strophe with corresponding antistrophe (853-856=^; The ana] (800-5), with which the coryphueus announces the final appearance of Antigone, may well have been sung in recitative. They full of emotion, and do not introduce plain dialogue, but stand between two strophic systems of lyrics. The single iambic 1 ( 1270, 1293), with which the chorus give to the actor of Creon's part a moment's breathing-space between the strophes of his song. were also probably sung in recitative, which would be the most natural mode of expression for lines in such a position. Certainly, the scene is too intensely lyrical for the employment of plain speech at such points. The same is true of the choral iambics in the remainder of this scene, including the single iambic line (1336) of Creon's, just before the last strophe of his pite n " Yet all I crave is summed up in that pra\ The closing anap;ests, which point the moral of the play, . probably sung in recitative by the whole chorus. The lyrical ANTIGONE 45 agitation, just preceding, has been too intense to permit a sudden drop to mere melodrama, to say nothing of plain speech, and it is hardly necessary to add that the chant of the whole chorus at the close of the play is extremely impressive. ' The combination of these several modes of vocal expression introduced great variety into the presentation of a play, and must have done much toward relieving the monotony y which we are inclined to associate with a Greek ;';/ the tragedy, on account of the unchanged scene, the Presentation. non-employment of interludes, and a strict observance of the unities of time and place. Let us illustrate this statement by that portion of the play which intervenes between the third and fourth choral odes. After the singing of the hymn to Eros (78 1-799) by IUllstra t ion the whole chorus, the coryphaeus chanted in reci- from the tative the following anapaests (800-805). Then come the lyrics sung by Antigone two strophes, two anti- strophes and an epodc (after-song), intermingled with which are the two anapaestic systems chanted by the chorus in recitative, and the single strophe (853-6), with its corresponding antistrophe (872-5), which were sung in melody. In the sudden change to spoken iambics, Creon administers a harsh rebuke for these ' ' songs and lamentations" (883), and sharply orders the guards to lead their prisoner away. Antigone, however, is allowed to renew her lament (891), which is no longer uttered in lyrical song, but has subsided into plain iambics, delivered, I am inclined to think, with a musical accompaniment. As she turns to leave the stage the chorus speak of the fierce tempest in her soul, in melo- dramatic anapaests, which Creon, in disdainful mockery, also employs, as he launches a threat at the guards for their slowness. Antigone's final aiuipa-sts, as the guards at last carry out Creon 's order, may well, in view of the rising emotion, have been ren- i See Haigh, Tin- Attic Th,\iti<\ p. 544. 46 ANTIGONE dered in recitative, thus leading up by a natural gradation t<> the long choral ode, which precedes the entrance of Tiresias. In the choral odes, we have the complete combination of t he- sister arts of poetry, music, and dance, a combination, whi< h, f n jf, far from being artificial, is but the artistic devel- ofthe I.yric opment of an ancient and even primitive con< tion of the essential unity of these rhythmic arts. The Greek lyric or dramatic poet was necessarily a musician, and not only wrote the verses to be sung, but gave them their musical setting. Further, he possessed a practical knowledge of orchestic, and originally taught the chorus the various gestures, postures and attitudes, which, under the name dancing, aided in the expre>sion of emotion and the interpretation of his verse. The Greek dancer desired to give visible expression by m of rhythmical movements of the body, to the words of the song. Hence gesticulation was the most prominent Creek Dancing, feature of the art, and the hands and arms of the dancer were more in evidence than his feet. This dancing was not confined even to the lyrical parts of a drama. \\"e are told, for example, that Telestes, who lived in tin- da\ liylus, was such an excellent artist that in dancing the Scrrn against Thebes, he brought the incidents vividly before his audience. This cannot but refer to his art in illustrating the lengthy descriptive speeches of the play. The whole action of a drama was, of course, followed by the chorus with keen inter and the constant by-play in which it indulged ini^ht well come under the head of dancing. There must, in fact, have been infinite varieties of dancing, though we know that the art was to some extent systematized for purposes of instruction and reduced to certain types. Tragic dances naturally differed from comic 01 and were usually confined to stately and dignified motions. Their character, however, depended entirely upon the nature of the ode. In the Antigone, the invocation to Bacchus belongs to the ANTIGONE 51 class of odes known as hyporchemata, in which the dance-move- ments are unusually lively. This is, of course, in keeping with the situation. The first ode, too, which involves the vivid description of a battle, and the joyous exultation of victors, must have been accompanied by a very spirited dance. In the reflective odes, the dancing was more subdued, but one noticeable artistic feature of a play like the Antigone is the variety of its lyric thought, and the consequent variety of expressive orchestic movements which it involves. The music of the ancient Greeks deserves more than the slight notice which the limits of this paper will allow. It is usual to dismiss the subject with the remark that Greek music was utterly different from the modern art, Creek Music. and being in a primitive stage is hardly worthy of our consideration. ' ' We are deaf to its appeal and incredulous of its beauty." 1 One might as well dispose of Greek mathe- matics in the same way. We should remember that with the Greeks music was ' ' an art as living as poetry or sculpture " - - an art which engaged the attention of their noblest intellects, and upon which many scientific treatises were written. Unfortunately, very little of their actual music has survived, and this little belongs to a late period, when all the arts had sadly declined from their earlier greatness. However, the music of the Hymn to Apollo, which was composed in the third century before Christ, and which, engraved on marble in the Greek notation, was discovered by the French archaeologists at Delphi in 1893, has elicited much admiration from cultivated audiences in Europe and America. because of its ample melodiousness, its noble serenity, and its uplifting spirituality. Judging from this late specimen alone, we may well believe that the best Greek music, as Plato has it, could ' ' sink into our inmost soul and take hold of it most powerfully. ' ' ; I and i From a review of I'lolVnr Macran's Tin- /faii:ii,> '<* in the London TliMM' literary supplement, l>ue., 1901. ? K,-l>nblii\ III, 401' U. >2 ANTIGONE The main difference between the ancient and modern art in the fact that vocal music was pure melody, harmony being ( 'ontra^t confined to instrumental music. All < ireek singing rt'/M Modem \\as therefore in unison, the accompaniment alone being in harmony. This method, as is well known, is frequently employed even today in the sacred music of many great continental churches. In their lyric song, the < in regarded the poetic thought as of prime importance, and the music, aided by the dance, was expected, not to obscure, but to emphasize and illuminate the words employed. Thus the mu>ic of an ode was much less complex than the elaborate harmoni' a modern opera, though, on the other hand, by reason of the intricate rhythmical structure of the ode, it must have been far more complicated than the simple airs, repeated with every stanxa. of our national and popular ballads. At the same time, the rhythm of Greek music was always strongly marked, as we may inter from I'lato and Aristotle. The time, too, was in strict ,n rord with the verse-metre, so that, for example, owing to the frequent use in poetry of eretic (--v-t and pa-onian (-wv) feet, five-fourth time i illustrated by the Hymn to Apollo'}, though quite rare in modern music, was common with the Greek e all, G' music, in its various modi's, whatever be the correct theory . their nature, was able to interpret adequately many states of : ing, and could give fitting and satisfying expression to the var mental attitudes reflected in lyrical song. Knowing then the>e leading facts about the Greek lyric art, let us consider what kind of mr.sir in view of tb.< tin- ancient we should employ in a modern repre- Cation of the AttiigOtU. ' Fat this play, at tin- instance of Frederick William IV of Prussia, Mendelssohn in 1841 composed some of the most beautiful choral music ever written. Those who are thoroughly familiar with both the music and the Greek text know how admirably he has inter- ANTIGONE 55 preted the spirit of the original in strains that appeal to the modern ear. The Greek itself, as well as Conner's German translation, was evidently before the musician's eyes while com- posing his work. In adapting the music to the original text, as was done for the Stanford performances, one very seldom finds that the Greek metrical feet and the musical phrasing do not closely correspond. The metrical accent almost invariably coin- cides with the main beat of the musical measure, and it not infre- quently happens that the music is better suited to the Greek than to. the translation, made "in the metres of the original." The result is a set of brilliant choruses for male voices, which have an almost unique musical value. No one, of course, pretends to claim that Mendelssohn's music enables us to realize, in any degree, the character of the lost original. It must be judged wholly from a points f modern standpoint. And yet certain of its features Resemblance to remind us of the leading characteristics of the Gri ' cf; -'/<" Greek art. A large portion of it is sung in unison ; the rhythm is strongly marked ; each note corresponds, as a rule, to a sep- arate verse-syllable ; and only occasionally has the composer yielded to the temptation of allowing different words to be sung by different parts of the chorus at the same time. Moreover, the frequent use of recitative and melodrama is, as we have shown, thoroughly in accord with Greek usage, and in this connection it is interesting to observe that Mendelssohn's lyric genius has led him to follow pretty closely the general principles observed by the ancients in distributing the forms of musical expression. Above all, the music never overrides the poetic thought, but assists it with such expressiveness that a hearer, though ignorant of the Greek, can hardly fail to follow the general meaning. We have dwelt thus fully upon the main features of Men- delssohn's Antigone, because there are some who maintain that the use of this modern music serves to convey to the spectators a 56 ANTIGONE wrong impression as to the character of a Greek play. Such critics would prefer to present the Antigone with a minimum amount of colorless music, specially composed by /A- Suitability, some local musician. Such a step may be nc< sary in the case of most plays, but when a great genius like Mendelssohn has provided the Antigone with a beau- tiful and adequate musical setting, I see no good reason for putting it aside in favor of a purely pedantic composition, which can never appeal to modern ears and hearts in the way in which the ancient music stirred the emotions of the hearers. For, after all, a modern presentation of a Greek masterpiece should aim at producing the t'nscHili/e effect of the original, and this can never be done if we employ music which means little to us, because, forsooth, we choose to imagine that the ancient music was valueless. Amid all our ignorance of the actual music of the Greeks, one fact, at least, is impressed upon us over and over again by the ancient writers, and that is that the music of their great lyric poets \\ spiritual power, which " sank into the inmost soul," and con- tributed to the upbuilding of a manly, noble, and beautiful char- acter. An able critic of the Stanford performances 1 described the genius of Mendelssohn as " half Christian, half Jewish," and yy therefore unsuited for Greek subjects. I must ./( rc/A h Out -.\ tion confess that, as applied to music, the ph; employed conveys to my mind very little ; ing, and seems to be a mere echo of the outcry once raised in German \Vagnerian circles against things Semitic, but it serve to remind one of the interesting fact that historians of in are still debating the question whether our oldest Christian music the Ambrosian and Gregorian chants lias come to us from Greece or Palestine. If, as is commonly believed, these chants indeed the same as those once used in Solomon's temple, I In the Santa I'. ANTIGONE 59 there must have been a striking resemblance between them and the music of Greece, when early Christian musicians could apply to them the very names of the Greek modes. In this case, who will dare to say that it is out of place for a Jewish musician to compose music for a Greek play ? One word more. The writer has recently witnessed in Rome M. Mounet- Sully 's representation of the GLdipus Tyrannus, as given at the Comedie-Francaise in Paris. It was undoubtedly brilliant in some respects, but I am convinced that the remark made by a cultivated spectator was just, viz., that from such a performance one can learn much better what to avoid than what to imitate in present- ing a Greek play. This is especially true of the lyrical element. In the French version the chorus practically disappears ; tin- grand odes, which express the collective emotion of a dramatic group of elders, are ruined by being delivered in weak melo- drama by a single female voice; recitative and vocal melody are abandoned, and the result is a succession of dramatic scenes, which, with their long speeches, tend to become exceedingly monotonous, being unrelieved by the lyric color, movement, and variety of tone, which the Greeks considered essential to a great tragedy. H. RUSHTON FAIRCLOUGH. ASSEMBLY HALL, STANFORD UNIVERSITY THURSDAY, APRIL SEVENTEENTH, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND Two, AT EIGHT P . M . , AND SATURDAY, APRIL NINETEENTH, AT ELEVEN A. M. TWO PRESENTATIONS OF THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES IN THE ORIGINAL GREEK WITH MENDELSSOHN'S MUSIC BY MEMBERS OF THE FACULTY AND STUDENTS OF LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY UNDER THE AUS- PICES OF THE DEPARTMENT OF GREEK 68 ANTIGONE THE CAST ANTIGOM; Miss E. Cook^. \ ISMI.NK, her sister Miss E. Crandall CHORUS OF THKIJAN ELDERS, - under the Coryplncus - Professor H. R. Fairclough CREON, the King - - Professor A. I . Murray GUARD Mr. J. K. Bonnt-11 H.I-.MON, son of Creon - Mr. K. V. Reppy TIRESIAS, a seer - Professor S. S. Seward, Jr. MI-.SSI-.NC.KR - Mr. K. i KI-KVDICK, the Queen - Mix. J. P. Hall SECOND MESSENGER - Mr. C. W. Thomas, Jr. ( Miss I. Richards ATTENDANTS TO THK Qi ( Mr. R. Brvan ATTENDANTS TO THK KING ( ^ R A Hamilt<)11 I Mr. H. A. Mnran _ Mr. !. |. Rv.-in KXTRA ATmnuim Mr _, ^^^.^ Mr. J. S. King BOY, attending Tiresias Robert Lindley Murray The Chorus is made up of the Corypha-us and fourtetn of the fol- lowing : Messrs. O. H. Clarke, J. E. Cline, B. R. Cocks, C. K. Kllis. E. C. Eppley, E. I. Frisselle, S. P. Frisstlle, H. (lay, E. O. |a O. Kehrlein, H. R. Mockridge, H. L. Morrison, B. 1'. < >.ikf<>rd, A. Per- rin, H. M. Shipley, \V. J. Stack, E. Talbot, R. E. \Vartk-Id. The music has bt-i-n adapted to the Greek by Professor H. R. Fair- clough. Prompter, Miss A. F. Weaver. Musical Director, Mr. A. L. Scott Brook. Stage Manager, Mr. Leo Cooper. The scene is laid in Thebes, before the royal palace. In nnlrr that ttio timtimiitv of tin- ijlay may not IK: interrupted, it will Jx.- impossible for others than the chorus to remind to encores. ANTIGONE 69 THE STORY CEdipus, though unwittingly, had fulfilled the doom which the oracle declared should be his : he had slain with his own hand his father, Laius, and had become the husband of his mother, Jocasta. When Ihe horrible truth became known, Jocasta hanged herself and CEdipus dashed out his eyes with the brooch of her robe. The two sons of the ill-fated pair fell in deadly combat, the younger, Eteocles, seeking to hold the Theban throne against his brother, Polynices, who had come with an alien host from Argos to claim his rights. Creon, the uncle of the two youths, has become king, and has declared that the corpse of Polynices shall be left unburied, to be rent of dogs and birds. To this edict the citizens submit, and with them Ismene, one of the two sisters, upon whom, as next of kin, the duty of paying burial rites to the fallen chiefly rested. The other sister, Antigone, in defiance of the edict, gives burial to her brother, and, sister's child to the king though she is, and betrothed to his son Hsemon, is herself condemned to be buried alive in a rocky vault, where she takes her life. Haemon slays himself in anguish by the side of his betrothed, and, learning of this, Eurydice, the wife of Creon, takes her life; so that woe upon woe is heaped on the head of the unhappy king. SUMMARY OF T H E D R A M A Antigone announces to Ismene her intention to perform the rites of burial over Polynices. First choral song The Glorious Victory. (a) Creon's speech. (6) Guard brings news that the corpse has been buried. Second choral song Man's Audacity. (a) Antigone led before Creon. (b) Guard's story of the arrest. Antigone pleads guilty. Her noble defense. (tf) Ismene's devotion. Her appeal to Creon. (e) Creon, in anger, orders both to be kept in restraint. Third choral song A House Accursed. Omnipotence of Zeus; Im- potence of Man. (a) Haemon pleads vainly with Creon. (b) Creon announces Antigone's terrible punishment. Fourth choral song Love's Power. (<7) Antigone's lament. Chorus is moved to sympathy. (b) Antigone led to her fate. Fifth choral song Like Fates of Danae, Lycurgus and Cleopatra. (a) Tiresias warns Creon; and, when angered, announces divine vengeance. ib) Creon is moved, and. urged by the chorus, seeks to undo his deeds. 7 o A X T I C, N E Sixth Choral song Invocation to Bacchus. (a) ; Lemon's suicide. (*) Eurydice's entrain c. (c) Messenger's talc : Creon has Uvn too late. (rf) Kurydice sik-ntly withdi (e) Creon enters, with I demon's lifeless l*>dy. (/) ('icon's lament. (g) Chorus marches Iroin the stride, sin^in^ of the fall that waits ii]ion pride. SUPPLEMENTARY CHORUS Prof. F. Angell, Dr. G. 1?. Link-. Messrs. I-:. I.. Anderson, H. II. Atkinson, C. H. Baker, 15. M. Breeden, C. E. Burton, II. K. Bush, Geo. H. Clark, (). H. Clarke, T. A. Cutting, ( '.. \V. Dryer, L. C. Hauley. \V. R. Hogan.-T. G. Hosmer, G. B. Jeffers, E. A. J..IH-S, (,. !'. Jo J. Josephson, J. S. Kin-, A. J. Klanit, T. McCaughern, J. T. Mc.Manis, I',. Nnursi-, .M. 0|i|)cnlR-im, R. N. Park, \V. D. I'atterscu, J. <".. IVrkins. R. L. 1'leak, N. C. Powers, E. L. Rra, F. L. Talln-rt, J. C. Taylor, F. B. Tucker, E. Wakeman, H. A. \\Vihe, F. T. \Vliitaker, \V. T. \Vhitaker. TH I- OKC H F.STR A ruiisly put ;>t the disposal nf the Musical I>irect<>r l'> ' ^- \\ N'ouiiK. I I-'irst Violin: Messrs. G. A. Scoville, R. II. I'.aron, Miss G. M. Bruckman, Messrs. A. J. Copp, C. E. \Vaite, I-;. V. Kehrlein, \V. H. Shadburne.J. J. Wertheinier. Second Violin : Misses A. l' aison, C. Still- man, K. R. Kipp, Mr. C. C. James, Miss J. Henry, M I'.tackett, V. E. Shirk, E. Williams. Viola: M- ssrs. H. \V. I'ouler, L. G ! Cello: Mr. J. Habile. Bass : Mr. I >. P. Camp!). II. Flute >r B. I-:. Howard. Clarinet: Messrs. R. I'. Fitting, \V. C. Platt. Cornet: Mr. A. E. Lee, Prof. C. B. \Vhittier, Mr. F. Roller. Fn.-n.-h Horn: Messrs. E. A. Martin. G. E. Lucas, C. Ilatton. Troinhoi l'>. C. Bubb, C. A. iMtxgerakl. Tympani : Mr. A. S. Halley. Piano: Miss !;. R. 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