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It is peculiarly pleasing to trace the history of every science through its progressive changes. The examination of each distinct epoch, and of every individual amendment, tends to gratify the curiosity; while a comparison of the first rude attempts with the grandeur of modern improvements cannot fail to awaken emulation, and inspirit all our efforts, in the career of literary advancement. These observations will be found to apply, with peculiar justice, to the Dramatic Art. For, on perusing the finished productions of the modern drama, we can scarcely believe, that this splendid style of composition owes its origin to the wild and uncouth ballads of strolling singers in Greece, who met at certain seasons of the year, to celebrate the festival of Bacchus. Yet no fact is better authenticated in history, than that Tragedy derives its existence from the choral songs in honour of that god.
The Chorus, as these singers were afterwards called, whether composed of itinerant rhapsodists, or appropriate minstrels, confined their effusions, in the first instance, to the praise of the deity, whom they met to celebrate; and, as the entertainment was yet entirely musical, the festival consisted of an uninterrupted flow of song, till the 536th year before the Christian æra, when Thespis conceived the design of introducing an actor, to amuse the people by recitation, while the chorus enjoyed a few moments of repose. This bold innovation was followed by others, still more daring, which led to unforeseen and incalculable improvements. Æschylus introduced a second actor, whọ
conversed with the first, and thus laid the foundation of dramatic dialogue. But, as the dramatis persona increased, the subject of their discourse also gradually underwent a change. At first, the praise of other heroes was interwoven with that of Bacchus. As the dialogue became more extensive, it became more interesting; till, at length, the chorus, from a principal, began to be considered as a subordinate part; and Bacchus, from being the hero of every line, lost, by degrees, his ascendancy in the entertainment, till, at length, he was altogether set aside; and subjects of general history, dramatically disposed, now entirely supplied the place of bare dithyrambics. These important changes, begun by Thespis, were improved and confirmed by Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the illustrious dramatic triumvirate of Greece, who were justly the favourites of their own times, and whose works have been handed down to posterity with the accumulated admiration of each succeeding age.
Notwithstanding, however, the fame which the works of these illustrious tragedians so justly enjoy, an accurate inquiry into the laws of the Grecian drama, will prove it to have been marred by a singular defect, from which the more judicious compositions of modern times are happily exempt. We have already observed, that, as the dialogue of the drama improved and extended itself, the chorus, which had given birth to it, sunk in importance, and, at last, became altogether unnecessary. Yet Tragedy, in the full maturity of its ancient splendour, as if afraid of giving the parricidal blow, never ventured to cut off the chorus, though it had now become a useless and embarrassing appendage of the stage, no less an enemy to verisimilitude, than a bar to scenic variety. For, as the persons, who composed it, never quitted the stage, they were the auditors and spectators of all that passed, the necessary confidants of all parties; by which means probability was violated, and the common cha. racteristics of human nature confounded and lost. What, indeed, can be more incredible, than that Phædra should trust her incestuous passion, or Medea her murderous revenge, to an undistinguished troop of attendants? In addition to this, the constant presence of the choral band imposed on the dra. matist the necessity of preserving the unities of time and place. The scene could not be changed, when the stage was never clear; nor the time of action prolonged beyond that of the representation. Accordingly, we find (with a few exceptions) that, in the Greek tragedy, the place is never varied, the action never suspended, and the dramatic time exactly commensurate with the time