Act v.

This last circumstance puts the widest difference between the two cases. The one shews a perfect distraction of mind, which cannot even bear the consciousness of its crimes: the other, a firm and steddy spirit, sensible indeed to its misery, but not oppressed or astonished by it.

2. But this measure of grief, so delicately marked, and, with such truth of character, ascribed to Electra, ought not, it is further insisted, to have shewn itself, immediately, on the murder of Clytæmnestra. But why not? There is nothing in the _character of Electra_, _the maxims of those times_, or _in the disposition of the drama itself_, to render this change improper or incredible. On the contrary, there is much under each of these heads, to lead one to expect it.

1. _Electra’s character_ is indeed that of a fierce, and determined, but withal of a generous and virtuous woman. Her motives to revenge were, principally, a strong sense of justice, and superior affection for a father; not a rooted, unnatural aversion to a mother. She acted, as appears, not from the perturbation of a tumultuous revenge (in that case indeed the objection had been of weight) but from a fixed abhorrence of wrong, and a virtuous sense of duty. And what should hinder a person of this character from being instantly touched with the distress of such a spectacle?

2. _The maxims of those times also favour this conduct._ For, 1. The notions of strict remunerative justice were then carried very high. This appears from the _Lex talionis_, which, we know, was in great credit in elder Greece; from whence it was afterwards transferred into the Law of the XII Tables. Hence _blood for blood_ [αἷμα δ’ αἵματος δανεισμὸς,—as the messenger, in his account of the death of Ægysthus, expresses it, Act iv.] was the command and rule of justice. This the Chorus, as well as the parricides, frequently insist upon, as the ground and justification of the murder. 2. This severe vengeance on enormous offenders was believed, not only consonant to the rules of _human_, but to be the object, and to make the especial care of the _divine_, justice. And thus the ancients conceived of this very case. _Juvenal_, speaking of Orestes,

_Quippe ille_ DEIS AUCTORIBUS _ultor Patris erat cæsi media inter pocula_. Sat. viii.

And to this opinion agrees that tradition, or rather fiction, of the poets, who, though they represent the judges of the Areopagus as divided in their sentiments of this matter, yet make no scruple of bringing in Minerva herself to pronounce his absolution. _Hoc etiam fictis fabulis doctissimi homines memoriæ prodiderunt, eum, qui patris ulciscendi causâ matrem necavisset, variatis hominum sententiis, non solum divinâ, sed etiam sapientissimæ Deæ sententiâ absolutum_ [CIC. pro MILON.] The venerable council of Areopagus, when judging by the severe rules of _written_ justice, it seems, did not condemn the criminal; and the _unwritten_ law of equity, which the fable calls the _wisdom of Pallas_, formally _acquitted_ him. The murder then was not against _human_, and directly agreeable to the determinations of _divine_, justice. Of this too the Chorus takes care to inform us:

Νέμει τοι δίκαν θεὸς ὅταν τύχῃ. Act. iv.

This explains the reason of Electra’s question to Orestes, who had pleaded the impiety of murdering a mother,

Καὶ μὲν ἀμύνων πατρὶ, δυσσεβὴς ἔσῃ;

the force of which lies in this, that a father’s death revenged upon the guilty mother, was equally _pious_ as just. 3. This vengeance was, of course, to be executed by the nearest relations of the deceased. This the law prescribed in judicial prosecutions. Who then so fit instruments of fate, when that justice was precluded to them? This is expressed, in answer to the plea of Orestes, that he should suffer the vengeance of the Gods for the murder of his mother; Electra replies,

Τῷ δαὶ πατρῴαν διαμεθῇς τιμωρίαν;

i. e. Who then shall repay vengeance to our father? She owns the consequence, yet insists on the duty of incurring it. There was no other, to whom the right of vengeance properly belonged.

4. Further the pagan doctrine of fate was such, that, in order to discharge duty in one respect, it was unavoidable to incur guilt, in another. This was the case here, Phœbus commanded and fate had decreed: yet obedience was a crime, to be expiated by future punishment. This may seem strange to us, who have other notions of these matters, but was perfectly according to the pagan system. The result is, that they knowingly exposed themselves to vengeance, in order to fulfil their fate. All that remained was to lament their destiny, and revere the awful and mysterious providence of their Gods. And this is, exactly, what Orestes pleads, in vindication of himself, elsewhere:

Ἀλλ’ ὡς μὲν οὐκ εὖ, μὴ λεγ’, εἴργασται τάδε, Ἡμῖν δὲ τοῖς δράσασιν οὐκ εὐδαιμόνως. Orest. Act. ii.

5. Lastly, it should be remembered, how heinous a crime adultery was esteemed in the old world; when, as well as murder, we find it punished with death. The law of the XII Tables expressly says, ADVLTERII CONVICTAM VIR ET COGNATI, VTI VELINT, NECANTO. Now, all these considerations put together, Electra might assist at the assassination of her mother, consistently with the strongest feelings of piety and affection. That these then should instantly break forth, so soon as the debt to justice, to duty, and to fate was paid, is nothing wonderful. And this, by the way, vindicates the Chorus from the inconsistency, by some charged upon it, in condemning the act, when done, which before they had laboured to justify. The common answer, “That the Chorus follows the character of the people,” is insufficient. For (besides that the Chorus always sustains a moral character) whence that inconsistency in the people themselves? The reason was, the popular creed of those times. It had been an omission of duty to have declined, it was criminal to execute, the murder.

3. The disposition of the drama (whether the most judicious, or not, is not the question) was calculated to introduce this change with the greatest probability. Electra’s principal resentment was to Ægysthus. From him chiefly proceeded her ill treatment, and from him was apprehended the main danger of the enterprize. Now, Ægysthus being taken off in the beginning of the preceding act, there was time to indulge all the movements and gratulations of revenge, which the objection supposes should precede, and for a while suspend the horrors of remorse, before they come to the murder of Clytæmnestra. This is rendered the more likely by the long parley, that goes before it; which rather tends to soften, than exasperate, her resentments, and seems artfully contrived to prepare the change, that follows.

On the whole, Electra’s concern, as managed by the poet, is agreeable to the tenor of her character, and the circumstances of her situation. To have drawn her otherwise, had been perhaps in the taste of modern tragedy, but had certainly been beside the line of nature, and practice of the ancients.

II. The case of Iphigenia, though a greater authority stand in the way, is still easier. Aristotle’s words are, τοῦ δὲ ἀνωμάλου [παράδειγμα] ἡ ἐν Αὐλίδι Ἰφιγένεια. Οὐδὲν γὰρ ἔοικεν ἡ ἱκετεύουσα τῇ ὑστέρᾳ, i. e. “Iphigenia is an instance of the inconsistent character: for there is no probable conformity betwixt her fears and supplications at first, and her firmness and resolution afterwards.” But how doth this appear, independently of the name of this great critic? Iphigenia is drawn indeed, at first, fearful and suppliant: and surely with the greatest observance of nature. The account of her destination to the altar was sudden, and without the least preparation; and, as Lucretius well observes, in commenting her case, NUBENDI TEMPORE IN IPSO; when her thoughts were all employed, and, according to the simplicity of those times, confessed to be so, on her promised nuptials. The cause of such destination too, as appeared at first, was the private family interest of Menelaus. All this justifies, or rather demands, the strongest expression of female fear and weakness. “But she afterwards recants and voluntarily devotes herself to the altar.” And this, with the same strict attention to probability. She had now informed herself of the importance of the case. Her devotement was the demand of Apollo, and the joint petition of all Greece. The glory of her country, the dignity and interest of her family, the life of the generous Achilles, and her own future fame, were, all, nearly concerned in it. All this considered, together with the high, heroic sentiments of those times, and the superior merit, as was believed, of voluntary devotement, Iphigenia’s character must have been very unfit for the distress of a whole tragedy to turn upon, if she had not, in the end, discovered the readiest submission to her appointment. But, to shew with what wonderful propriety the poet knew to sustain his characters, we find her, after all, and notwithstanding the heroism of the change, in a strong and passionate apostrophe to her native Mycenæ, confessing some involuntary apprehensions and regrets, the remains of that instinctive abhorrence of death, which had before so strongly possessed her.

Ἔθρεψας Ἑλλάδι μέγα φάος— θανοῦσα δ’ οὐκ ἀναίνομαι.

Once the bright star of Greece— But I submit to die.

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.

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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.

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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.

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136. NEC SIC INCIPIES, UT SCRIPTOR CYCLICUS OLIM:] All this [to v. 153] is a continuation of the poet’s advice, given above,

_Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus_.

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.

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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

_Ascanium Anchisenque patrem Teucrosque penates_.

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.

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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_.”

_Ætatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores._

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.

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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

_Mobilibusque decor, maturis dandus et annis_.

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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.

_Segnius irritant animos_, &c.

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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.

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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.]

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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 _probability_[14], 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.

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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.

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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,

Σὺ τὰν θεῶν ἄκαμπτον φρένα, &c.

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,

_Diva, non miti generata ponto_, &c.

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,

Καὶ μὲν ὁ τάλας ὅδε δὴ στείχει Σάρκας νεαρὰς Ξανθόν τε κάρα διαλυμανθείς.

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)

Ἄρηρεν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὦ τάλας ἐγώ. &c.

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:

_O magna parens, Natura, Deûm_, &c.

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,

Οὐκ οἶδ’ ὅπως εἴποιμ’ ἂν εὐτυχεῖν τινα Θνητῶν· τὰ γὰρ δὴ πρῶτ’ ἀνέστραπται πάλιν.

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.

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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.”

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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,

τάν τ’ εὔδοξον ἀνθαιρουμένα Φάμαν, ἀπαλλάσσουσά Τ’ ἀλγεινὸν φρενῶν ἔρωτα.

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 sovereign[15]?_ 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 inflicted[16]; 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,

Δράσω τάδ’· ἐνδίκως γὰρ ἐκτίσῃ πόσιν Μήδεια.

_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,

Ὄλοιτο μὲν μὴ, δεσπότης γάρ ἐστ’ ἐμὸς, Ἀτὰρ κακός γ’ ὢν εἰς φίλους ἁλίσκεται.

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 manner[17], 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_;

Εἴπερ φρονεῖς εὖ δεσπόταις, γυνή τ’ ἔφυς.

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.

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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,

_Indoctus quid enim saperet liberque laborum, Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto?_

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.

Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.

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

—Sermone opus est tristi, sæpe _jocoso_.

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,

Indoctus quid enim _saperet_, &c.

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.

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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,

_Nil intentatum nostri liquere poetæ, &c._

_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.

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204. ASPIRARE ET ADESSE CHORIS, &c.] _Chorus_ here means the whole dramatic performance, which was originally nothing else.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

_Quid Sophocles et Thespis et Æschylus utile ferrent_.

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.

_Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia præceps._

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_,

_si forte morantes Sparserit, aut præceps Neptuno immerserit Eurus_. Virg. Georg. iv. 29.

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_.

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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.

SIC PRISCAE — — — — ARTI.

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.

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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 ingenious[18] 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 Horace[19].

Ἀρετὰ πολύμοχθε γένει βροτείῳ, Θήραμα κάλλιστον βίῳ. Σᾶς πέρι, Παρθένε, μορφᾶς Καὶ θανεῖν ζηλωτὸς ἐν Ἑλλάδι πότμος, Καὶ πόνους τλῆναι μαλεροὺς ἀκάμαντας. Τοῖον ἐπὶ φρένα βάλλεις καρπὸν εἰς ἀθάνατον, Χρυσοῦ τε κρέσσω καὶ γονέων, Μαλακαυγητοῖό θ’ ὕπνου. Σοῦ δ’ ἕνεκ’ ἐκ Διὸς Ἡρακλέης Λήδας τε κοῦροι πόλλ’ ἀνέτλασαν, Ἔργοις σὰν ἀγορεύοντες δύναμιν. Σοῖς τε πόθοις Ἀχιλλεὺς Αἴας τ’ αἴδαο δόμους ἦλθον· Σᾶς δ’ ἕνεκα φιλίου μορφᾶς Ἀταρνέως ἔντροφος Ἀελίου χήρωσεν αὐγάς. Τοίγαρ ἀοίδιμον ἔργοις, Ἀθάνατόν τε μιν αὐξήσουσι μοῦσαι, Μναμοσύνας θύγατρες, Διὸς ξενίου σέβας αὔξουσαι Φιλίας τε γέρας βεβαίου[20].

I. Hail, Virtue! Goddess! sov’reign Good, By man’s bold race with pain pursu’d! Where’er thou dart’st thy radiant eye, Greece sees her sons with transport fly; Danger before thee disappears, And death’s dark frown no terror wears.

II. So full into the breast of man descends Thy rich ambrosial show’r; A show’r, that gold, that parents far transcends, Or, sleep’s soft-soothing pow’r.

III. By thee ALCIDES soar’d to fame, Thy influence LEDA’S twins proclaim; Heroes for thee have dauntless trod The dreary paths of hell’s abode; Fir’d by thy form, all beamy bright, Atarneus’ nursling left the light.

IV. His deeds, his social love (so will the nine, Proud to spread wide the praise Of friendship and of friendly Jove) shall shine With ever-living rays.

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.

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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,

_Est et in obscænos deflexa tragædia risus, Multaque præteriti verba pudoris habet_. Trist. l. ii. v. 409.

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:

_Nec nocet autori, mollem qui fecit Achillem, Infregisse suis fortia facta modis_.

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.

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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 authority[21]) 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 Ῥωμαίοις· 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 Paterculus[22]. 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.]

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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.]

_Incolumi Jove et urbe Roma;_

_i. e._ bidding farewell to Jupiter [Capitolinus] and Rome; agreeably to what is said just before,

_Anciliorum et nominis et togæ_ OBLITUS, _æternæque Vestæ_.

or, as SALVUS is used still more remarkably in Martial [10. l. v.]

_Ennius est lectus_ SALVO _tibi, Roma, Marone: Et sua riserunt secula Mæonidem._

_Farewell, all gravity_, is as remote from the original sense of the words _fare well_, as _incolumi gravitate_ from that of _incolumis_, or _salvo Marone_ from that of _salvus_.

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223. INLECEBRIS ERAT ET GRATA NOVITATE MORANDUS SPECTATOR—] The poet gives us in these words the reason, why such gross Ribaldry, as we know the Atellanes consisted of, was endured by the politest age of Rome. Scenical representations, being then intended, not, as in our days, for the entertainment of the better sort, but on certain great solemnities, indifferently for the diversion of the whole city, it became necessary to consult the taste of the multitude, as well as of those, _quibus est equus, et pater et res_.

And this reason is surely sufficient to vindicate the poet from the censure of a late critic, who has fallen upon this part of the epistle with no mercy. “The poet, says he, spends a great number of verses about these satyrs; but the subject itself is unworthy his pen. He, who could not bear the elegant mimes of Laberius, that he should think this farcical and obscene trash, worth his peculiar notice, is somewhat strange.” I doubt not, it appeared so to this writer, who neither considered the peculiar necessity of the satyric piece, nor attended to the poet’s purpose and drift in this epistle. The former is the more extraordinary, because he hath told us, and rightly too, “that, to content the people, the satyric was superadded to the tragic drama.” And he quotes a passage from Diomedes, which gives the same account, _Satyros induxerunt ludendi causa jocandique, simul ut spectator inter res tragicas seriasque satyrorum quoque jocis et ludis delectaretur_. Should not this have taught him, that what was so requisite to content the people, might deserve some notice from the poet? This _farcical trash_ was chiefly calculated for those, who without the _enticement of so agreeable a change_ in the entertainment of the day, would not have had patience to sit out the tragedy; which being intended for the gratification of the better sort, _urbani et honesti_, they, in their turn, required to be diverted in the only way, which was to the level of their taste, that of farce and pleasantry. And this I dare be confident, so great a patron of liberty, as this writer, will agree with me in thinking to be but reasonable in a free state; which ought to make some provision for the _few_, that may chance, even under such advantages, to want a truly critical spirit. I hold then, that Horace acted, not only in the character of a good critic, but of a prudent man, and good citizen, in attempting to refine, what it had not been equitable, or was not in his power, wholly to remove. But 2. the learned critic as little attended to the drift of the epistle, as to the important use and necessity of the satyric drama. He must otherwise have seen, that, in an essay to improve and regulate the Roman theatre (which is the sole purpose of it) the poet’s business was to take it, as it then stood, and to confine himself to such defects and abuses, as he found most likely to admit a correction, and not, as visionary projectors use, to propose a thorough reform of the public taste in every instance. The _Atellanes_ had actual possession of the stage, and, from their antiquity, and other prejudices in their favour, as well as from the very design and end of their theatrical entertainments, would be sure to keep it. What had the poet then, in these circumstances, to do but, in pursuance of his main design, to encourage a reformation of that entertainment, which he was not at liberty absolutely, and under every shape, to reject. This he judged might most conveniently be done by adopting the Greek _Satyrs_ instead of their own _Oscan_ characters. With this change, though the Atellanes might not, perhaps, be altogether to his own taste, yet he hoped to render it a tolerable entertainment to the better sort. And this, in fact, it might have been by following the directions here given; part of which were intended to free it from that _obscene and farcical trash_, which appears to have been no less offensive to the poet, than to this critic.

As for the so much applauded _mimes_, they had not, it is probable, at this time gained a footing on the stage, sufficient to entitle them to so much consideration. This was a new upstart species of the drama, which, though it had the common good-fortune of absurd novelties, to take with the great; yet was generally disapproved by men of better taste, and better morals. Cicero had passed a severe censure upon it in one of his epistles, [Ad famil. ix. 16.] which intimates, that it was of a more buffoon and ridiculous composition, than their Atellanes; whose place it began to be the fashion to supply with this ribaldry. And we collect the same thing from what Ovid observes of it in apology for the looseness of his own verses,

_Quid si scripsissem_ MIMOS _obscœna jocantes, Qui semper vetiti crimen amoris habent?_

_Nec satis incestis temerari vocibus_ aures, _Assuescunt_ oculi _multa pudenda pati_. Trist. l. ii. v. 497.

Horace, with this writer’s leave, might therefore judge it better to retain the Atellanes under some restrictions, than adopt what was much worse. But the mimes of Laberius were quite another thing. They were all elegance. So J. Scaliger [Comment, de Comœd. et Tragœd. c. vi.] and, after him, this writer, tells us; but on no better grounds, than that he wrote good Latin (though not always that, as may be seen in A. Gellius, l. xvi. c. 7.) and hath left a few elegant, moral scraps behind him. But what then? the kind of composition was ridiculous and absurd, and, in every view, far less tolerable, than the _satyrs_ under the regulation of Horace. The latter was a regular drama, consisting of an intire fable, conducted according to the rules of probability and good sense, only dashed with a little extravagance for the sake of the mob. The character of the former hath been given above from unquestionable authorities. Accordingly Diomedes [iii. p. 488. ed. Putsch.] defines it to be _an irreverent and lascivious imitation of obscene acts_—_mimus est sermonis cujuslibet motus sine reverentia, vel factorum et turpium cum lascivia imitatio_. And Scaliger himself owns _veri mimi proprium esse quædam sordida ut affectet_, loc. cit. It seems, in short, to have been a confused medley of comic drollery on a variety of subjects, without any consistent order or design; delivered by one actor, and heightened with all the licence of obscene gesticulation. Its best character, as practised by its greatest master, Laberius, was that of being witty in a very bad way [Sen. Controv. l. iii. c. 18.] and its sole end and boast, _risu diducere rictum_ [Hor. i. S. x. 7.] which, whatever virtue it may be, is not always a proof of much elegance. But I have spent too many words on a criticism, which the ingenious author, I am persuaded, let fall unawares, and did not mean to give us as the result of a mature and well-weighed deliberation on this subject.

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225. VERUM ITA RISORES, &c.] The connecting particle, _verum_, expresses the opposition intended between the original satyr and that which the poet approves. For having insinuated the propriety of the satyric shews, as well from the practice of Greece, as the nature of festival solemnities, the poet goes on to animadvert on their defects, and to prescribe such rules, in the conduct of them, as might render them a tolerable diversion, even to the better sort. This introduction of the subject hath no small art. For, there being at this time (as hath been shewn) an attempt to bring in the Greek satyrs, while the Atellane plays (as was likely) still held the affections of the people, the poet was not openly to reproach and discredit these; but, by a tacit preference, to support and justify the other. This is done with address. For, instead of criticising the Atellanes, which came directly in his way, after having closed his account of the Roman tragedy, he relates, as it were, incidentally, the practice of ancient Greece in exhibiting satyrs, and thence immediately passes on, without so much as touching on the other favourite entertainment, to offer some directions concerning the satyric drama.

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227. NE QUICUNQUE DEUS, QUICUNQUE ADHIBEBITUR HEROS, &c.] Gods and Heroes were introduced as well into the satyric as tragic drama, and often the very same Gods and Heroes, which had born a part in the preceding tragedy: a practice, which Horace, I suppose, intended, by this hint, to recommend as most regular. This gave the serious, tragic air to the satyr. The comic arose from the _risor_ and _dicax_, who was either a satyr himself, or some character of an extravagant, ridiculous cast, like a satyr. Of this kind, says Diomedes, from whom I take this account, are Autolychus and Burris: which last particular I mention for the sake of justifying a correction of the learned Casaubon. This great critic conjectured, that, instead of _Burris_, in this place, it should be read _Busiris_. His reason is “_nam Burris iste ex Græcorum poetis mihi non notus_:” which reason hath more force, than appears at first sight. For the very nature of this diversion required, that the principal character of it should be well known, which it was scarce likely to be, if not taken from a common story in their poets. But Vossius objects, “_sed non ea fuerit persona ridicula_:” contrary to what the grammarian represents it. But how so? Busiris was a savage, inhospitable tyrant, who sacrificed strangers. And what should hinder this character from being made ridiculous, as well as Polypheme in the Cyclops? Their characters were not unlike. And, as is seen in that case, the ancients knew to set forth such monsters of cruelty in a light, that rendered them equally absurd and detestable. This was agreeable to their humanity, which, by such representations, loved to cultivate a spirit of benevolence in the spectators; and shews the moral tendency of even the absurdest of the ancient dramatic shews. The objection of Vossius is then of no weight. But what further confirms the emendation of the excellent Casaubon, is a manuscript note on the margin of a printed copy of this book[23], which I have now by me, as it should seem, from his own hand, “_lectionem vero quam restituimus etiam in optimo codice Puteano postea invenimus_.” The learned reader will therefore, henceforth, look upon the text of _Diomedes_, in this place, as fully settled.

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229. MIGRET IN OBSCURAS &c.—AUT, DUM VITAT &c.] The two faults, cautioned against, are 1. a too low, or vulgar expression, in the comic parts; and 2. a too sublime one, in the tragic. The _former_ of these faults would almost naturally adhere to the first essays of the Roman satyrs, from the buffoon genius of the old Atellane: and the _latter_, from not apprehending the true measure and degree of the tragic mixture. To correct both these, the poet gives the exactest idea of the satyrs, in the image of a Roman matron, sharing in the mirth of a religious festival. The occasion obliged to some freedoms: and yet the dignity of her character demanded a decent reserve.

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234. NON EGO INORNATA &c.] The scope of these lines may be to regulate the satyric style, by the idea of its character, before given, in the allusion to a Roman matron. Conformably to that idea, a plain, unornamented expression [from v. 234 to 236.] must not always be used. The three following lines inforce this general application by example.

If the exact reader find himself dissatisfied with this gloss, which seems the only one, the words, as they now stand, will bear, he may, perhaps, incline to admit the following conjecture, which proposes to read, instead of _inornata_, _honorata_. I. The context, I think, requires this change. For the two faults observed above [v. 229, 30.] were, 1. a too low expression, and, 2. a too lofty. Corresponding to this double charge, the poet having fixed the idea of this species of composition [v. 231, 2, 3.] should naturally be led to apply it to both points in questions: 1. to the comic part, in prescribing the true measure of its condescension, and, 2. to the tragic, in settling the true bounds of its elevation. And this, according to the reading here offered, the poet doth, only in an inverted order. The sense of the whole would be this,

1. _Non ego_ HONORATA _et dominantia nomina solum Verbaque, Pisones, satyrorum scriptor amabo_:

_i. e._ in the tragic scenes, I would not confine myself to such words only, as are in honour, and bear rule in tragic, and the most serious subjects; this stateliness not agreeing to the condescending levity of the satyr.

2. _Nec sic enitar tragico differre colori, Ut nihil intersit Davusne loquatur, et audax Pythias, emuncto lucrata Simone talentum, An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni._

_i. e._ nor, on the contrary, in the comic scenes, would I incur the other extreme of a too plain, and vulgar expression, this as little suiting its inherent matronlike dignity. But, II. this correction improves the _expression_ as well as the _sense_. For besides the opposition, implied in the disjunctive, _nec_, which is this way restored, _dominantia_ hath now its genuine sense, and not that strange and foreign one forced upon it out of the Greek language. As connected with _honorata_, it becomes a metaphor, elegantly pursued; and hath too a singular propriety, the poet here speaking of figurative terms. And then, for _honorata_ itself, it seems to have been a familiar mode of expression with Horace. Thus [2 Ep. ii. 112.] _honore indigna vocabula_ are such words as have _parum splendoris_ and are _sine pondere_. And “_quæ sunt in honore vocabula_” is spoken of the contrary ones, such as are fit to enter into a serious tragic composition, in this very epistle, v. 71.

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240. EX NOTO FICTUM &c.] This precept [from v. 240 to 244] is analogous to that, before given [v. 129] concerning tragedy. It directs to form the satyrs out of a known subject. The reasons are, in general, the same for both. Only one seems peculiar to the satyrs. For the cast of them being necessarily romantic, and the persons, those fantastic beings, called satyrs, the τὸ ὅμοιον, or probable, will require the subject to have gained a popular belief, without which the representation must appear unnatural. Now these subjects, which have gained a popular belief, in consequence of old tradition, and their frequent celebration in the poets, are what Horace calls _nota_; just as newly invented subjects, or, which comes to the same thing, such as had not been employed by other writers, _indicta_, he, on a like occasion, terms _ignota_. The connexion lies thus. Having mentioned _Silenus_ in v. 239, one of the commonest characters in this drama, an objection immediately offers itself; “but what good poet will engage in subjects and characters so trite and hackney’d?” The answer is, _ex noto fictum carmen sequar_, i. e. however trite and well known this and some other characters, essential to the satyr, are, and must be; yet will there be still room for fiction and genius to shew itself. The conduct and disposition of the play may be wholly new, and above the ability of common writers, _tantum series juncturaque pollet_.

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244. SYLVIS DEDUCTI CAVEANT &c.] Having before [v. 232] settled the true idea of the satyric style in general, he now treats of the peculiar language of the satyrs themselves. This common sense demands to be in conformity with their sylvan character, neither affectedly tender and gallant, on the one hand; nor grossly and offensively obscene, on the other. The _first_ of these cautions seems leveled at a false improvement, which, on the introduction of the Roman satyr, was probably attempted on the simple, rude plan of the Greek, without considering the rustic extraction and manners of the fauns and satyrs. The _latter_, obliquely glances at the impurities of the Atellane, whose licentious ribaldry, as hath been observed, would, of course, infect the first essays of the Roman satyr.

But these rules so necessary to be followed in the _satyric_, are (to observe it by the way) still more essential to the PASTORAL poem: the fortunes and character of which (though numberless volumes have been written upon it) may be given in few words.

The prodigious number of writings, called Pastoral, which have been current in all times, and in all languages, shews there is something very taking in this poem. And no wonder, since it addresses itself to THREE leading principles in human nature, THE LOVE OF EASE, THE LOVE OF BEAUTY, and THE MORAL SENSE: such pieces as these being employed in representing to us the TRANQUILLITY, the INNOCENCE, and the SCENERY, of the rural life. But though these ideas are of themselves agreeable, good sense will not be satisfied unless they appear to have some foundation in truth and nature. And even, then, their impression will be but faint, if they are not, further, employed to _convey instruction_, or _interest the heart_.

Hence the different _forms_, under which this poem hath appeared. THEOCRITUS thought it sufficient to give a _reality_ to his pictures of the rural manners. But in so doing it was too apparent that his draught would often be coarse and unpleasing. And, in fact, we find that his shepherds, contrary to the poet’s rule,

——_immunda crepent ignominiosaque dicta_.

VIRGIL avoided this extreme. Without departing very widely from the simplicity of rustic nature, his shepherds are more decent, their lives more serene, and, in general, the scene more inviting. But the refinements of his age not well agreeing to these simple delineations, and his views in writing not being merely to _entertain_, he saw fit to allegorize these agreeable fancies, and make them the vehicles of _historical_, and sometimes even of _philosophic_, information.

Our SPENSER wanted to engross all the beauties of his masters: and so, to the artless and too natural drawing of the _Greek_, added the deep allegoric design of the _Latin_, poet.

One easily sees that this ænigmatic cast of the pastoral was meant to give it an air of instruction, and to make it a reasonable entertainment to such as would nauseate a sort of writing,

“Where pure description held the place of sense.”

But this refinement was out of place, as not only inconsistent with the simplicity of the pastoral character, but as tending to rob us in a good degree of the _pleasure_, which these amusing and picturesque poems are intended to give.

Others therefore took another route. The famous TASSO, by an effort of genius which hath done him more honour than even his epic talents, produced a new kind of pastoral, by engrafting it on the drama. And under this form, pastoral poetry became all the vogue. The charming AMINTAS was even commented by the greatest scholars and critics. It was read, admired, and imitated by all the world.

There is no need to depreciate the fine copies that were taken of it, in Italy. But those by our own poets were, by far, the best. SHAKESPEARE had, indeed, set the example of something like pastoral dramas, in our language; and in his _Winter’s Tale_, _As ye like it_, and some other of his pieces, has enchanted every body with his natural sylvan manners, and sylvan scenes. But FLETCHER set himself, in earnest, to emulate the Italian, yet still with an eye of reverence towards the English, poet. In his _faithful shepherdess_ he surpasses the _former_, in the variety of his paintings and the beauty of his scene; and only falls short of the _latter_, in the truth of manners, and a certain original grace of invention which no imitation can reach. The fashion was now so far established, that every poet of the time would try his hand at a pastoral. Even surly BEN, though he found no precedent for it among his ancients, was caught with the beauty of this novel drama, and, it must be owned, has written above himself in the fragment of his _sad shepherd_.—The scene, at length, was closed with the _Comus_ of MILTON, who, in his rural paintings, almost equalled the simplicity and nature of Shakespeare and Fletcher, and, in the purity and splendor of his expression, outdid TASSO.

In this new form of the pastoral, what was childish before, is readily admitted and excused. A simple _moral_ tale being the groundwork of the piece, the charms of description and all the embellishments of the scene are only subservient to the higher purpose of picturing the manners, or touching the heart.

But the good sense of Shakespeare, or perhaps the felicity of his genius, was admirable. Instead of the deep tragic air of Tasso (which has been generally followed) and his continuance of the pastoral strain, even to satiety, through _five_ acts, he only made use of these playful images to enrich his comic scenes. He saw, I suppose, that pastoral subjects were unfit to bear a tragic distress. And besides, when the distress rises to any height, the wantonness of pastoral imagery grows distasteful. Where as the genius of comedy admits of humbler distresses; and leaves us at leisure to recreate ourselves with these images, as no way interfering with the draught of characters, or the management of a comic tale. But to make up in _surprize_ what was wanting in _passion_, Shakespeare hath, with great judgment, adopted the popular system of Faeries; which, while it so naturally supplies the place of the old sylvan theology, gives a wildness to this sort of pastoral painting which is perfectly inimitable.

In a word; if Tasso had the honour of inventing the _pastoral drama_, properly so called, Shakespeare has shewn us the just application of _pastoral poetry_; which, however amusing to the imagination, good sense will hardly endure, except in a short dialogue, or in some occasional dramatic scenes; and in _these_ only, as it serves to the display of characters and the conduct of the poet’s plot.

And to confirm these observations on pastoral poetry, which may be thought too severe, one may observe that such, in effect, was the judgment passed upon it by that great critic, as well as wit, CERVANTES. He concludes his famous adventures, with a kind of project for his knight and squire _to turn shepherds_: an evident ridicule on the turn of that time for pastoral poems and romances, that were beginning to succeed to their books of heroic knight-errantry. Not, but it contains, also, a fine stroke of _moral criticism_, as implying, what is seen from experience to be too true, that men capable of running into one enthusiasm are seldom cured of it but by some sudden diversion of the imagination, which drives them into another.

In conclusion, the reader will scarcely ask me, why, in this deduction of the history and genius of pastoral poetry, I have taken no notice of what has been written of this kind, in France; which, if it be not the most _unpoetical_ nation in Europe, is at least the most _unpastoral_. Nor is their _criticism_ of this poem much better than their execution. A late writer[24] indeed pronounces M. de Fontenelle’s discourse on pastoral poetry _to be one of the finest pieces of criticism in the world_. For my part, I can only say it is rather more tolerable than his pastorals.

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248. OFFENDENTUR ENIM QUIBUS EST EQUUS ET PATER ET RES.] The poet, in his endeavour to reclaim his countrymen from the _taste obscene_, very politely, by a common figure, represents that as being the _fact_, which he wished to be so. For what reception the rankest obscenities met with on the Roman stage we learn from Ovid’s account of the success of the MIMI:

_Nobilis hos virgo matronaque, virque puerque, Spectat: et è magnâ parte_ senatus _adest_. Trist. ii. v. 501.

This, indeed, was not till some time after the date of this epistle. But we may guess from hence what must have been the tendency of the general disposition, and may see to how little effect the poet had laboured to divert the public attention from the _Mimes_ to his reformed _Atellanes_.

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251. SYLLABA LONGA BREVI, &c.] This whole critique on the satyrs concludes with some directions about the Iambic verse. When the commentary asserts, that this metre was common to tragedy and the satyrs, this is not to be taken strictly; the satyrs, in this respect, as in every other, sustaining a sort of intermediate character betwixt tragedy and comedy. For, accurately speaking, their proper measure, as the Grammarians teach, was the Iambic enlivened with the tribrachys. “_Gaudent_ [Victor. l. ii. c. met. Iamb.] _trisyllabo pede et maxime tribrache_.” Yet there was likeness enough to consider this whole affair of the metre under the same head. The Roman dramatic writers were very careless in their versification, which arose, as is hinted,