Chapter 6

Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actusQuam 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, ashastens rapidly to the event, and rejects, as impertinent,all particulars in the round of the story, which would unnecessarily obstruct his course to itâ€”a plan essentially necessary to the legitimate epicâ€”he first glances at the injudicious violation of this method in a certain poem onthe return ofDiomed, 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 thedrama, as the less attentive reader might expect, but solely from the epos; for,thisbeing made the object of imitation to the dramatic poet, as the tenor of the place shews, it became necessary to guard against the influence of bad models. Which I observe for the sake of those, who, from not apprehending the connection of this and such like passages in the epistle, hastily conclude it to be a confused medley of precepts concerning the art of poetry, in general; and not a regular well-conducted piece, uniformly tending to lay open the state, and to remedy the defects, of the Roman stage.

148.Semper ad eventum festinat; &c.] The disposition, here recommended to the poet, might be shewnuniversallyright from the clearest principles. But the propriety and beauty of it will, perhaps, be best apprehended by such, as are unusedto the more abstract criticism, from attending to aparticularinstance. Let us conceive an objector then to put the following query: â€œSupposing the author of the Ã†neis to have related, in the natural order, the destruction of Troy, would not the subject have been, to all intents and purposes, as muchone, as it is under its present form; in which that event is told, in the second book, by way of episode?â€ I answer by no means. The reason is taken fromthe nature of the work, and fromthe state and expectations of the reader.

1. Thenature of an epic or narrative poemis 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 Ã†neis been related, in this extent, it must not only have taken up one, but many books. By this faithful and animateddrawing, and the time it would necessarily have toplayupon 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 consideringthe 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 intermediateaction 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 painterâ€™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 sameinstantof time; but it may serve for an illustration of my meaning. Suppose the painter to take, for his subject, that part of Ã†neasâ€™s story, where, with hispenates, hisfather, and hisson, he is preparing to set sail for Italy. To drawTroy in flames, as a constituent part of this picture, would be manifestly absurd. It would be painting two subjects, instead of one. And perhapsTroja incensamight seize the attention before

Ascanium Anchisenque patrem Teucrosque penates.

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

153.Tu, quid ego et populus, &c.] The connexion is this. â€œBut though the strict observance of these rules will enable the poet to conduct hisplotto the best advantage, yet this is notallwhich is required to aperfecttragedy. 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 themanners. Besides the peculiarities ofoffice,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 ofage.â€

Ã†tatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores.

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

157.Mobilibusque decor naturis dandus et annis.]Mobilibus]non levibus aut inconstantibus, sed quÃ¦ variatis Ã¦tatibus immutantur. Lambin.Naturis] By this word is not meant, simply, that instinctivenaturalbiass, 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 certaindecorumor 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.

179.Aut agitur res in scenis, aut acta refertur: &c.] The connexion is this. Themisapplication, just now mentioned, destroys thecredibility. 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 aconcessionto prevent mistakes, viz.

Segnius irritant animos, &c.

182.Non tamen intus Digna geri promes in scenam:] I know not a more striking example of the transgression of this rule, than in Senecaâ€™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 theaction, might have been so contrived, as to have an infinite beauty in thenarration; as may be seen from a similar instance in Xenophonâ€™s CyropÃ¦dia, where Panthea is represented putting together the torn limbs of Abradates.

185.Ne pueros coram populo, &c.] Seneca, whom we before [v. 123] saw so sollicitous to keep up to one rule of Horace, here makes no scruple to transgress another. For, in violation of the very letter of this precept, and of all the laws of decency and common sense, he represents Medea butchering her children in the face of the people; and, as if this too faintly painted the fury of her character, he further aggravates the cruelty of the execution, with all the horrors of a lingering act. This, seemingly inconsistent, conduct of the poet was, in truth, owing to one and the same cause, namely, â€œThe endeavour to sustain Medeaâ€™s character.â€ 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,oâ€™ersteps the modesty of nature, inflating hersentimentswith extravagant passion, and blackening heractswith circumstances of unnatural horror. Though some of these faults I suspect he only copied. For, to say nothing ofthatof Ennius, Ovidâ€™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 prÃ¦stare potuerit, si ingenio suo temperare, quÃ m indulgere, maluisset. It is not possible indeed to say exactly, wherein thisintemperanceconsisted; 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 Ovidâ€™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 filltheir plots with unnatural incidents, and to heighten their characters into caracatures. Though it may be doubted, whether this hath been owing so much to their own ill taste, as to a vicious compliance with that of the public; for, as one says, who well knew the expediency of this craft, and practised accordingly,to write unnatural things is the most probable way of pleasing them who understand not nature. [Dryd. Pref. to Mock Astrol.]

193.Actoris partes chorus, &c.] See alsoAristotle[Ï€ÎµÏ. Ï€Î¿Î¹Î·Ï„. Îº. Î¹Î·Ê¹.] 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: lâ€™essai heureux de M. Racine, qui les [chÅ“urs] a fait revivre dansAthalieet dansEsther,devroit, ce semble, nous avoir detrompez sur cet article. [P. Brumoi, vol. i. p. 105.] And, before him, ourMilton, 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. HisSampson Agonisteswas, as might be expected, a master-piece. But even his credit hath not been sufficient to restorethe Chorus. Hear a late Professor of the art declaring,De choro nihil disserui, quia non est essentialis dramati, atque Ã neotericis penitus,ET, ME JUDICE, MERITO, REPUDIATUR. [PrÃ¦l. 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. Achorusinterposing, and bearing a part in the progress of the action, gives the representation thatprobability14, and striking resemblance of real life, which every man of sense perceives andfeelsthe 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 theutilityof 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 themanners, bad as well as good, be drawn in strong, vivid colours, and to that end that immoral sentiments, forcibly expressed and speciously maintained, be sometimesimputedto 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 themannerswas 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 theimputedvillany, as though it had been hisown. 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 thewholeis left to the sagacity and penetration of the people? The wiser sort, â€™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 ofharmonyandaction(which is the true character of the chorus) might make it, even to such, a not unpleasant or unprofitable entertainment. But thesetwoare a small part of theusesof the chorus: which in every light is seen so important to the truth, decorum, and dignity of the tragic scene, that themodernstage, which hath not thought proper to adopt it, is even, with the advantageof, sometimes, the justest moral painting and sublimest imagery, but a very faint shadow of theold; 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 findin theVIIITom. of the history of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres.â€”Or, it may be sufficient to refer the English Reader to the late tragedies ofElfridaandCaractacus; which do honour to modern poetry, and are a better apology, than any I could make, for the ancient chorus.

193.Officiumque virile] Heinsius takesvirileadverbially forviriliter. But this is thought harsh. What hinders, but that it may be takenadjectively? And then, agreeably to his interpretation,officium virilewill 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 apersona dramatisto thechorus, 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 ofprobability, intended to bedrawn from this use of thechorus, is, in great measure, lost.

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

At the end of thefirstact, when PhÃ¦dra 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 thesecondact, instead of applauding the virtuous obstinacy of Hippolytus, and execrating the mad attempt of PhÃ¦dra, it coolly sings the danger of beauty.

Thethirdact 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 ofgoodandill.

After thefourthact, 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 ofcoherence, 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 ofSeneca, and be some amusement to the critical reader, to observe, how the several blunders, here charged upon him, arose from an injudicious imitation ofEuripides.

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 PhÃ¦dra 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, thenutrix, who is not drawn, as in modern tragedy, an unmeaning confidante, the mere depositary of the poetâ€™s secrets, but has real manners assigned to her, endeavours, with the highest beauty of character, to divert these horrid intentions, and mitigate in somesort the guilt of her passion, by representing to her the resistless and all-subduing force of love. â€œVenus, says this virtuousmonitrix, 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.â€ And so goes on, enumerating particular examples, from all which she infers at last the necessity of PhÃ¦draâ€™s yielding to her fate. Again,

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

the substance of which is, â€œThat 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 overuniversal nature.â€ 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 fatherâ€™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 theoccasion; and must be acknowledged of the other, from the differentcharacterof 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 PhÃ¦dra 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 princeâ€™s person, and the danger of beauty, which follows on the abrupt departure of Hippolytus, rejecting, with a virtuous disdain, the mad attempts of PhÃ¦dra and her confidante, is so glaringly improper, as not to admit an excuse from any example. And yet, I amafraid, the single authority, it has to lean on, is a very short hint, slightly dropped by the chorus in the Greek poet on a very different occasion. It is in the entrance of that scene, where the mangled body of Hippolytus is brought upon the stage; on the sight of which the chorus very naturally breaks out,

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

III. The next song of the chorus may seem directly copied from Euripides. Yet the two occasions will be found extremely different. In Seneca, Theseus, under the conviction of his sonâ€™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 fatherâ€™s fury, breaks out into that most tender complaint (than which nothing was ever more affecting in tragedy)

containing his last adieu to his country, companions, and friends. The chorus, touched with the pathos of this apostrophe, and commiserating his sad reverse of fortune, enters with him into the same excess of lamentation, and, as the first expression of it, lets fall this natural sentiment, â€œThat 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 ofgoodandill.â€ 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, DeÃ»m, &c.

But the great difference lies here. That, whereas inEuripidesthis 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; inSenecait 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, asany 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 thesecondsong of the chorus will be applicable to thefourth, 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 PhÃ¦dra, and not enduring the sight of the supposed guilty author of it, commands him into banishment, â€œLest, 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.â€ The chorus, struck with the distressful situation of the old king, and recollecting with him the sum of his former glories, is made to exclaim,

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

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

196.Ille bonis faveatque, &c.]The chorus, says the poet,is to take the side of the good and virtuous, i. e. is always to sustain a moral character. But this will need some explanation and restriction. To conceive aright of its office, we must suppose thechorusto 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 themoral, 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 fromaffectionorinterest. Though even these may be supposed in cases, where the character, towards which theydraw, 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 freelyand 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 ofrightandwrong; 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 themoralof the stage will not be always strictly philosophical; as reflecting to us the image not of the sageâ€™s speculation, but, of the obvious sense of common, untutorâ€™d minds. The reader will find this observation applied to the case of thechorusin 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. Themoral characterof the chorus will not only depend very much on the several mistaken notions and usages, which may happen, under different circumstances, to corrupt and defilemorality; but allowance is also to be made for thefalse policies, which may prevail in different countries; and especially if they constitute any part of the subject, which the drama would represent. If thechorusbe 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, presentedto 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 thechoruswill 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 theAntigone, contrary to the rule of Horace, takes the side of thewicked. 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 himin 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 HÃ¦mon 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 moralcharacter. But we are to look for it no further. This is the utmost verge and boundary of a slaveâ€™s virtue. An important truth, which, among many greater and more momentous instructions, furnishes this to the dramatic poet, â€œThat, 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.â€

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 falsetheologyof 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 mistakenmoral. 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 thecurious reader to extend the observation at his leisure.

I. In the Hippolytus of Euripides, the chorus, which is let into PhÃ¦draâ€™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 hischorus, which, in order to observe acritical, is thus made to violate amoralprecept, 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 PhÃ¦dra, 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. PhÃ¦dra 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. â€œPhÃ¦dra, says the chorus, oppressed and borne down by her afflictions, has recourse to this expedient of suicide,

for the sake of her good fame, and in order to free herself from the tortures of a cruel passion.â€ And how agreeable this was to the pagan system, in general, let the reader collect from the following testimonies in Cicero:Si omnia fugiendÃ¦ turpitudinis adipiscendÃ¦que honestatis causÃ¢ faciemus, non modo stimulos doloris, sed etiam fulmina fortunÃ¦ contemnamus licebit: prÃ¦sertim cum paratum sit illud ex hesternÃ¢ disputatione perfugium. Ut enim, si, cui naviganti prÃ¦dones insequantur, Deus quis dixerit, Ejice te navi; prÃ¦sto 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 Vthdisputation,Mihi quidem in vita servanda videtur illa lex, quÃ¦ in GrÃ¦corum 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: sicINJURIAS FORTUNÃ†, QUAS FERRE NEQUEAS, DEFUGIENDO RELINQUAS.

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

I will do it; for this revenge on a husband is just.We see then the chorus, in keeping the secret of Medeaâ€™s murders, was employed in its great office of countenancing and supportingsalubrem justitiam,wholesome justice. And, therefore, the scholiast, with M. Dacierâ€™s leave, gave a fit and proper accountof the matter (so far was it from beingimpiousandridiculous) 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 theirfreedomis properly mentioned. For this distinguishes their case from that of thenutrix, who upon receiving the account of Jasonâ€™s cruelties, cries out,

And that the chorus enterâ€™d into Medeaâ€™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 poetâ€™s plot, may be certainly shewn. For when, in the fury of her resentments, and as the full completion of her revenge, the mother comes to propose the murder of her innocent children, the chorus starts with horror at the thought, dissuades her from it in the most earnest and affecting manner17, and seems to have concealed the dreadful secret only from the persuasion, thatit 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;

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