Volume 1 / Part 3 — NOTES ON THE ART OF POETRY. (continued 2)

This, I take to be not only a full vindication of the consistency of Iphigenia’s character, but as delicate a stroke of nature, as is, perhaps, to be found in any writer.

After the writing of this note, I was pleased to find, that so sensible a critic, as P. Brumoi, had been before me in these sentiments concerning the character of Iphigenia. The reasons he employs, are nearly the same. Only he confirms them all by shewing, that the Iphigenia of Racine, which is modelled, not according to the practice of Euripides, but the Comment of Aristotle, is, in all respects, so much the worse for it. In justice to this ingenious writer, it should be owned, that he is almost the only one of his nation, who hath perfectly seen through the foppery, or, as some affect to esteem it, the refinement of French manners. This hath enabled him to give us, in his Théatre des Grecs, a masterly and very useful view of the Greek stage; set forth in all its genuine simplicity, and defended on the sure principles of nature and common sense.

128. Difficile est proprie communia dicere: Lambin’s Comment is Communia hoc loco appellat Horatius argumenta fabularum à nullo adhuc tractata: et ita, quæ cuivis exposita sunt et in medio quodammodo posita, quasi vacua et à nemine occupata. And that this is the true meaning of communia is evidently fixed by the words ignota indictaque, which are explanatory of it: so that the sense, given it in the commentary, is unquestionably the right one. Yet, notwithstanding the clearness of the case, a late critic hath this strange passage: Difficile quidem esse proprie communia dicere, hoc est, materiam vulgarem, notam, et è medio petitam ita immutare atque exornare, ut nova et scriptori propria videatur, ultro concedimus; et maximi proculdubio ponderis ista est observatio. Sed omnibus utrinque collatis, et tum difficilis, tum venusti, tam judicii quam ingenii ratione habita, major videtur esse gloria fabulam formare penitus novam, quam veterem, utcunque mutatam, de novo exhibere. [Poet. Præl. v. ii. p. 164.] Where having first, put a wrong construction on the word communia, he imploys it to introduce an impertinent criticism. For where does the poet prefer the glory of refitting old subjects, to that of inventing new ones? The contrary is implied in what he urges about the superior difficulty of the latter; from which he dissuades his countrymen, only in respect of their abilities and inexperience in these matters; and in order to cultivate in them, which is the main view of the Epistle, a spirit of correctness, by sending them to the old subjects, treated by the Greek writers.

131. Publica materies privati Juris erit, &c.] Publica materies is just the reverse of what the poet had before stiled communia; the latter meaning such subjects or characters, as, though by their nature left in common to all, had yet, in fact, not been occupied by any writer—the former those, which had already been made public by occupation. In order to acquire a property in subjects of this sort, the poet directs us to observe the three following cautions: 1. Not to follow the trite, obvious round of the original work, i. e. not servilely and scrupulously to adhere to its plan or method. 2. Not to be translators, instead of imitators, i. e. if it shall be thought fit to imitate more expressly any part of the original, to do it with freedom and spirit, and without a slavish attachment to the mode of expression. 3. Not to adopt any particular incident, that may occur in the proposed model, which either decency or the nature of the work would reject. M. Dacier illustrates these rules, which have been conceived to contain no small difficulty, from the Iliad; to which the poet himself refers, and probably not without an eye to particular instances of the errors, here condemned, in the Latin tragedies. For want of these, it may be of use to fetch an illustration from some examples in our own. And we need not look far for them. Almost every modern play affords an instance of one or other of these faults. The single one of Catiline by B. Jonson is, itself, a specimen of them all. This tragedy, which hath otherwise great merit, and on which its author appears to have placed no small value, is, in fact, the Catilinarian war of Sallust, put into poetical dialogue, and so offends against the first rule of the poet, in following too servilely the plain beaten round of the Chronicle. 2. Next, the speeches of Cicero and Catiline, of Cato and Cæsar are, all of them, direct and literal translations of the historian and orator, in violation of the second rule, which forbids a too close attachment to the mode, or form of expression. 3. There are several transgressions of that rule, which injoins a strict regard to the nature and genius of the work. One is obvious and striking. In the history, which had, for its subject, the whole Catilinarian war, the fates of the conspirators were distinctly to be recorded, and the preceding debates, concerning the manner of their punishment, afforded an occasion, too inviting to be overlooked by an historian, and above all a republican historian, of embellishing his narration by set harangues. Hence the long speeches of Cæsar and Cato in the senate have great propriety, and are justly esteemed among the leading beauties of that work. But the case was totally different in the drama; which, taking for its subject the single fate of Catiline, had no concern with the other conspirators, whose fates at most should only have been hinted at, not debated with all the circumstance and pomp of rhetoric on the stage. Nothing can be more flat and disgusting, than this calm, impertinent pleading; especially in the very heat and winding up of the plot. But the poet was misled by the beauty it appeared to have in the original composition, without attending to the peculiar laws of the drama, and the indecorum it must needs have in so very different a work.

136. Nec sic incipies, ut scriptor cyclicus olim:] All this [to v. 153] is a continuation of the poet’s advice, given above,

For, having first shewn in what respects a close observance of the epic form would be vicious in tragedy, he now prescribes how far it may be usefully admitted. And this is, 1. [from 136 to 146] in the simplicity and modesty of the exordium; and, 2. [to v. 153] in the artificial method and contexture of the piece. 1. The reason of the former rule is founded on the impropriety of raising a greater expectation, at setting out, than can afterwards be answered by the sequel of the poem. But, because the epic writers themselves, from whom this conduct was to be drawn, had sometimes transgressed this rule, and as the example of such an error would be likely to infect, and, in all probability, actually did infect, the tragic poets of that time, he takes occasion, 1. to criticize an absurd instance of it; and, 2. to oppose to it the wiser practice of Homer.

2. The like conduct he observes under the second article. For, being to recommend to the tragic writer such an artificial disposition of his subject, as hastens rapidly to the event, and rejects, as impertinent, all particulars in the round of the story, which would unnecessarily obstruct his course to it—a plan essentially necessary to the legitimate epic—he first glances at the injudicious violation of this method in a certain poem on the return of Diomed, and then illustrates and lays open the superior art and beauty of the Iliad. And all this, as appears, for the sole purpose of explaining and enforcing the precept about forming the plots of tragedies from epic poems. Whence we see, how properly the examples of the errors, here condemned, are taken, not from the drama, as the less attentive reader might expect, but solely from the epos; for, this being made the object of imitation to the dramatic poet, as the tenor of the place shews, it became necessary to guard against the influence of bad models. Which I observe for the sake of those, who, from not apprehending the connection of this and such like passages in the epistle, hastily conclude it to be a confused medley of precepts concerning the art of poetry, in general; and not a regular well-conducted piece, uniformly tending to lay open the state, and to remedy the defects, of the Roman stage.

148. Semper ad eventum festinat; &c.] The disposition, here recommended to the poet, might be shewn universally right from the clearest principles. But the propriety and beauty of it will, perhaps, be best apprehended by such, as are unused to the more abstract criticism, from attending to a particular instance. Let us conceive an objector then to put the following query: “Supposing the author of the Æneis to have related, in the natural order, the destruction of Troy, would not the subject have been, to all intents and purposes, as much one, as it is under its present form; in which that event is told, in the second book, by way of episode?” I answer by no means. The reason is taken from the nature of the work, and from the state and expectations of the reader.

1. The nature of an epic or narrative poem is this, that it lays the author under an obligation of shewing any event, which he formally undertakes in his own person, at full length, and with all its material circumstances. Every figure must be drawn in full proportion, and exhibited in strong, glowing colours. Now had the subject of the second book of the Æneis been related, in this extent, it must not only have taken up one, but many books. By this faithful and animated drawing, and the time it would necessarily have to play upon the imagination, the event had grown into such importance, that the remainder could only have passed for a kind of Appendix to it.

2. The same conclusion is drawn from considering the state of the reader. For, hurried away by an instinctive impatience, he pursues the proposed event with eagerness and rapidity. So circumstantial a detail, as was supposed, of an intermediate action not necessarily connected with it, breaks the course of his expectations, and throws forward the point of view to an immoderate distance. In the mean time the action, thus interposed and presented to his thoughts, acquires by degrees, and at length ingrosses his whole attention. It becomes the important theme of the piece; or, at least, what follows sets out with the disadvantage of appearing to him, as a new and distinct subject.

But now being related by way of episode, that is, as a succinct, summary narration, not made by the poet himself, but coming from the mouth of a person, necessarily ingaged in the progress of the action, it serves for a short time to interrupt, and, by that interruption to sharpen, the eager expectation of the reader. It holds the attention, for a while, from the main point of view; yet not long enough to destroy that impatient curiosity, which looks forward to it. And thus it contributes to the same end, as a piece of miniature, properly introduced into a large picture. It amuses the eye with something relative to the painter’s design, yet not so, as to with-hold its principal observation from falling on the greater subject. The parallel will not hold very exactly, because the painter is, of necessity, confined to the same instant of time; but it may serve for an illustration of my meaning. Suppose the painter to take, for his subject, that part of Æneas’s story, where, with his penates, his father, and his son, he is preparing to set sail for Italy. To draw Troy in flames, as a constituent part of this picture, would be manifestly absurd. It would be painting two subjects, instead of one. And perhaps Troja incensa might seize the attention before

But a distant perspective of burning Troy might be thrown into a corner of the piece, that is, episodically, with good advantage; where, instead of distracting the attention, and breaking the unity of the subject, it would concenter, as it were, with the great design, and have an effect in augmenting the distress of it.

153. Tu, quid ego et populus, &c.] The connexion is this. “But though the strict observance of these rules will enable the poet to conduct his plot to the best advantage, yet this is not all which is required to a perfect tragedy. If he would seize the attention, and secure the applause, of the audience, something further must be attempted. He must (to return to the point, from which I digressed, v. 127) be particularly studious to express the manners. Besides the peculiarities of office, temper, condition, country, &c. before considered, all which require to be drawn with the utmost fidelity, a singular attention must be had to the characteristic differences of age.”

The reason of this conduct is given in the commentary. It further serves to adorn this part of the epistle [which is wholly preceptive from v. 89 to 202] with those beautiful pourtraitures of human life, in its several successive stages, which nature and Aristotle had instructed him so well to paint.

157. Mobilibusque decor naturis dandus et annis.] Mobilibus] non levibus aut inconstantibus, sed quæ variatis ætatibus immutantur. Lambin. Naturis] By this word is not meant, simply, that instinctive natural biass, implanted in every man, to this or that character, but, in general, nature, as it appears diversified in the different periods of life. The sense will be: A certain decorum or propriety must be observed in painting the natures or dispositions of men varying with their years.

There is then no occasion for changing the text, with Dr. Bentley, into

179. Aut agitur res in scenis, aut acta refertur: &c.] The connexion is this. The misapplication, just now mentioned, destroys the credibility. This puts the poet in mind of another misconduct, which hath the same effect, viz. intus digna geri promere in scenam. But, before he makes this observation, it was proper to premise a concession to prevent mistakes, viz.

182. Non tamen intus Digna geri promes in scenam:] I know not a more striking example of the transgression of this rule, than in Seneca’s Hippolytus; where Theseus is made to weep over the mangled members of his son, which he attempts to put together on the stage. This, which has so horrid an appearance in the action, might have been so contrived, as to have an infinite beauty in the narration; as may be seen from a similar instance in Xenophon’s Cyropædia, where Panthea is represented putting together the torn limbs of Abradates.

185. Ne pueros coram populo, &c.] Seneca, whom we before [v. 123] saw so sollicitous to keep up to one rule of Horace, here makes no scruple to transgress another. For, in violation of the very letter of this precept, and of all the laws of decency and common sense, he represents Medea butchering her children in the face of the people; and, as if this too faintly painted the fury of her character, he further aggravates the cruelty of the execution, with all the horrors of a lingering act. This, seemingly inconsistent, conduct of the poet was, in truth, owing to one and the same cause, namely, “The endeavour to sustain Medea’s character.” For, wanting true taste to discern the exact boundaries, which nature had prescribed to the human character, or true genius to support him in a due preservation of it, he, as all bad writers use, for fear of doing too little, unfortunately does too much; and so, as Shakespear well expresses it, o’ersteps the modesty of nature, inflating her sentiments with extravagant passion, and blackening her acts with circumstances of unnatural horror. Though some of these faults I suspect he only copied. For, to say nothing of that of Ennius, Ovid’s Medea was, at this time, very famous, and as, I think, may be collected from the judgment passed upon it by Quinctilian, had some of the vices, here charged upon Seneca. Ovidii Medea, says he, videtur mihi ostendere, quantum vir ille præstare potuerit, si ingenio suo temperare, quàm indulgere, maluisset. It is not possible indeed to say exactly, wherein this intemperance consisted; but it is not unlikely, that, amongst other things, it might shew itself in the sorceries and incantations; a subject, intirely suited to the wildness of Ovid’s genius; and which, as appears from his relation of this story in the metamorphosis, he knew not how to treat without running into some excess and luxuriance in that part. But whether this were the cause, or no, the very treating a subject, which had gone through such hands, as Euripides, Ennius, and Ovid, was enough to expose a writer of better judgment, than Seneca, to some hazard. For, in attempting to outdo originals, founded on the plan of simple nature, a writer is in the utmost danger of running into affectation and bombast. And indeed, without this temptation, our writers have generally found means to incur these excesses; the very best of them being too apt to fill their plots with unnatural incidents, and to heighten their characters into caracatures. Though it may be doubted, whether this hath been owing so much to their own ill taste, as to a vicious compliance with that of the public; for, as one says, who well knew the expediency of this craft, and practised accordingly, to write unnatural things is the most probable way of pleasing them who understand not nature. [Dryd. Pref. to Mock Astrol.]

193. Actoris partes chorus, &c.] See also Aristotle [περ. ποιητ. κ. ιηʹ.] The judgment of two such critics, and the practice of wise antiquity concurring to establish this precept concerning the Chorus, it should thenceforth, one would think, have become a fundamental rule and maxim of the stage. And so indeed it appeared to some few writers. The most admired of the French tragic poets ventured to introduce it into two of his latter plays, and with such success, that, as one observes, It should, in all reason, have disabused his countrymen on this head: l’essai heureux de M. Racine, qui les [chœurs] a fait revivre dans Athalie et dans Esther, devroit, ce semble, nous avoir detrompez sur cet article. [P. Brumoi, vol. i. p. 105.] And, before him, our Milton, who, with his other great talents, possessed a supreme knowledge of antiquity, was so struck with its use and beauty, as to attempt to bring it into our language. His Sampson Agonistes was, as might be expected, a master-piece. But even his credit hath not been sufficient to restore the Chorus. Hear a late Professor of the art declaring, De choro nihil disserui, quia non est essentialis dramati, atque à neotericis penitus, ET, ME JUDICE, MERITO, REPUDIATUR. [Præl. Poet. vol. ii. p. 188.] Whence it hath come to pass, that the chorus hath been thus neglected, is not now the inquiry. But that this critic, and all such are greatly out in their judgments when they presume to censure it in the ancients, must appear (if we look no further) from the double use, insisted on by the poet. For, 1. A chorus interposing, and bearing a part in the progress of the action, gives the representation that probability14, and striking resemblance of real life, which every man of sense perceives and feels the want of upon our stage; a want, which nothing but such an expedient as the chorus can possibly relieve. And, 2. The importance of its other office [v. 196] to the utility of the representation, is so great, that, in a moral view, nothing can compensate for this deficiency. For it is necessary to the truth and decorum of characters, that the manners, bad as well as good, be drawn in strong, vivid colours, and to that end that immoral sentiments, forcibly expressed and speciously maintained, be sometimes imputed to the speakers. Hence the sound philosophy of the chorus will be constantly wanting to rectify the wrong conclusions of the audience, and prevent the ill impressions that might otherwise be made upon it. Nor let any one say, that the audience is well able to do this for itself: Euripides did not find even an Athenian theatre so quick-sighted. The story is well known [Sen. Ep. 115.] that when this painter of the manners was obliged, by the rules of his art, and the character to be sustained, to put a run of bold sentiments in the mouth of one of his persons, the people instantly took fire, charging the poet with the imputed villany, as though it had been his own. Now if such an audience could so easily misinterpret an attention to the truth of character into the real doctrine of the poet, and this too, when a chorus was at hand to correct and disabuse their judgments, what must be the case, when the whole is left to the sagacity and penetration of the people? The wiser sort, ’tis true, have little need of this information. Yet the reflexions of sober sense on the course and occurrences of the representation, clothed in the noblest dress of poetry, and inforced by the joint powers of harmony and action (which is the true character of the chorus) might make it, even to such, a not unpleasant or unprofitable entertainment. But these two are a small part of the uses of the chorus: which in every light is seen so important to the truth, decorum, and dignity of the tragic scene, that the modern stage, which hath not thought proper to adopt it, is even, with the advantage of, sometimes, the justest moral painting and sublimest imagery, but a very faint shadow of the old; as must needs appear to those, who have looked into the ancient models, or, divesting themselves of modern prejudices, are disposed to consult the dictates of plain sense. For the use of such I once designed to have drawn into one view the several important benefits, arising to the drama from the observance of this rule, but have the pleasure to find myself prevented by a sensible dissertation of a good French writer, which the reader will find in the VIII Tom. of the history of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres.—Or, it may be sufficient to refer the English Reader to the late tragedies of Elfrida and Caractacus; which do honour to modern poetry, and are a better apology, than any I could make, for the ancient chorus.

193. Officiumque virile] Heinsius takes virile adverbially for viriliter. But this is thought harsh. What hinders, but that it may be taken adjectively? And then, agreeably to his interpretation, officium virile will mean a strenuous, diligent office, such as becomes a person interested in the progress of the action. The precept is leveled against the practice of those poets, who, though they allot the part of a persona dramatis to the chorus, yet for the most part make it so idle and insignificant an one, as is of little consequence in the representation: by which means the advantage of probability, intended to be drawn from this use of the chorus, is, in great measure, lost.

194. Neu quid medios intercinat actus, Quod non proposito conducat et haereat apte.] How necessary this advice might be to the writers of the Augustan age cannot certainly appear; but, if the practice of Seneca may give room for any suspicion, it should seem to have been much wanted; in whom I scarcely believe there is one single instance of the chorus being employed in a manner, consonant to its true end and character. To support this general censure, which may seem to bear hard on the poet, let us examine, in this view, one of the best of his plays, I mean, the Hippolytus; whose chorus, throughout, bears a very idle and uninteresting part—hath no share in the action—and sings impertinently.

At the end of the first act, when Phædra had avowed her passion for Hippolytus, instead of declaiming against her horrid purpose, enlarging on the danger and impiety of giving way to unnatural lusts, or something of this nature, which was surely the office of the chorus, it expatiates wantonly, and with a poetic luxuriance, on the sovereign, wide-extended powers of love.

In the close of the second act, instead of applauding the virtuous obstinacy of Hippolytus, and execrating the mad attempt of Phædra, it coolly sings the danger of beauty.

The third act contains the false accusation of Hippolytus, and the too easy deception of Theseus. What had the chorus to do here, but to warn against a too great credulity, and to commiserate the case of the deluded father? Yet it declaims, in general, on the unequal distribution of good and ill.

After the fourth act, the chorus should naturally have bewailed the fate of Hippolytus, and reverenced the mysterious conduct of Providence in suffering the cruel destiny of the innocent. This, or something like it, would have been to the purpose. But, as if the poet had never heard of this rule of coherence, he harangues, in defiance of common sense, on the instability of an high fortune, and the security of a low.

It will further justify this censure of Seneca, and be some amusement to the critical reader, to observe, how the several blunders, here charged upon him, arose from an injudicious imitation of Euripides.

I. There are two places in the Greek Hippolytus, which Seneca seems to have had in view in his first chorus. We will consider them both.

1. When the unhappy Phædra at length suffers the fatal secret of her passion to be extorted from her, she falls, as was natural, into all the horrors of self-detestation, and determines not to survive the confession of so black a crime. In this conjuncture, the nutrix, who is not drawn, as in modern tragedy, an unmeaning confidante, the mere depositary of the poet’s secrets, but has real manners assigned to her, endeavours, with the highest beauty of character, to divert these horrid intentions, and mitigate in some sort the guilt of her passion, by representing to her the resistless and all-subduing force of love. “Venus, says this virtuous monitrix, is not to be withstood, when she rushes upon us with all her power. Nor is any part of creation vacant from her influence. She pervades the air, and glides through the deeps. We, the inhabitants of the earth, are all subject to her dominion. Nay, ask of the ancient bards, and they will tell you, that the Gods themselves are under her controul.” And so goes on, enumerating particular examples, from all which she infers at last the necessity of Phædra’s yielding to her fate. Again,

2. Towards the close of the Greek play, when, upon receiving the tragical story of his son’s sufferings, Theseus began to feel his resentments give way to the workings of paternal affection, and, on that account, though he was willing to conceal the true motive, even from himself, had given orders for the dying Hippolytus to be brought before him, the chorus very properly flings out into that fine address to Venus,

the substance of which is, “That Venus, with her swift-winged boy, who traverses the earth and ocean, subdues the stubborn hearts of Gods and men: inspiring into all, on whom her influence rests, whether inhabitants of the land or deep, and more especially the race of man, a soft and sympathizing tenderness; demonstrating hereby, that she alone extends her all-controuling dominion over universal nature.” This song, as thus connected with the occasion, is apparently very proper, and, when reduced from the pomp of lyric eloquence to plain prose, is only an address of congratulation to the powers of love; confessing and celebrating their influence, in thus softening the rigors of a father’s hate, and awakening in his breast the soft touches of returning pity and affection.

Now these two places, taken together, are plainly the ground-work of that song,

but how improperly applied, has appeared, in respect of the latter of them, from what has been observed concerning the occasion; and must be acknowledged of the other, from the different character of the person to whom it is given; and also from hence, that the chorus in the Greek poet expressly condemns the impiety of such suggestions in the nurse, and admonishes Phædra not to lend an ear to them. The chorus, when it comes to sing in him, is far otherwise employed; not in celebrating the triumphs, but deprecating the pernicious fury of this passion, and in lamenting the fatal miscarriages of Hymeneal love.

II. The second song, on the graces of the prince’s person, and the danger of beauty, which follows on the abrupt departure of Hippolytus, rejecting, with a virtuous disdain, the mad attempts of Phædra and her confidante, is so glaringly improper, as not to admit an excuse from any example. And yet, I am afraid, the single authority, it has to lean on, is a very short hint, slightly dropped by the chorus in the Greek poet on a very different occasion. It is in the entrance of that scene, where the mangled body of Hippolytus is brought upon the stage; on the sight of which the chorus very naturally breaks out,

and yet, as the reader of just taste perceives, nothing beyond a single reflexion could have been endured even here.

III. The next song of the chorus may seem directly copied from Euripides. Yet the two occasions will be found extremely different. In Seneca, Theseus, under the conviction of his son’s guilt, inveighs bitterly against him, and at last supplicates the power of Neptune to avenge his crimes. The chorus, as anticipating the effects of this imprecation, arraigns the justice of the Gods. In the Greek poet, the father, under the like circumstances, invokes the same avenging power, and, as some immediate relief to his rage, pronounces the sentence of banishment, and urges the instant execution of it, against him. Hippolytus, unable to contend any longer with his father’s fury, breaks out into that most tender complaint (than which nothing was ever more affecting in tragedy)

containing his last adieu to his country, companions, and friends. The chorus, touched with the pathos of this apostrophe, and commiserating his sad reverse of fortune, enters with him into the same excess of lamentation, and, as the first expression of it, lets fall this natural sentiment, “That though from coolly contemplating the divine superintendency of human affairs, there results abundant confidence and security against the ills of life, yet when we look abroad into the lives and fortunes of men, that confidence is apt to fail us, and we find ourselves discouraged and confounded by the promiscuous and undistinguishing appointments of good and ill.” This is the thought, which Seneca hath imitated, and, as his manner is, outraged in his chorus of the third act:

But the great difference lies here. That, whereas in Euripides this sentiment is proper and agreeable to the state and circumstances of the chorus, which is ever attentive to the progress of the action, and is most affected by what immediately presents itself to observation; in Seneca it is quite foreign and impertinent; the attention of the chorus naturally turning, not on the distresses of Hippolytus, which had not yet commenced, but on the rashness and unhappy delusion of Theseus, as being that, which had made the whole subject of the preceding scene. But the consequence of that delusion, it will be said, was obvious. It may be so. But the chorus, as any sensible spectator, is most agitated by such reflexions, as occur to the mind from those scenes of the drama, which are actually passing before it, and not from those which have not yet taken place.

IV. What was remarked of the second song of the chorus will be applicable to the fourth, which is absurdly founded on a single reflexion in the Greek poet, but just touched in a couple of lines, though much more naturally introduced. Theseus, plunged in the deepest affliction by the immature death of Phædra, and not enduring the sight of the supposed guilty author of it, commands him into banishment, “Lest, as he goes on, his former triumphs and successes against the disturbers of mankind, should in consequence of the impunity of such unprecedented crimes, henceforth do him no honour.” The chorus, struck with the distressful situation of the old king, and recollecting with him the sum of his former glories, is made to exclaim,

i. e. there is henceforth no such thing, as human happiness, when the first examples of it are thus sadly reversed. Which casual remark Seneca seizes and extends through a whole chorus; where it visibly serves to no other end, but to usurp a place, destined for far more natural and affecting sentiments.

If I have been rather long upon this head, it is because I conceive this critique on the Hippolytus will let the reader, at once, into the true character of Seneca; which, he now sees, is that of a mere declamatory moralist. So little deserving is he of the reputation of a just dramatic poet.

196. Ille bonis faveatque, &c.] The chorus, says the poet, is to take the side of the good and virtuous, i. e. is always to sustain a moral character. But this will need some explanation and restriction. To conceive aright of its office, we must suppose the chorus to be a number of persons, by some probable cause assembled together, as witnesses and spectators of the great action of the drama. Such persons, as they cannot be wholly uninterested in what passes before them, will very naturally bear some share in the representation. This will principally consist in declaring their sentiments, and indulging their reflexions freely on the several events and distresses as they shall arise. Thus we see the moral, attributed to the chorus, will be no other than the dictates of plain sense; such as must be obvious to every thinking observer of the action, who is under the influence of no peculiar partialities from affection or interest. Though even these may be supposed in cases, where the character, towards which they draw, is represented as virtuous.

A chorus, thus constituted, must always, it is evident, take the part of virtue; because this is the natural and almost necessary determination of mankind, in all ages and nations, when acting freely and unconstrained. But then it is to be observed,

1. That this moral character, or approbation of virtue, must also be considerably influenced by the common and established notions of right and wrong; which, though in essential points, for the most part, uniformly the same under all circumstances, yet will, in some particular instances, be much distorted by the corrupt principles and practices of different countries and times. Hence the moral of the stage will not be always strictly philosophical; as reflecting to us the image not of the sage’s speculation, but, of the obvious sense of common, untutor’d minds. The reader will find this observation applied to the case of the chorus in the Medea, in note on v. 200, and it might further, perhaps, be extended to the vindication of some others, to which the ignorant temerity of modern criticism hath taken occasion to object. But,

2. The moral character of the chorus will not only depend very much on the several mistaken notions and usages, which may happen, under different circumstances, to corrupt and defile morality; but allowance is also to be made for the false policies, which may prevail in different countries; and especially if they constitute any part of the subject, which the drama would represent. If the chorus be made up of free citizens, whether of a republic, or the milder and more equal royalties, they can be under little or no temptation to suppress or disguise their real sentiments on the several events, presented to their observation; but will be at liberty to pursue their natural inclination of speaking the truth. But should this venerable assembly, instead of sustaining the dignity of free subjects, be, in fact, a company of slaves, devoted by long use to the service and interests of a master, or awed, by the dread of tyrannical power, into an implicit compliance with his will, the baleful effect, which this very different situation must have on their moral character, is evident. Their opinions of persons and things will cease to be oracular; and the interposition of the chorus will be more likely to injure the cause of virtue, than to assist and promote it. Nor can any objection be made, on this account, to the conduct of the poet; who keeps to nature and probability in drawing the chorus with this imperfectly moral character; and is only answerable for his ill choice of a subject, in which such a pernicious representation is required. An instance will explane my meaning more perfectly. The chorus in the Antigone, contrary to the rule of Horace, takes the side of the wicked. It consists of a number of old Thebans, assembled by the order of Creon to assist, or rather to be present, at a kind of mock council; in which he meant to issue his cruel interdict of the rites of sepulture to the body of Polynices; a matter of the highest consequence in those days, and upon which the whole distress of the play turns. This veteran troop of vassals enter at once into the horrid views of the tyrant, and obsequiously go along with him in the projects of his cruelty; calmly, and without the appearance of any virtuous emotion, consenting to them all. The consequence is that the interludes of the chorus are, for the most part, impertinent, or something worse; cautiously avoiding such useful reflexions, as the nature of the case must suggest, or indulging, by their flatteries, the impotent tyranny of their prince. And yet no blame can be fairly charged upon the great poet, who hath surely represented, in the most striking colours, the pernicious character, which a chorus, under such circumstances, would naturally sustain. The fault must therefore fall, where the poet manifestly intended to throw it, on the accursed spirit of despotism; which extinguishes, or over-rules, the suggestions of common sense; kills the very seeds of virtue, and perverts the most sacred and important offices, such as is that of the chorus, into the means and instruments of vice. The glory, which he designed, by this representation, to reflect upon the government and policy of his own state, is too glaring to be overlooked. And he hath artfully contrived to counter-act any ill impressions on the minds of the people, from the prostituted authority of the chorus, by charging them, in the persons of Hæmon and Antigone, with their real motives and views. In all indifferent things, in which the passions or interests of their master were not concerned, even this chorus would of course preserve a moral character. But we are to look for it no further. This is the utmost verge and boundary of a slave’s virtue. An important truth, which, among many greater and more momentous instructions, furnishes this to the dramatic poet, “That, if he would apply the chorus to the uses of a sound and useful moral, he must take his subjects, not from the annals of despotic tyranny, but from the great events, which occur in the records of free and equal commonwealths.”

200. Ille tegat commissa] This important advice is not always easy to be followed. Much indeed will depend on the choice of the subject, and the artful constitution of the fable. Yet, with all his care, the ablest writer will sometimes find himself embarrassed by the chorus. I would here be understood to speak chiefly of the moderns. For the ancients, though it has not been attended to, had some peculiar advantages over us in this respect, resulting from the principles and practices of those times. For, as it hath been observed of the ancient epic muse, that she borrowed much of her state and dignity from the false theology of the pagan world, so, I think, it may be justly said of the ancient tragic, that she has derived great advantages of probability from its mistaken moral. If there be truth in this reflexion, it will help to justify some of the ancient choirs, that have been most objected to by the moderns. To give an instance or two, and leave the curious reader to extend the observation at his leisure.

I. In the Hippolytus of Euripides, the chorus, which is let into Phædra’s design of killing herself, suffers this rash attempt to take effect, rather than divulge the intrusted secret. This, to a modern reader, seems strange; and we are ready to arraign the poet of having allotted a very unfit and unbecoming part to his chorus, which, in order to observe a critical, is thus made to violate a moral precept, or at least to sacrifice the more essential part of its character to a punctilio of honour. But the case was quite otherwise. This suicide of Phædra, which, on our stricter moral plan, is repugnant to the plain rules of duty, was, in the circumstances supposed, fully justified on the pagan system. Phædra had confessed the secret of her criminal passion. By the forward zeal of her confident, her disgrace is made known to Hippolytus; and thereby, as she conceives, rendered notorious to the public. In this distress she had only one way to vindicate her honour, and that was at the expence of her life. Rather than bear the insupportable load of public infamy, she kills herself. That this was a justifiable cause of self-murder in the eye of the chorus is clear from the reason, there assigned, of her conduct, manifestly in approbation of it. “Phædra, says the chorus, oppressed and borne down by her afflictions, has recourse to this expedient of suicide,

for the sake of her good fame, and in order to free herself from the tortures of a cruel passion.” And how agreeable this was to the pagan system, in general, let the reader collect from the following testimonies in Cicero: Si omnia fugiendæ turpitudinis adipiscendæque honestatis causâ faciemus, non modo stimulos doloris, sed etiam fulmina fortunæ contemnamus licebit: præsertim cum paratum sit illud ex hesternâ disputatione perfugium. Ut enim, si, cui naviganti prædones insequantur, Deus quis dixerit, Ejice te navi; præsto est, qui excipiat, &c. omnem omittas timorem; sic, urgentibus asperis et odiosis doloribus, si tanti non sint ut ferendi sint, quo sit confugiendum vides. [Tusc. Disp. l. ii. 26.] And, again, in the close of the V^th disputation, Mihi quidem in vita servanda videtur illa lex, quæ in Græcorum conviviis obtinet: Aut bibat, inquit, aut abeat. Et recte. Aut enim fruatur aliquis pariter cum aliis voluptate potandi; aut, ne sobrius in violentiam vinolentorum incidat, ante discedat: sic INJURIAS FORTUNÆ, QUAS FERRE NEQUEAS, DEFUGIENDO RELINQUAS.

II. Another example may, I think, be fetched from the Medea. Scarcely any thing has been more the subject of modern censure, than the part, which the chorus is made to act in this tragedy. Whence comes it, says M. Dacier, that the chorus, which consists of Corinthian women, is faithful to a stranger against their sovereign15? This good Frenchman, it seems, thought it a kind of treason, even on the stage, and where a moral character was to be sustained, to take part against a tyrant. But he will further say, that the moral character of the chorus was forfeited in thus concealing, and, in effect, abetting the impious cruelties of Medea. The laws of nature and of God were transgressed in rendering this service to her. All which is very true, supposing the reader to judge of this matter by the purer christian moral. But how will he prove this to be the case on the received notions and practices of paganism? It appears, this critic did not apprehend, what a moderate attention to ancient history and manners might have taught him, that the violation of conjugal fidelity was a crime of that high nature, as to deserve in the public opinion, and to excuse, the severest vengeance of retaliation. This the laws expresly allowed to the injuries of the husband. And, it is probable, the wife might incline to think the reason of the case extended also to her. What is certain is, that we find some of the deepest scenes of horror, which ancient history furnishes, or ancient fiction could paint, wrought up from the occasion of this neglect of conjugal faith. And it is well observed by one, in speaking of the difference between the ancient and modern stage, that what is now held the fit subject of comic mirth and ridicule in christian theatres, was never employed but to stir up the utmost horror and commiseration, on the heathen. “We do not find, says this agreeable writer, any comedy in so polite an author, as Terence, raised upon the violations of the marriage-bed. The falsehood of the wife or husband has given occasion to noble tragedies; but a Scipio and Lælius would have looked upon incest or murder, to have been as proper subjects for comedy.” This is strictly and precisely the truth. And, therefore, as the crimes of incest or murder were believed deserving of the highest punishment by the Pagans, and every good man was ready to interest himself in seeing it inflicted16; so, in the case of the open violation of the marriage-compact, the fiercest acts of revenge were justified in the public opinion, and passed only for acts of strict justice. And for this, if we wanted further authority, we have the express word of the chorus. The Corinthian women do not barely consent to secrecy, in virtue of an extorted oath or promise (though more might have been said for this, than every reader is aware of) but in consequence of their entire and full approbation of her intentions. For thus, in answer to Medea’s petition to them, without the least reserve or hesitation, they are made to reply,

I will do it; for this revenge on a husband is just. We see then the chorus, in keeping the secret of Medea’s murders, was employed in its great office of countenancing and supporting salubrem justitiam, wholesome justice. And, therefore, the scholiast, with M. Dacier’s leave, gave a fit and proper account of the matter (so far was it from being impious and ridiculous) in saying, that the Corinthian women being free, i. e. not devoted to the service of Creon, by the special duties of any personal attachment, take the side of justice, as the chorus is wont to do on other occasions. The circumstance of their freedom is properly mentioned. For this distinguishes their case from that of the nutrix, who upon receiving the account of Jason’s cruelties, cries out,

And that the chorus enter’d into Medea’s designs against her husband, the tyrant Creon, and her rival, on reasons of justice and equity only, and not (as is hastily believed by some, who have not enough attended to the decorum of the ancient tragedy) for the sake of forwarding the poet’s plot, may be certainly shewn. For when, in the fury of her resentments, and as the full completion of her revenge, the mother comes to propose the murder of her innocent children, the chorus starts with horror at the thought, dissuades her from it in the most earnest and affecting manner17, and seems to have concealed the dreadful secret only from the persuasion, that it was too horrid and unnatural to be perpetrated. The reader will collect this with pleasure, by turning to the fine song, which follows. It may be further observed, that Medea herself, in opening this last purpose of her rage to the chorus, exacts fidelity of them only, as they wished well to an injured queen, and were women;

which is beautifully contrived by the poet, to discriminate the two cases, and to intimate to us, that reasons of justice were now no longer to be pleaded.

In sum, though these acts of severe avenging justice might not be according to the express letter of the laws, or the more refined conclusions of the Porch or Academy; yet there is no doubt, that they were, in the general account, esteemed fit and reasonable. And, it is to be observed, in order to pass a right judgment on the ancient chorus, that, though in virtue of their office, they were obliged universally to sustain a moral character; yet this moral was rather political and popular, than strictly legal or philosophic. Which is also founded on good reason. The scope and end of the ancient theatre being to serve the interests of virtue and society, on the principles and sentiments, already spread and admitted amongst the people, and not to correct old errors, and instruct them in philosophic truth.

202. Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco, &c.] [from v. 202 to v. 220.] This is one of those many passages in the epistle, about which the critics have said a great deal, without explaining any thing. In support of what I mean to offer, as the true interpretation, I observe,

That the poet’s intention certainly was, not to censure the false refinements of their stage-music; but, in a short digressive history (such as the didactic form will sometimes require) to describe the rise and progress of the true. This I collect, 1. From the expression itself; which cannot, without violence, be understood in any other way. For, as to the words licentia and præceps, which have occasioned much of the difficulty, the first means a freer use, not a licentiousness, properly so called; and the other only expresses a vehemence and rapidity of language, naturally productive of a quicker elocution, such as must of course attend the more numerous harmony of the lyre:—not, as M. Dacier translates it, une eloquence temeraire et outrée, an extravagant straining and affectation of style. 2. From the reason of the thing; which makes it incredible, that the music of the theatre should then be most complete, when the times were barbarous, and entertainments of this kind little encouraged or understood. 3. From the character of that music itself; for the rudeness of which, Horace, in effect, apologizes in defending it only on the score of the imperfect state of the stage, and the simplicity of its judges. But what shall we say then to those lines,

which seem to imply a censure on these Improvements, as unworthy the approbation of wise men; contrary to what I have just now supposed to be the scope of this whole passage.

On the strictest attention, I believe we are to understand them as a Sneer, in passing, on what grave and philosophic men have observed of these refinements, which they constantly treat, as Corruptions. See note on v. 218. But the mixed auditories of these days, says the poet with his usual badinage, were not so wise. ’Tis, as if he had said, “What I mention here as an improvement in dramatic music is, in the ideas and language of some grave men, an abuse and perversion of it to immoral purposes. It may be so: but consider, for what sorts of people these theatrical entertainments were designed: for the ignorant clown and citizen, the plebeian and gentleman, huddled together into one confused mass, and crowding to the theatre, on a holyday, for some relief from their ordinary toils and occupations. And alas, what do these men know, or consider of this austere wisdom?

But the cast of the whole passage is, besides, such as favours the supposition of an intended Irony. Hence the Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco vincta, &c. delivered in the usual tone of declaimers against modern manners. Hence the epithets, frugi castusque verecundusque, to denote the quality of those who assisted, of old, at these virtuous entertainments. And hence the enormity of that state of things, when the people were afterwards permitted to regale on holy days, impune. This intention too accounts for the terms licentia, luxuries, facundia, præceps, and others, which being of ambiguous interpretation, the poet purposely chose, to mimic, and humour, as it were, the objectors in their favourite language on this occasion. Till at last, impatient to continue the raillery any further, he concludes at once with an air of solemnity very proper to confound the impertinence of such criticism.

All this the reader sees is agreeable to the poet’s prescription elsewhere,

and indeed to his own practice on an hundred occasions. So that on the whole there is little doubt of his intention in the lines,

At least, in this view the poet, I am apt to think, will be found intelligible and even elegant. Whereas, on any other supposition of his numerous commentators, I cannot see that the verses before us (as they here stand) have either propriety or common sense.”

The interpretation then of this whole passage, from v. 202 to 220, will stand thus. “The Tibia, says the poet, was at first low and simple. The first, as best agreeing to the state of the stage, which required only a soft music to go along with, and assist the chorus; there being no large and crowded theatres to fill in those days. And the latter, as suiting best to the state of the times; whose simplicity and frugal manners exacted the severest temperance, as in every thing else, so, in their dramatic ornaments and decorations. But, when conquest had enlarged the territory, and widened the walls of Rome; and, in consequence thereof, a social spirit had dispelled that severity of manners, by the introduction of frequent festival solemnities; then, as was natural to expect, a freer and more varied harmony took place. Nor let it be objected that this freer harmony was itself an abuse, a corruption of the severe and moral music of ancient times. Alas! we were not as yet so wise, to see the inconveniencies of this improvement. And how should we, considering the nature and end of these theatrical entertainments, and the sort of men of which our theatres were made up? But, leaving the Philosopher to speculate at his ease, on this matter, thus, in fact, it was, “that the Tibicen, the musician, who played to the declamation in the acts, instead of the rude and simpler strain of the old times, gave a richness and variety of tone; and, instead of the old inactive posture, added the grace of motion to his art. Just in the same manner, continues he, it happened to the Lyre, i. e. the music in the chorus, which originally, as that of the Tibia, was severe and simple; but, by degrees, acquired a quicker and more expressive modulation, such as corresponded to the more elevated and passionate turn of the poet’s style, and the diviner enthusiasm of his sentiment.” All that is further wanting to support and justify this interpretation, will be found in the notes on particular passages.

203. Tenuis simplexque, &c.] It may here be observed of the manner, in which the poet hath chosen to deliver this whole part [from v. 202 to 295] that, besides its other uses, it tends directly to convey to his readers, and impress upon them in the strongest manner, the principal instruction, he has in view, and with which the epistle more expresly concludes, viz. The uses and importance of a spirit of critical application. For, in speaking of the stage music, of the satyrs, and the Greek tragedy (all which come naturally in his way, and are very artfully connected) he chuses to deduce the account of each from its ruder and less polished original; tracing it through its several successive stages, and marking out to us the gradual polish and refinement, which it acquired from increasing diligence and correctness. The Tibia at first was simple and rude—The satyrs naked and barbarous—and the Greek tragedy itself deformed and shapeless in the cart of Thespis. Care and attention reformed each. It follows,

i. e. our poets have not been wanting in their attempts to excel in these several particulars. What is necessary to their success is, limæ labor et mora. If the reader bear this in mind, it will help him to see the order and scope of this part more distinctly.

204. Aspirare et adesse choris, &c.] Chorus here means the whole dramatic performance, which was originally nothing else.

206. Utpote parvus, et frugi castusque verecundusque, &c.] M. Dacier finds here four causes of the little regard the ancients had for plays [he should have said, of their being satisfied with the Tibia, all rude and simple as is here described] la premiere, que le peuple Romain étoit encore alors en petit nombre: la seconde, qu’il étoit sage: la troisiéme, qu’il étoit chaste, c’est à dire pieux: et la quatriéme, qu’il étoit modeste. But the three last epithets are synonymous, all of them expressing what, though he took three guesses for it, he had the ill fortune to miss at last, that plainness and simplicity of character, that frugal reserve and moderation in the use of any thing, which so essentially belongs to rude minds, uninstructed in the arts of life. His four causes are, in fact, then but two; which have been fully considered in note on v. 202.

211. Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major.] M. Dacier takes licentia major in a bad sense, as implying lasciveté, a culpable and licentious refinement. But the licence, here spoken of, with regard to numbers and sounds, like that in another place, which respects words [l. 51.] is one of those, which is allowed, when sumpta pudenter. The comparative major, which is a palliative, shews this; and is further justified by a like passage in Cicero, De Oratore [l. iii. c. 48.] where speaking of this very licence in poetry, he observes, that out of the Heroic and Iambic measure, which were at first strictly observed, there arose by degrees the Anapæst, procerior quidam numerus, et ille licentior et divitior Dithyrambus; evidently not condemning this change, but opposing it to the rigorous and confined measure of the elder poets. But the expression itself occurs in the piece entitled Orator, in which, comparing the freedoms of the poetical and oratorial style, in ea [i. e. poetica] says he, licentiam statuo majorem esse, quam in nobis, faciendorum jungendorumque verborum. The poet says, this licence extended numeris modisque, the former of which words will express that licence of metre, spoken of by Cicero, and which is further explained v. 256, &c. where an account is given of the improvement of the Iambic verse.

214. Sic priscae, — — — Arti

Tibicen,&c.

Sic etiam Fidibus, &c.]

This is the application of what hath been said, in general, concerning the refinement of theatrical music to the case of tragedy. Some commentators say, and to comedy. But in this they mistake, as will appear presently. M. Dacier hath, I know not what conceit about a comparison betwixt the Roman and Greek stage. His reason is, that the lyre was used in the Greek chorus, as appears, he says, from Sophocles playing upon this instrument himself in one of his tragedies. And was it not used too in the Roman chorus, as appears from Nero’s playing upon it in several tragedies? But the learned critic did not apprehend this matter. Indeed from the caution, with which his guides, the dealers in antiquities, always touch this point, it should seem, that they too had no very clear conceptions of it. The case I take to have been this: The Tibia, as being most proper to accompany the declamation of the acts, cantanti succinere, was constantly employed, as well in the Roman tragedy as comedy. This appears from many authorities. I mention only two from Cicero. Quam multa [Acad. l. ii. 7.] quæ nos fugiunt in cantu, exaudiunt in eo genere exercitati: Qui, primo inflatu Tibicinis, Antiopam esse aiunt aut Andromacham, cum nos ne suspicemur quidem. The other is still more express. In his piece, entitled Orator, speaking of the negligence of the Roman writers, in respect of numbers, he observes, that there were even many passages in their tragedies, which, unless the Tibia played to them, could not be distinguished from mere prose: quæ, nisi cum Tibicen accesserit, orationi sint solutæ simillima. One of these passages is expresly quoted from Thyestes, a tragedy of Ennius; and, as appears from the measure, taken out of one of the acts. It is clear then, that the Tibia was certainly used in the declamation of tragedy. But now the song of the tragic chorus, being of the nature of the ode, of course required Fides, the lyre, the peculiar and appropriated instrument of the lyric Muse. And this is clearly collected, if not from express testimonies; yet from some occasional hints dropt by the ancients. For, 1. the lyre, we are told, [Cic. De Leg. ii. 9. & 15.] and is agreed on all hands, was an instrument of the Roman theatre; but it was not employed in comedy. This we certainly know from the short accounts of the music prefixed to Terence’s plays. 2. Further, the Tibicen, as we saw, accompanied the declamation of the acts in tragedy. It remains then, that the proper place of the lyre was, where one should naturally look for it, in the songs of the chorus; but we need not go further than this very passage for a proof. It is unquestionable, that the poet is here speaking of the chorus only; the following lines not admitting any other possible interpretation. By Fidibus then is necessarily understood the instrument peculiarly used in it. Not that it need be said that the Tibia was never used in the chorus. The contrary seems expressed in a passage of Seneca, [Ep. lxxxiv.] and in Julius Pollux [l. iv. 15. § 107.] ’Tis sufficient, if the lyre was used solely, or principally in it, at this time. In this view, the whole digression is more pertinent and connects better. The poet had before been speaking of tragedy. All his directions, from l. 100. respect this species of the drama only. The application of what he had said concerning music, is then most naturally made, 1. to the Tibia, the music of the acts; and, 2. to Fides, that of the choir: thus confining himself, as the tenor of this part required, to tragedy only. Hence is seen the mistake, not only of M. Dacier, whose comment is in every view insupportable; but, as was hinted, of Heinsius, Lambin, and others, who, with more probability, explained this of the Roman comedy and tragedy. For though Tibia might be allowed to stand for comedy, as opposed to Tragœdia, [as in fact, we find it in l. ii. Ep. 1. 98.] that being the only instrument employed in it; yet, in speaking expresly of the music of the stage, Fides could not determinately enough, and in contradistinction to Tibia, denote that of tragedy, it being an instrument used solely, or principally in the chorus; of which, the context shews, he alone speaks. It is further to be observed, that, in the application here made, besides the music, the poet takes in the other improvements of the tragic chorus, these happening, as from the nature of the thing they would do, at the same time.

214. Sic priscae motumque et luxuriem.] These two words are employed to express that quicker movement, and richer modulation of the new music; the peculiar defects of the old being, 1. That it moved too slowly, and, 2. That it had no compass or variety of notes. It was that movement, that velocity and vehemence of the music, which Roscius required to have slackened in his old age.

215. Traxitque vagus per pulpita vestem.] This expresses not only the improvement arising from the ornament of proper dresses, but from the grace of motion: not only the actor, whose peculiar office it was, but the minstrel himself, as appears from hence, conforming his gesture in some sort to the music.

Of the use and propriety of these gestures, or dances, it will not be easy for us, who see no such things attempted on the modern stage, to form any very clear or exact notions. What we cannot doubt of is, 1. That the several theatrical dances of the ancients were strictly conformable to the genius of the different species of composition, to which they were applied. 2. That, therefore, the tragic dance, which more especially accompanied the chorus, must have been expressive of the highest gravity and decorum, tending to inspire ideas of what is becoming, graceful, and majestic; in which view we cannot but perceive the important assistance it must needs lend to virtue, and how greatly it must contribute to set all her graces and attractions in the fairest light. 3. This idea of the ancient tragic dance, is not solely formed upon our knowledge of the conformity, beforementioned; but is further collected from the name, usually given to it, which was Ἐμμέλεια. This word cannot well be translated into our language; but expresses all that grace and concinnity of motion, which the dignity of the choral song required. 4. Lastly, it must give us a very high notion of the moral effect of this dance, when we find the severe Plato admitting it into his commonwealth.

216. Sic etiam fidibus voces, &c.] He is here speaking of the great improvement in the tragic chorus, after the Roman conquests, when the Latin writers began to enquire

This improvement consisted, 1. In a more instructive moral sentiment: 2. In a more sublime and animated expression; which of course produced, 3. A greater vehemence in the declamation: to which conformed, 4. A more numerous and rapid music. All these particulars are here expressed, but, as the reason of the thing required, in an inverted order. The music of the lyre (that being his subject, and introducing the rest) being placed first; the declamation, as attending that, next; the language, facundia, that is, the subject of the declamation, next; and the sentiment, sententia, the ground and basis of the language, last.

literally, “A vehemence and rapidity of language produced an unusual vehemence and rapidity of elocution in the declaimer!” This “rapidity of language,” is exactly the same, as that Cicero speaks of in Democritus and Plato, [Orat. 638. Elz.] which, because of its quick and rapid movement, quod incitatius feratur, some critics thought to be poetical. Unaccustomed, we may observe, is indifferently a censure or encomium, according as the preceding state of the thing spoken of was wrong, or right. Much the same may be concluded of præceps; its literal sense is a degree of motion in any thing above what it had before. This may be excessive, or otherwise, as it chances: When applied to the bleak East wind, dispersing a flight of bees, and dashing them on the stream,

the epithet implies excess; but when spoken of the gentle South, whose strongest gale is but sufficient to drive the willing ship to port, [Æn. vii. 410.] Præcipiti delata Noto, it then only expresses due measure.

As for the criticism from Quintilian, who opposes præcipitia to sublimibus, it is doubly impertinent: 1. As the sense is necessarily fixed by its opposition to sublimibus: and 2. As the word is here used, not as implying motion, but height, in which view its sense is absolute, and always denotes excess.

218. Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri, Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.] It is amazing that these two lines should ever have been misunderstood as a censure, the import of them being highly encomiastic, yet with great exactness declaring the specific boast and excellence of the chorus; which lay, as Heinsius hath well observed, 1. In inculcating important moral lessons; and 2. In delivering useful presages and monitions concerning future conduct, with an almost oracular prudence and authority.

What hath chiefly misled the Critics in their explanation of this place, I suspect to have been the frequent encomiums on the severity of the ancient music, by the Greek and Latin writers. Though here they seem to have overlooked two very material considerations: 1. That the former have chiefly treated the subject in a moral or political view, and therefore preferred the ancient music only as it was conceived to influence the public manners. For this reason Plato, one of the chief of those encomiasts, applauds, as we find, the practice of Ægypt, in suffering no change of her poetry, but continuing, to his time, her fondness for the Songs of Isis [De Leg. l. ii. sub. init.] which just as much infers the perfection of those songs, considered in a critical view, as Rome’s sticking to her Saliar verses would have shewn those poor, obscure orisons to have exceeded the regular odes and artificial compositions of Horace. And it was this kind of criticism which, as I suppose, the poet intended to expose in the famous verses, which I explain in note on v. 202. 2. That the latter, the principal of them at least, who talk in the same strain, lived under the Emperors; in whose time, indeed, music had undergone a miserable prostitution, being broken, as one of the best of those writers complains, into an effeminate and impure delicacy—In scenis effeminata et impudicis modis fracta, [Quint. I. l. x.] As to the times in question, I know but of one passage, which clearly and expresly condemns the music then in vogue; and that will admit of some alleviation from its being found in a treatise concerning laws. The passage I mean is in Cicero, [De Leg. l. ii. 15.] who, following Plato in his high-flown principles of legislation, exclames, Illa quæ solebant quondam compleri severitate jucunda Livianis et Nævianis modis; nunc ut eadem exultent, cervices oculosque pariter eum Modorum flexionibus torqueant! For the severitas jucunda of the music, to which Livius’s plays were set, it may be tolerably guessed from hence, that he was the first who brought a written Play upon the stage; i. e. the first writer whose plays were acted to a regular and precomposed music. And it is not, we know, very usual for the first essays in any art to be perfect. It should seem then, that the flexiones modorum, as opposed to the plainness of the old music, are here condemned, not so much in the view of a critic, estimating the true state of the stage; but, as was hinted, of a legislator, treading in the steps of Plato. Though indeed I have no doubt, that the music in those times was much changed, and had even suffered some degree of corruption. This I infer, not so much from any express authorities that have occurred, as from the general state of those times, which were degenerating apace into the worst morals, the sure fore-runners of a corrupt and vitiated music; for, though it may indeed, in its turn, and doubtless does, when established, contribute much to help on the public depravity, yet that depravity itself is originally not the effect, but the cause of a bad music; as is more than hinted to be Cicero’s real opinion in the place referred to, where, observing that the manners of many Greek states had kept pace with their music, he adds, that they had undergone this change, Aut hac dulcedine corruptelaque depravati, ut quidam putant; aut cum severitas eorum ob alia vitia cecidisset, tum fuit in auribus animisque mutatis etiam huic mutationi locus. [Leg. ii. 15.] But be this as it will, Horace, as we have seen, is no way concerned in the dispute about the ancient music.

219. Sententia Delphis.] Sententia is properly an aphorism taken from life, briefly representing either what is, or what ought to be the conduct of it: Oratio sumpta de vita, quæ aut quid sit, aut quid esse oporteat, in vita, breviter ostendit. [Ad Herenn. Rhet. l. iv.] These aphorisms are here mentioned, as constituting the peculiar praise and beauty of the chorus. This is finely observed, and was intended to convey an oblique censure on the practice of those poets, who stuff out every part of the drama alike with moral sentences, not considering, that the only proper receptacle of them is the chorus, where indeed they have an extreme propriety; it being the peculiar office and character of the chorus to moralize. In the course of the action they should rarely be used; and that for the plain reason assigned by the author, just quoted, [for the rule holds on the stage, as well as at the bar] Ut rei actores, non vivendi præceptores, esse videamur. That there was some ground for this reproof of the Roman drama, is collected from the few remaining fragments of the old Latin plays, which have much of this sententious cast, and from what Quintilian expresly tells us of the old Latin poets, whose fame, it seems, was principally raised upon this merit. Tragœdiæ scriptores, Accius et Pacuvius, clarissimi gravitate sententiarum, &c. [l. x. c. 1.] To how intolerable an extreme this humour of moralizing in plays was afterwards carried, Seneca has given us an example.

But here a question will be started, “Why then did the Greeks moralize so much, or, if we condemn Accius and Seneca, how shall we defend Sophocles and Euripides?” An ingenious18 modern hath taken some pains to satisfy this difficulty, and in part, I think, hath succeeded. His solution, in brief, is, “That the moral and political aphorisms of the Greek stage generally contained some apt and interesting allusion to the state of public affairs, which was easily catched by a quick, intelligent auditory; and not a dry, affected moral, without further meaning, as for the most part was that of the Latins.” This account is not a little confirmed by particular instances of such acknowledged allusions, as well as from reflexions on the genius and government of the Athenians, at large. But this, though it goes some way, does not fully extricate the matter. The truth is, these sentences are too thick sown in the Greek writers, to be fully accounted for from the single consideration of their democratical views. Not to observe, that the very choice of this medium for the conveyance of their political applications, presupposes the prior acknowledged use and authority of it. I would then account for it in the following manner.

I. In the virtuous simplicity of less polished times, this spirit of moralizing is very prevalent; the good sense of such people always delighting to shew itself in sententious or proverbial γνῶμαι, or observations. Their character, like that of the clown in Shakespear, is to be very swift and sententious. [As you like it, Act v. sc. 1.] This is obvious to common experience, and was long since observed by the philosopher, οἱ ἄγροικοι μάλιστα γνωμοτύποι εἰσὶ, καὶ ῥᾳδίως ἀποφάινονται, [Arist. Rhet. l. ii. c. 21.] an observation, which of itself accounts for the practice of the elder poets in Greece, as in all other nations. A custom, thus introduced, is not easily laid aside, especially when the oracular cast of these sentences, so fitted to strike, and the moral views of writers themselves (which was more particularly true of the old dramatists) concurred to favour this taste. But, 2. there was added to this, more especially in the age of Sophocles and Euripides, a general prevailing fondness for moral wisdom, which seems to have made the fashionable study of men of all ranks in those days; when schools of philosophy were resorted to for recreation as well as instruction, and a knowledge in morals was the supreme accomplishment in vogue: The fruit of these philosophical conferences would naturally shew itself in certain brief, sententious conclusions, which would neither contradict the fashion, nor, it seems, offend against the ease and gaiety of conversation in those times. Schools and pedantry, morals and austerity, were not so essentially connected, in their combinations of ideas, as they have been since; and a sensible moral truth might have fallen from any mouth, without disgracing it. Nay, which is very remarkable, the very scholia, as they were called, or drinking catches of the Greeks, were seasoned with this moral turn; the sallies of pleasantry, which escaped them in their freest hours, being tempered for the most part, by some strokes of this national sobriety. “During the course of their entertainments, says Athenæus, [l. xv. c. 14.] they loved to hear, from some wise and prudent person, an agreeable song: and those songs were held by them most agreeable, which contained exhortations to virtue, or other instructions relative to their conduct in life.”

And to give the reader a taste of these moral songs, I will take leave to present him with a very fine one, written by no less a person than Aristotle himself; and the rather, as I have it in my power to present him, at the same time, with an elegant translation of it. But its best recommendation will be that it comes from the same hand which has so agreeably entertained us of late with some spirited imitations of Horace19.

This moralizing humour, so prevalent in those times, is, I dare be confident, the true source of the sententious cast of the Greek dramatic writers, as well as of that sober air of moral, which, to the no small disgust of modern writers, is spread over all their poets. Not but there would be some difference in those poets themselves, and in proportion as they had been more or less conversant in the Academy, would be their relish of this moral mode; as is clearly seen in the case of Euripides, that philosopher of the stage, as the Athenians called him, and who is characterized by Quinctilian, as sententiis densus, et in iis, quæ a sapientibus tradita sunt, pæne ipsis par. [L. x. c. 1.] Yet still the fashion was so general, that no commerce of the world could avoid, or wholly get clear of it; and therefore Sophocles, though his engagements in the state kept him at a greater distance from the schools, had yet his share of this philosophical humour. Now this apology for the practice of the Greek poets doth by no means extend to the Roman; Philosophy having been very late, and never generally, the taste of Rome.

Cicero says, Philosophia quidem tantum abest ut proinde, ac de hominum est vitâ merita, laudetur, ut a plerisque neglecta, a multis etiam vituperetur. In another place he tells us, that in his time Aristotle was not much known, or read, even by the philosophers themselves. [Cic. Top. sub init.]

And, though in the age of Seneca, Sentences, we know, were much in use, yet the cast and turn of them evidently shew them to have been the affectation of the lettered few, and not the general mode and practice of the time. For the quaintness, in which Seneca’s aphorisms are dressed, manifestly speaks the labour and artifice of the closet, and is just the reverse of that easy, simple expression, which cloaths them in the Greek poets, thus demonstrating their familiar currency in common life. Under any other circumstances than these, the practice, as was observed, must be unquestionably faulty; except only in the chorus, where for the reason before given, it may always, with good advantage, be employed.

220. Carmine qui tragico, &c.] The connexion with v. 201, from whence the poet had digressed, is worth observing. The digression had been taken up in describing the improved state of dramatic music; the application of which to the case of tragedy, brings him round again to his subject, the tragic chorus; to which alone, as hath been observed, the two last lines refer. This too is the finest preparation of what follows. For to have passed on directly from the tibia to the satyrs, had been abrupt and inartificial; but from tragedy, the transition is easy, the satyrs being a species of the tragic drama. That it was so accounted may be seen from the following passage in Ovid,

For the tragedy, here referred to, cannot be the regular Roman tragedy. That he had distinctly considered before, and, besides, it in no age admitted, much less in this, of which we are speaking, so intolerable a mixture. As little can it be understood of the proper Atellane fable, for besides that Ovid is here considering the Greek drama only, the Atellane was ever regarded as a species, not of tragedy, but comedy: The authority of Donatus is very express; “Comædiarum formæ sunt tres: Palliatæ, Togatæ, Atellanæ, salibus et jocis compositæ, quæ in se non habent nisi vetustam elegantiam.” [Prol. in Terent.] And Athenæus [l. vi.] speaking of some pieces of this sort, which L. Sylla had composed, calls them σατυρικὰς κωμῳδίας, satyric comedies; comedies, because, ss Donatus says, “salibus et jocis compositæ:” and satyric, not that satyrs were introduced in them, but, according to Diomedes, from their being “argumentis dictisque similes satyricis fabulis Græcis.” Of what then can Ovid be understood to speak, but the true satyric piece, which was always esteemed, and, as appears from the Cyclops, in fact is, what Demetrius [περὶ ἑρμηνείας] elegantly calls it, τραγῳδία παιζούση, a lighter kind of tragedy; the very name, which Horace, as well as Ovid in this place, gives to it? But this is further clear from the instance quoted by Ovid, of this loose tragedy; for he proceeds:

which well agrees to the idea of a satyric piece, and, as Vossius takes notice, seems to be the very same subject, which Athenæus and others tell us, Sophocles had work’d into a satyric tragedy, under the title of Ἀχιλλέως ἐρασταί.

221. Mox etiam, &c.] It is not the intention of these notes to retail the accounts of others. I must therefore refer the reader, for whatever concerns the history of the satyric, as I have hitherto done, of the tragic, and comic drama, to the numerous dissertators on the ancient stage; and above all, in the case before us, to the learned Casaubon; from whom all that hath been said to any purpose, by modern writers, hath been taken. Only it will be proper to observe one or two particulars, which have been greatly misunderstood, and without which it will be impossible, in any tolerable manner, to explane what follows.

I. The design of the poet, in these lines, is not to fix the origin of the satyric piece, in ascribing the invention of it to Thespis. This hath been concluded, without the least warrant from his own words, which barely tell us, “that the Representation of tragedy was in elder Greece, followed by the satyrs;” and indeed the nature of the thing, as well as the testimony of all antiquity, shews it to be impossible. For the satyr here spoken of, is, in all respects, a regular drama, and therefore could not be of earlier date, than the times of Æschylus, when the constitution of the drama was first formed. ’Tis true indeed, there was a kind of entertainment of much greater antiquity, which by the ancients is sometimes called satyric, out of which (as Aristotle assures us) tragedy itself arose, ἡ δὲ τραγῳδία, διὰ τὸ ἐκ σατυρικοῦ μεταβαλεῖν, ὀψὲ ἀπεσεμνώθη, [περ. ποιητ. κ. δ.] But then this was nothing but a chorus of satyrs [Athenæus, l. xiv.] celebrating the festivals of Bacchus, with rude songs, and uncouth dances; and had little resemblance to that, which was afterwards called satyric; which, except that it retained the chorus of satyrs, and turned upon some subject relative to Bacchus, was of a quite different structure, and, in every respect, as regular a composition, as tragedy itself.

II. There is no doubt but the poem, here distinguished by the name of Satyri, was in actual use on the Roman stage. This appears from the turn of the poet’s whole criticism upon it. Particularly, his address to the Pisos, v. 235. and his observation of the offence which a loose dialogue in this drama would give to a Roman auditory, v. 248. make it evident that he had, in fact, the practice of his own stage in view. It hath, however, been questioned, whether by Satyri we are to understand the proper Greek Satyrs, or the Latin Atellane fable, which, in the main of its character, very much resembled that drama. If the authority of Diomedes be any thing, the former must be the truth, for he expresly asserts, “that the Satyric and Atellane pieces, though similar in the general cast of their composition, differed in this essential point, that the persons in the former were satyrs, in the other, not.” [L. iii. c. De poëm. gen.] Now the poet expresly tells us, the Persons in the drama he is here describing, were Satyrs, and accordingly delivers rules for the regulation of their characters. As to the Atellane, according to the way in which Vossius reads the words of Diomedes, the characters were Oscan, personæ Oscæ, which is very probable, not so much for the reasons assign’d by this Critic (for they are indeed very frivolous) but because, as it should seem from a passage in Strabo, [Lib. v. 233.] the language of the Osci was used in these Atellanes, and therefore common sense would require, that the persons also introduced should be Oscan. The difficulty is to know how it happened that, in a work written purposely to reform the Roman stage, the poet should say nothing of one species, the Atellane, which was of great authority and constant use at Rome, and yet say so much of another, the Satyrs, which was properly a Greek entertainment and certainly much less cultivated by the Roman poets. The plain solution of the matter, is, that, when now the Romans were become acquainted with the Greek models, and had applied themselves to the imitation of them, these Oscan characters were exchanged for the Greek satyrs, which they before resembled in the main parts of their character; and which appear, on other occasions, to have been no strangers at Rome; as we collect from the Sileni and Satyrs making a part (as Dionysius relates it) in their triumphal processions. So that this change of the Oscan persons for Satyrs is to be considered only as an improvement of the old Atellane, and not the introduction of an intirely new drama. In every other respect the precepts here given for the regulation of the Satyrs are such as would equally serve to improve the Atellane. The probable reason why the poet chose to insist so much on this alteration, or rather why he laboured so strenuously to support it, will be given in its place. In the mean time supposing his view to have been this of countenancing the introduction of satyric persons into the Atellane (and that they were, in fact, introduced, we learn from an express authority21) every thing said on the subject will not only be pertinent and agreeable to what is here taught to be the general tenor of the epistle, but will be seen to have an address and contrivance, which will very much illustrate this whole part, and recommend it to the exact reader.

But before I quit this subject of the Atellane fable it will be proper to observe, That when I every where speak of it, as of early original, and ancient use on the Roman stage, I am not unmindful that Velleius Paterculus speaks of Pomponius as the Inventor of this Poem; which, if taken in the strict sense, will bring the date of it very low. “Sane non ignoremus eâdem ætate fuisse Pomponium, sensibus celebrem, verbis rudem, et novitate inventi a se operis commendabilem.” L. ii. c. ix. For the age he is speaking of is that of Sylla. But the authorities for the high antiquity of the Atellane fable are so express, that, when Pomponius is called the Inventor of it, it is but as Horace calls Lucilius the Inventor of the Roman Satire. That is, he made so considerable a change in the form and conduct of this poem, as to run away with all the honour of it. The improvements made by Lucilius in Satire have been taken notice of in the Introduction. And it happens that a curious passage in Athenæus will let us into the Improvements made by Pomponius in the Atellanes.

But first we are to understand that this sort of entertainment, as the name speaks, was imported to Rome from Atella, a town of the Osci in Campania; and that the Dialect of that people was constantly and only used in it, even when the Osci themselves had ceased to be a people. This we learn from Strabo. ΟΣΚΩΝ ἐκλελοιπότων, ἡ διάλεκτος μένει παρὰ τοῖς Ρωμαίοις· ὧστε καὶ ποιήματα σκηνοβατεῖσθαι κατά τινα ἀγῶνα πάτριον καὶ μιμολογεῖσθαι. L. v. 233.

The Oscan language, we see, was made use of in the Atellane plays, just as the Welsh, or some Provincial Dialect, is often employed in our Comedies.

But now we learn from Athenæus that L. Sylla writ some of these Atellanes in the Roman language. ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ γραφεῖσαι σατυρικαὶ κωμῳδίαι ΤΗΙ ΠΑΤΡΩΩΙ ΦΩΝΗΙ. [L. vi. p. 261. Ed. Casaub.] The difficulty then clears up. For the Pomponius whom Velleius speaks of was contemporary with L. Sylla. So that to give any propriety to the term of Inventor, as applied to Pomponius, we must conclude that he was the first person who set this example of composing Atellane plays in the vulgar dialect: which took so much that he was even followed in this practice by the Roman General. This account of the matter perfectly suits with the encomium given to Pomponius. He would naturally, on such an alteration, endeavour to give this buffoon sort of Comedy a more rational cast: And this reform of itself would entitle him to great honour. Hence the SENSIBUS CELEBRIS of Paterculus22. But to preserve some sort of resemblance (which the people would look for) to the old Atellane, and not to strip it of all the pleasantry arising from the barbarous dialect, he affected, it seems, the antique in the turn of his expression. Hence the other part of his character (which in the politer age of Paterculus grew offensive to nice judges) VERBIS RUDIS.

The conclusion is, That the Atellane Fable was in its first rude form and Oscan Dialect of ancient use at Rome, where it was admitted, as Strabo speaks, ΚΑΤΑ ΤΙΝΑ ΑΓΩΝΑ ΠΑΤΡΙΟΝ: That Pomponius afterwards reformed its barbarities, and brought it on the Stage in a Roman dress; which together were thought so great improvements, that later writers speak of him as the Inventor of this Poem. But to return to our proper subject, the Greek Satyrs.

III. For the absolute merit of these satyrs, the reader will judge of it himself by comparing the Cyclops, the only piece of this kind remaining to us from antiquity, with the rules here delivered by Horace. Only it may be observed, in addition to what the reader will find elsewhere [n. v. 223.] apologized in its favour, that the double character of the satyrs admirably fitted it, as well for a sensible entertainment to the wise, as for the sport and diversion of the vulgar. For while the grotesque appearance, and jesting vein of these fantastic personages amused the one; the other saw much further; and considered them, at the same time, as replete with science, and informed by a spirit of the most abstruse wisdom. Hence important lessons of civil prudence, interesting allusions to public affairs, or a high, refined moral, might, with the highest probability, be insinuated, under the slight cover of a rustic simplicity. And from this instructive cast, which from its nature must be very obscure, if not impenetrable, to us at this day, was, I doubt not, derived the principal pleasure which the ancients found in this species of the drama. If the modern reader would conceive any thing of the nature and degree of this pleasure, he may in part guess at it, from reflecting on the entertainment he himself receives from the characters of the clowns in Shakespear; who, as the poet himself hath characterized them, use their folly, like a stalking horse, and, under the presentation of that, shoot their wit. [As you like it.]

221. Agrestis satyros, &c.] It hath been shewn, that the poet could not intend, in these lines, to fix the origin of the satyric drama. But, though this be certain, and the dispute concerning that point be thereby determined, yet is it to be noted, that he purposely describes the satyr in its ruder and less polished form; glancing even at some barbarities, which deform the Bacchic chorus; which was properly the satyric piece, before Æschylus had, by his regular constitution of the drama, introduced it, under a very different form on the stage. The reason of this conduct is given in n. on v. 203. Hence the propriety of the word nudavit, which Lambin rightly interprets, nudos introduxit Satyros, the poet hereby expressing the monstrous indecorum of this entertainment in its first unimproved state. Alluding also to this ancient character of the Satyr, he calls him asper, i. e. rude and petulant; and even adds, that his jests were intemperate, and without the least mixture of gravity. For thus, upon the authority of a very ingenious and learned critic, I explane incolumi gravitate, i. e. rejecting every thing serious, bidding farewell, as we say, to all gravity. Thus [L. iii. O. 5.]