was tragedy and comedy combined. Such, then, was the germ and origin of what we now know as Tragedy; its cradle was a Dionysiak combination of satyr, goat, and psychico-solar life-heat worship. But what then is Tragedy, considered with reference to its familiar development? Aristoteles has given us a somewhat painfully elaborated definition, according to which it is an imitation of an action that is important, entire, and of a proper magnitude-by language embellished and rendered pleasurable, [i.e., having rhythm, harmony, and melody], in the way of action-effecting, through pity and terror, the correction and refinement of such passions.'1 This applies fairly enough to Attik tragedy during the brief period of its perfection, though Aristoteles, himself a schoolmaster, evidently regards the Stage as an important means of improvement for youth, and probably instructed. his pupils to draw such moral lessons from the fate of heroes, as an industrious apprentice of the City of London may have deduced in olden days from the career of George Barnwell. But not to wander into suggestions which arise from this definition, Platon seems to me to speak far more deeply and satisfyingly, when he says that real Tragedy is an imitation of the noblest life, which is necessarily that of gods and heroes; 2 and this observation, though far from being in itself a complete definition, yet goes to the very root of the matter. Now a hero has been beautifully defined as 'a god-born soul true to its origin; and so gods are great heroes, heroes, little gods. But heroes, from the necessity of things, must suffer, and that chiefly for others, and it is evident that voluntary suffering is far higher and nobler than compulsory What nobler concept then, than a voluntarily suffering 1 Poet. V. We, according to our ability, are tragic poets, and our tragedy the best and noblest, for our whole state is an imitation of the best and noblest life, which we affirm to be indeed the very truth of tragedy' (Laws, vii.). hero, except indeed a voluntarily suffering god? Hence the passion of gods and heroes, as connected and in divine agreement with the harmony of things, gives Tragedy her lofty theme. And in this delineation there must ever be an absence of two things,1 (1) a record of crime as such, a Titus-Andronicus-like Newgate Calendar of horrors, which constitutes spurious or bastard Tragedy; and (2) all final triumph of the worser cause, of baseness, or evil, or by whatever name the inharmonious principle may be designated. 2 6 Next, as to Comedy, which, according to Platon, is the common name of all performances intended to cause laughter,' and which originated in a rude and unpremeditated manner from those who led off the phallic songs.' Etymologically regarded, it is the song of the Komos, or band of revellers; and whatever may have been the birthplace of Greek Comedy, it was, in fact, the celebration of the vintage, when the country people went round from village to village, some in carts, others on foot, who bore aloft the phallic emblem, and invoked in songs Phales, the comrade of Bacchus,' or personified Priapos. So sprang Comedy into existence, amidst Semitic vintage-shoutings, in honour of the riotous and orgiastic god of earth-life; and thus from Oriental materials, moulded by a gifted family of an Aryan nation, sprang into their familiar forms Tragedy and Comedy. Syria and Egypt had rites and orgies many, but drama none. Yet even the West was, on the whole, scarcely more successful than the East; and in Hellas itself a single city almost monopolised dramatic genius, which could only be maintained in an exalted form, even in its peculiar home at Athenai, during a few brief years. The Drama 1 Laws, vii. 2 Aristot. Poet. iv. 3 Theatre of the Greeks, 70. 4 Cf. Is. xvi. 9, I will bewail the vine of Sibmah: I will water thee with my tears, O Heshbon, and Elealeh: for the shouting for thy summer fruits and for thy harvest is fallen.' is thus Aryan and Hellenik; and is yet singularly connected in origin with the cult of a Semitic divinity of the Outer-world, for had Dionysos remained what he once was, a stranger to the shores of the Aigaion, the theatre, whatever form it might have assumed, would never have known him as its patron. The question why the Drama became a fact in Hellas, and was almost unknown elsewhere, has often been considered; it depends on ethnic characteristics, and is not to our present purpose. Thus was Dionysos the fountain alike of Tragedy and of Comedy; the Drama formed a part of his worship, and the Theatre was his temple. In this large stone Dionysiak shrine at Athenai, which was finished about B.C. 380, and stood a little south of the Akropolis, almost the entire population assembled to celebrate the dramatic cult of the god from dawn to dark on the occasion of the production of the new pieces at the Lenaia and the Dionysia Megala. The actors generally performed not in what we should consider appropriate costumes, but in 'modifications of the festal robes worn in the Dionysian procession,'1 which were of bright and gaudy hues, the under garments having coloured stripes and the upper robes of purple or some other brilliant colour, with all sorts of gay trimmings and gold ornaments, the ordinary dress of Bacchic festal processions and choral dances; in fact, remnants of barbaric splendour and Oriental magnificence. Euripides, who was a striver after a certain kind of reality, ventured to allow his tragic heroes to appear in rags, and he incurred by this departure from Bacchic magnificence the keenest ridicule of his comic contemporaries.' The stage character of the tragic Dionysos has been already noticed. The Dionysos of Comedy is chiefly known to us from the Batrachoi of 1 Theatre of the Greeks, 211. 2 3 Vide inf. VIII. i. Aiolomorpho s. 4 Theatre of the Greeks, 254. Aristophanes. He is cowardly and effeminate, but quickwitted, and a good judge of poetry; and, as the patron and lord of the Drama, is appropriately appointed arbiter by Aïdes of the great question whether Euripides should eject Aischylos from the tragic throne of the Under-world. His decision is in favour of the greater poet, and posterity, that highest court of appeal, has in its ultimate judgment confirmed the verdict. In illustration of the connection between Dionysos and the Drama, Aischylos is said to have written his tragedies at the command of the god, who appeared to him in a dream, and who is also said to have shown himself at the time of the death of Sophokles.1 To conclude, the Drama, like Dionysos, has two faces, one raised to heaven, the other bent ever upon the earth. The former reflects the blue eyes of Athene, the latter the fierce, gloating gaze of the Earth-god. And in life this last predominates. Greatly as the Greeks succeeded in the Beautiful, and even in the Moral, we can concede to their culture,' says Schlegel, no higher character than that of a refined and dignified sensuality.' Is our present condition very much superior? I do not undertake to answer the question; but let it be remembered that Dionysos, changed in the Middle Ages into S. Denys, has ever ruled and reigned with undiminished sway in countless temples, whose Bakchik cults are infinitely lower than the grand ritual exhibited of old to the Athenians. mightier engine for good than the Drama, properly applied, can well be imagined: its patrons should do their utmost to reform it altogether; to purge away those taints 1 Paus. i. 21. 2 Cf. S. Sabas, i.e. Sabazios, whose festival is on Dec. 5, S. Mithra of Arles, S. Amour, S. Ysis (Nov. 27), S. Saturnin (Nov. 29), S. Satur the Martyr (March 29), S. Bacchus the Martyr, S. Dionysius, S. Eleuther, and S. Rusticus (Oct. 9), i.e. Festum No Dionysi Eleutherei (vide inf. VIII. i. Eleuthereus) rusticum.' At the triumph of Christianity 'the gods of Greece and Rome went into exile -either degraded into evil spirit: or promoted into Christian saints (Deutsch, Literary Remains, 182). of the earth-life which have so long stained it that they falsely appear to be all but inseparable. The Athenians were wont to hear in solemn state the last great tragedy of the day, the purgation of Orestes, or the woes of Oidipous, as a message from the gods with whom alone dwells understanding, and who breathe into the divine poet his star-lit wisdom and aid his mortal harp to echo the eternal music. As for ourselves, unable to write tragedies, or indeed comedies either, it is at least left us to listen in a reverent spirit to the outpourings of vanished genius, and to support those who enable us to do so; and thus the Theatre of Dionysos will for us become not unhallowed ground. |