THE ALBUM.

No. V.

ON ANCIENT AND MODERN TRAGEDY. THE consideration of ancient and modern writers, with reference to each other, is always a subject of great interest. It is satisfactory to trace the characteristic shades of difference in each class of authors, and to observe the gradual impression which literature has received from the discoveries of art, the researches of science, and the refinement of society.

The difference of style between ancient and modern writers may be traced even in the complexion of their language. In the remote ages of literature, the images of descriptive writing are found to spring from observation of the works of nature, and from familiarity with the most simple and primitive employments. On the inspiring subject of war, the poets of that early day delight in comparisons with the savage fury of wild animals; while, in the more humble themes of domestic life, they invariably adduce the tilling of the ground, and the labours. of the distaff, to indicate the manly vigour of the husband, or the notable assiduity of his spouse. The style of modern writers is wholly of a different cast; their ideas 20 and images are more artificial; they reject the simCoplicity of the Homeric age as unsuitable to the refinement Xof modern times, however becoming it might have been

in the earliest stages of literature. That which was once natural, would now be deemed common-place; that which was formerly admired for simplicity, would now be censured for inelegance and barrenness.

There is no kind of composition in which the ancients had made such progress as in dramatic writing. The poems of Homer are indeed a literary phænomenon ; but, considering the artificial character of the drama, its studied representation of nature, and intricate arrangement of plot, we are disposed to think the tragedies of the Greek stage no less admirable as works of genius, than the epic poetry of the first and greatest of bards. While the arts and sciences of our own age have to struggle with the overwhelming tide of opinion and prejudice; and even in their most prosperous course, to labour slowly and gradually through a series of years to ultimate excellence, the Drama seems to have started, like Minerva, at once into maturity, and to have braved those laws of progressive improvement by which the order of events is for the most part regulated. In the dramatic art, as in epic poetry, there seems to have been no mediocrity; nor do the plays of Eschylus appear more reconcileable with the rudeness of the age in which they were composed, than the poems of Homer. Nay, even less so; when we consider that in the time of Eschylus the drama had received not only the graces of language, but much also of lucid arrangement, and theatrical effect*.

We are disposed to go still farther, and to inquire whether some of the plays of our own time so far excel

* In the time of Thespis, the drama consisted of a recitation in verse, and a dialogue in strophe and anti-strophe. Eschylus, only fifty years afterwards, introduced a plot, a variety of characters, and appropriate scenery and decorations. In the time of Sophocles, twenty-two years after Eschylus, the drama had assumed nearly its present form.

those of Sophocles and Euripides in dramatic skill, as the intervening lapse of centuries, and the natural progress of human improvement, might justly give reason to expect? For our own part, we are apt to think that there is often less ingenuity in the conduct of a modern play than in that of some of the best Greek tragedies. The Electra and Philoctetes of Sophocles, for instance, are, in our judgment, immeasurably beyond many of our modern tragedies, not merely in the beauties of poetry, which are peculiar to no age, but in the skilful management of their plot, and in correct and masterly delineation of character. The two plays we have mentioned are splendid examples of dramatic excellence; they are, perhaps, the most unexceptionably beautiful of the Greek tragedies. With what singular felicity of conception is the disposition of the unsuspecting Philoctetes, and of the ingenuous Neoptolemus contrasted with that of the crafty son of Laërtes? And, in the other play, how beautifully affecting is the character of Electra; heroic yet tender; now softening from indignation into sorrow; now driven almost to madness by the weight of calamity and insult!-We know of nothing in the tragedy of any age more pathetic than the lamentation of Electra over the urn in which she believes the ashes of her brother to be contained; and, the recognition in the last act forms a very striking developement of that interest which is so powerfully sustained throughout the play. Again, we might suggest the Medea and Alcestes of Euripides as illustrious examples, the one of sublimity, the other of pathos, in female character; while, in the conduct of its plot, none, we suspect, will deny that the first Edipus of Sophocles displays a far greater skill in dramatic contrivance, than many of the most approved tragedies of later times.

We must be understood to speak of the artificial character of the Greek drama, simply in relation to the age of the composition. We are by no means disposed to consider this as its leading feature, or to undervalue the great and more acknowledged merit of simplicity. We admire, almost to veneration, the majestic sublimity of language and dignified artlessness of plot, which characterize the drama of Æschylus. He is, indeed, the Homer of tragedians; and, like him, his very defects become hallowed, when considered only as betokening how rude and inartificial was the age in which he wrote. The Agamemnon is a most powerful instance of chaste sublimity. There is no mark of labour, but a simple eloquence of poetry, which the Greek language is, of all others, the best calculated to support. The prophetic strain of Cassandra is full of mysterious grandeur, and its very obscurity constitutes one of its most characteristic beauties. If there be any who conceive that sublimity alone is the style in which Eschylus surpasses all other dramatic writers, we reply by adducing his most beautiful description of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, as an example of the very brightest excellence in pathetic writing.

The peculiar situation of the Athenian people in the time of Æschylus was undoubtedly calculated to further, in a material degree, the success of his plays. Theatrical representations, at Athens were more a subject of instruction than of amusement. The flame of patriotism was fanned by the inspiring exhibitions of valour, and the enthusiastic sentiments of liberty, to which the representation of the drama gave occasion. How grateful, then, to a warlike and free people, the representation of a play like "The Persians" of Eschylus, wherein a scene, fresh in the memory of all, and calculated to