Literary Remains, vol 2 | Page 6

a middle species,
between tragedy and comedy,--not the tragi-comedy, or thing of
heterogeneous parts, but a complete whole, founded on principles of its
own. Throughout we find the drama of Menander distinguishing itself
from tragedy, but not, as the genuine old comedy, contrasting with, and
opposing, it. Tragedy, indeed, carried the thoughts into the mythologic
world, in order to raise the emotions, the fears, and the hopes, which
convince the inmost heart that their final cause is not to be discovered
in the limits of mere mortal life, and force us into a presentiment,
however dim, of a state in which those struggles of inward free will
with outward necessity, which form the true subject of the tragedian,
shall be reconciled and solved;--the entertainment or new comedy, on
the other hand, remained within the circle of experience. Instead of the
tragic destiny, it introduced the power of chance; even in the few
fragments of Menander and Philemon now remaining to us, we find
many exclamations and reflections concerning chance and fortune, as
in the tragic poets concerning destiny. In tragedy, the moral law, either
as obeyed or violated, above all consequences--its own maintenance or
violation constituting the most important of all consequences--forms
the ground; the new comedy, and our modern comedy in general,
(Shakspeare excepted as before) lies in prudence or imprudence,
enlightened or misled self-love. The whole moral system of the
entertainment exactly like that of fable, consists in rules of prudence,
with an exquisite conciseness, and at the same time an exhaustive
fulness of sense. An old critic said that tragedy was the flight or
elevation of life, comedy (that of Menander) its arrangement or
ordonnance.
Add to these features a portrait-like truth of character,--not so far
indeed as that a 'bona fide' individual should be described or imagined,
but yet so that the features which give interest and permanence to the
class should be individualized. The old tragedy moved in an ideal

world,--the old comedy in a fantastic world. As the entertainment, or
new comedy, restrained the creative activity both of the fancy and the
imagination, it indemnified the understanding in appealing to the
judgment for the probability of the scenes represented. The ancients
themselves acknowledged the new comedy as an exact copy of real life.
The grammarian, Aristophanes, somewhat affectedly exclaimed:--"O
Life and Menander! which of you two imitated the other?" In short the
form of this species of drama was poetry; the stuff or matter was prose.
It was prose rendered delightful by the blandishments and measured
motions of the muse. Yet even this was not universal. The mimes of
Sophron, so passionately admired by Plato, were written in prose, and
were scenes out of real life conducted in dialogue. The exquisite Feast
of Adonis ([Greek (transliterated): Surakousiai ae Ad'oniazousai]) in
Theocritus, we are told, with some others of his eclogues, were close
imitations of certain mimes of Sophron--free translations of the prose
into hexameters.
It will not be improper, in this place, to make a few remarks on the
remarkable character and functions of the chorus in the Greek tragic
drama.
The chorus entered from below, close by the orchestra, and there,
pacing to and fro during the choral odes, performed their solemn
measured dance. In the centre of the 'orchestra', directly over against
the middle of the 'scene', there stood an elevation with steps in the
shape of a large altar, as high as the boards of the 'logeion' or moveable
stage. This elevation was named the 'thymele', ([Greek (transliterated):
thumelae]) and served to recall the origin and original purpose of the
chorus, as an altar-song in honour of the presiding deity. Here, and on
these steps, the persons of the chorus sate collectively, when they were
not singing; attending to the dialogue as spectators, and acting as (what
in truth they were) the ideal representatives of the real audience, and of
the poet himself in his own character, assuming the supposed
impressions made by the drama, in order to direct and rule them. But
when the chorus itself formed part of the dialogue, then the leader of
the band, the foreman or 'coryphaeus', ascended, as some think, the
level summit of the 'thymele' in order to command the stage, or,

perhaps, the whole chorus advanced to the front of the orchestra, and
thus put themselves in ideal connection, as it were, with the 'dramatis
personæ' there acting. This 'thymele' was in the centre of the whole
edifice, all the measurements were calculated, and the semi-circle of
the amphitheatre was drawn, from this point. It had a double use, a
twofold purpose; it constantly reminded the spectators of the origin of
tragedy as a religious service, and declared itself as the ideal
representative of the audience by having its place exactly in the point,
to