However, the funeral dirges and the swansong of Evadne are affectingly beautiful, although Evadne, in a literal sense, is introduced into the drama altogether unexpectedly.

The Heraclidæ is a very poor piece, and singularly bad towards the conclusion. We hear nothing more of the sacrifice of Macaria, after it is over: as the determination seems to cost herself no struggle, it makes as little impression upon others. The Athenian king, Demophon, does not return again; neither does Iolaus, the companion of Hercules and tutor of his children, whose youth is so wonderfully renewed: Hyllus, the heroic son of Hercules, never even makes his appearance; and nobody at last remains but Alcmene, who keeps quarrelling with Eurystheus. Euripides seems to have taken a particular pleasure in drawing such implacable and revengeful old women: he has exhibited Hecuba twice in this light, opposed to Helen and Polymestor. The constant recurrence of the same means and motives is a sure symptom of mannerism. We have in the works of this poet three examples of the sacrifice of females, which are moving from their resignation: Iphigenia, Polyxena, and Macaria; the voluntary death of Alceste and Evadne, belong also in some sort to this class. Supplicants are in like manner a favourite subject with him, where the spectator is oppressed with apprehension lest they should be forcibly torn from the sanctuary of the altar. I have already dwelt upon the introduction of deities towards the conclusion.

The most entertaining of all tragedies is Helen, a marvellous drama, full of wonderful adventures and appearances, which are evidently much more suited to comedy. The invention on which it is founded is, that Helen remained concealed in Egypt (so far the assertion of the Ægyptian priests went), while Paris carried off an airy shape, which bore a resemblance to her, and about which the Greeks and Trojans fought with one another for ten years. By this contrivance the virtue of the heroine is saved, and Menelaus, in confirmation of the ridicule cast by Aristophanes on the beggary of the heroes of Euripides, appears in a ragged eleemosynary state, and is represented as perfectly satisfied. But this manner of improving mythology bears a resemblance to the Tales of the Thousand and One Nights.

Modern philologists have dedicated voluminous treatises, to prove the illegitimacy of Rhesus, the subject of which is taken from the eleventh book of the Iliad. Their opinion is, that the piece contains such a number of improbabilities and contradictions, that it is altogether unworthy of Euripides. But this is by no means a legitimate conclusion. Are not the faults which they censure unavoidably derived from the selection of a subject, so very inconvenient as a nightly enterprize? In a question respect

ing the legitimacy of any work, our concern is not so much with its merit or demerit, as whether its style and peculiarities bear a resemblance to those of the pretended author. The few words of the scholiast amount to a very different opinion: "Some have considered this drama as illegitimate, and not the production of Euripides, for it bears more traces of the style of Sophocles. But it is inscribed in the Didascalia as legitimate, and the accuracy with respect to the appearances of the starry heaven betrays Euripides." I imagine I understand also what is meant by the style of Sophocles, which I do not indeed find in the general disposition, but in detached scenes. Hence, if the piece is to be taken from Euripides, I should be disposed to attribute it to an eclectic imitator, but rather of the school of Sophocles than of Euripides, and only a little later than the period of both. This I infer from the familiarity of many of the scenes, as tragedy was then inclining to the civic or familiar drama; for at a still later period in the Alexandrian time, it fell into an opposite error, that of bombast.

The Cyclops is a satirical drama. This is a mixed and secondary species of tragic poetry, which we have already in passing alluded to. The want of some relaxation for the mind, after the stern severity of tragedy, appears to have given rise to the satirical drama, as well as to afterpieces in general. The satirical drama never possessed an independent existence; it was given as an appendage to several tragedies, and from all that we can conjecture was always considerably shorter. In external form it resembled tragedy, and the materials were in like manner mythological. The distinctive mark was a chorus consisting of satyrs, who accompanied such heroic adventures as were of a more cheerful hue, (many in the Odyssey for instance; for here also, as in many other respects, the germ is to be found in Homer,) or could be made to wear such an appearance, with lively songs, gestures, and movements. The immediate cause of this species of drama was derived from the festivals of Bacchus, where satyrmasks were a common disguise. In mythological stories, with which Bacchus had no concern, these constant attendants of his were, no doubt, in some sort arbitrarily introduced, but still not without a degree of propriety. As nature, in her original freedom, appeared rich in wonderful productions to the fancy of the Greeks, they could with propriety people the wild landscapes, far from polished cities, where the scene was usually laid, with that sensual and gay sylvan creation. The compositions of demigods and demi-beasts, forming an amusing contrast. We heve an example in the Cyclops of the manner in which the poets proceeded in such subjects. It is not without amusement, though the real substance of it is nearly all contained in the Odyssey;

only the pranks of Silenus and his band appear a little coarse now and then. We must confess that the greatest merit of this piece, in our eyes, is its rarity, as it is the only remaining thing of its kind which we possess. In these satirical dramas, Æschylus must without doubt have displayed more boldness and meaning in his mirth; as for instance, when he made Prometheus bring down his heavenly fire to the rude and stupid race of mortals; and Sophocles, as we may conjecture from the few samples we have, must have been more elegant and moral, when he introduced the goddesses contending for the prize of beauty, or Nausicaa, when she offered her protection to the shipwrecked Ulysses. It is a striking feature of the light way of living of the Greeks, of the hilarity of disposition, so foreign to everything like stately dignity, which led them to admire whatever was suitable and agreeable in art, even in things of the least importance, that in this drama called Nausicaa, or the Washers, where according to Homer the princess at the end of the washing recreates herself with her maids in playing at ball, Sophocles himself appeared playing at ball, and by his grace in this bodily exercise acquired much applause. The great poet, the respected Athenian citizen, the man who had already perhaps been a general, appeared publicly in female clothing, and as, on account of the feebleness of his voice, he could not play the principal part of Nausicaa, he acted perhaps the mute under part of a maid, for the sake of giving the slight ornament of bodily activity to the representation of his piece.

The history of ancient tragedy ends with Euripides, although there were a number of still later tragedians; Agathon for instance, whom Aristophanes describes as breathing ointment, and crowned with flowers, and who is represented by Plato in his Symposion, a discourse in the taste of the sophist Gorgias, as abounding in the most exquisite ornaments, and the most dazzling antitheses. He commenced with mythology, as the natural materials of tragedy, and occasionally wrote pieces with fictitious names, (a transition towards the new comedy) one of which was called the Flower, and was probably therefore neither seriously affecting nor terrible, but in the style of the idyl.

The Alexandrian literati also occupied themselves with composing tragedies; but were we to judge of them from the only piecewhich has come down to us, the Alexandra of Lycophron, which consists of an endless prophetic monologue, overladen with an obscure mythology, these productions of subtlety and artifice must have been extremely inanimate, and untheatrical, and altogether destitute of interest. The creative powers of the Greeks were so completely exhausted, that they were under the necessity of repeating the works of their ancient masters.

LECTURE VI.

The old comedy proved to be completely a contrast to tragedy-ParodyIdeality of comedy the reverse of that of tragedy-Mirthful caprice-Allegoric and political signification-The chorus and its parabases-Aristophanes His character as an artist-Description and character of his remaining works -A scene translated from the Acharna by way of Appendix.

WE now leave tragic poetry for the consideration of a species of an entirely opposite description, the old comedy. Striking as this diversity is, we shall however commence with pointing out a certain symmetry of contrast between them, which may have a tendency to exhibit the essential character of both in a clearer light. In forming a judgment of the old comedy, we must banish every idea of what is called comedy by the moderns, and what went by the same name among the Greeks themselves at an after period. These two species of comedy differ from each other, not only in accidental peculiarities (such as the introduction of real names and characters in the old), but in the most essential characteristics. We must also guard ourselves against considering the old comedy as the rude commencement of a branch of the drama, which was afterwards carried to a higher degree of perfection, an idea which many, from the unbridled licentiousness of the old comic writers, have allowed themselves to entertain. The first however is much more entitled to the appellation of the genuine poetical species; and the new comedy, as I shall show in the sequel, is a falling off into prose and reality.

*

We shall form the best idea of the old comedy, in considering it as the complete contrast to tragedy. This was probably the meaning of the assertion of Socrates, which is mentioned by Plato towards the end of his Symposium. He tells us that, after the other guests had dispersed or fallen asleep, Socrates continued awake with Aristophanes and Agathon, and that while he drank with them out of a large cup, he forced them to confess, though unwillingly, that it was the business of one man to be equally

*This is the sense in which the section of Barthelemy, in Anacharsis on the old comedy is composed: one of the poorest and most erroneous parts of his work. With the pitiful arrogance of ignorance, Voltaire pronounced a sweeping condemnation of Aristophanes, (in his Philosophical Dictionary, under the article Athée) and the modern French critics have for the most part followed his example. We may however find the foundation of all the erroneous opin ions of the moderns on this subject, and the same prosaical mode of viewing it, in the comparison between Aristophanes and Menander, in Plutarch.

master of tragic and comic composition, and that the tragic poet, in virtue of his art, was also a comic poet. This was not only repugnant to the general opinion, which wholly separated the two kinds of talent, but also to experience, as no tragic poet had ever attempted to distinguish himself in the comic department, or vice versa; and the reason of this is evident from their essential characters. The Platonic Socrates says, at another time, on the subject of comic imitation: we can only become acquainted with things of opposite characters through each other, and consequently we can only know what is laughable and ludicrous by knowing also what is serious. If the divine Plato had been pleased to communicate his own thoughts, or those of his master, respecting the manner of carrying the sentiments of their dialogue into execution, we should undoubtedly have been relieved from the necessity of the following investigation.

One view of the relation of comic to tragic poetry may be comprehended under the idea of parody. This parody however was infinitely more powerful than that of the comic epopée, as the subject parodied was brought much more vividly before the mind by means of scenic representation, than the epopée, in which the transactions of a distant age were related as already past. The subject of the comic parody was a recent action, and as the representation took place on the same stage where the spectators were accustomed to see its grave model, this must have contributed very much to heighten the effect. It happened also that not merely single scenes, but the very form of tragic composition was parodied, and the parody not only extended to the poetry, but also to the music and dancing, to the acting, and the scenic decorations. Nay, even when the drama trod in the footsteps of the plastic arts, it was still the subject of comic parody, as the ideal figures of deities were evidently transformed into caricatures. The more the productions of all these arts came within the operation of the external senses, the more the Greeks, in popular festivals, religious ceremonies, and solemn processions, were accustomed to, and familiar with, the noble style which was the native element of tragic representation, so much the more irresistibly ludicrous must have been the effect of the general parody of the arts, which it was the object of comedy to exhibit.

But this idea does not exhaust the essential character of comedy: for parody always supposes a reference to the subject which is parodied, and a necessary dependence on it. The old comedy however is a species of poetry as independent and original as tra

• As an example of this, I may allude to the well-known vase-figures, where Mercury and Jupiter are represented as comic-masks, meditating the descent by a ladder to Alcmene.