Tragedy and satyric drama were derived from the dithyramb; comedy from the comus (see pp. 6, 23 f., 36, and 43 f., above). Now both the dithyramb and the comus were entirely choral. Consequently early tragedy and comedy were also choral. No other fact in the history of Greek drama is better authenticated, both by literary tradition and the extant plays, than this.[243] The dithyrambic chorus consisted of fifty dancers, and this seems to have been the size of the chorus also in early tragedy. So the chorus in Aeschylus’ Suppliants (between 500 and 490 B.C.) was made up of the fifty daughters of Danaus. Whether this was still the regular practice or a reversion, on this occasion, to the earlier number cannot now be determined. At least by 487 B.C. the tragic chorus had been reduced to twelve. It is supposed that this came about as follows: During the fifth century each tragic poet was required to present four plays at a time in the annual competition at the City Dionysia, three tragedies and one satyric drama. This grouping of plays cannot be proven for any poet before Aeschylus (525-456 B.C.) and probably was introduced at a rearrangement of the festival program which took place about 501 B.C. The members of the chorus (the choreutae) must have found it irksome to memorize the words, music, dance steps, and stage business for so many plays. To relieve this burden Aeschylus or a contemporary divided the choreutae at his disposal into four groups of twelve each, assigning one group as a chorus for each of his four plays. Whether the dramatist continued to be provided with forty-eight or fifty choreutae or whether, as the rôle of the chorus lost its bulk and importance, a single group of twelve choreutae appeared in all four pieces is unknown. In the former case, the three groups of choreutae that would normally be idle during any one play could be conveniently employed as a supplementary chorus, mute attendants, etc. But however this may be, twelve was the size of the chorus in the three extant tragedies of Aeschylus which followed the Suppliants; and it continued to be such until the middle of the fifth century, when Sophocles raised the number to fifteen.[244] This innovation enabled the chorus to enter the orchestra in three files of five men each and to retain this formation for their dance movements. This gave better results than to draw them up, as was previously necessary, in two files of six men each or three files of four each. Furthermore, the chorus leader (the coryphaeus) could now stand to one side occasionally without spoiling the symmetry of the two half-choruses, each of which had a sub-leader of its own. Aeschylus probably adopted Sophocles’ innovation in the three plays which he brought out in 458 B.C. One of the test passages is Agamemnon, vss. 1344-71, where a single tetrameter line seems to be assigned to each of three choreutae and an iambic couplet to each of the remaining twelve. There is no reason to believe that the number was altered again for a long time; but further information of a change is lacking until Roman times—at Cyrene a wall-painting of a tragic chorus represents but seven choreutae.

It is unlikely that the chorus in the early comus consisted of any fixed number. Toward the end of the fifth century the comic chorus contained twenty-four choreutae. Probably this number was chosen at the time that comedy was granted the official recognition of the state, 486 B.C. If such was the case the comic chorus was just twice as large as the tragic chorus of that period. The reason for doubling the number is found in the hostility which frequently rent the chorus of ancient comedy and in the parallelism which is an outstanding feature of its choral odes (cf. p. 42, above). About the close of the fourth century, when the functions of the comic chorus had been greatly curtailed, it is likely that its size was also reduced. At any rate, the chorus at the Soteric festival at Delphi from 272 to 269 B.C. contained but seven or eight choreutae and at Delos in the next century only four.

The chorus of Greek comedy was Protean in the forms that it assumed. In accordance with the animal disguises which were so popular in the early comus (see p. 54, above), we hear of choruses representing wasps, birds, frogs, goats, snakes, bees, gall-insects, fishes, ants, storks, etc. A suggestion as to the appearance of such choruses is afforded by five Attic vase paintings of about 500 B.C. (Figs. 12-16). Still more fantastic were choruses of clouds, dreams, cities, seasons, islands, laws, ships, sirens, centaurs, sphinxes, dramas, etc. Less grotesque would be choruses of Persians, knights, graces, athletes, poets, etc. These lists convey but a slight hint of the diversity which the fancy of the poets provided for the choruses of Old and Middle Comedy. The choreutae, of course, were always men, but some or all of them might be dressed to represent women. Thus, the clouds in Aristophanes’ play are thought of as women, and in his Frogs the chorus of initiates comprises both men and women. At the beginning of Aristophanes’ Women in Council the choreutae are men dressed to represent women who have tried to disguise themselves as men! By the time of New Comedy the chorus had sunk to a position of comparative insignificance and had become more conventional, usually consisting of men engaged in a carousal (κῶμος). In the earliest form of Attic tragedy the chorus was invariably composed of sileni.[245] But when its themes were no longer exclusively Dionysiac (see p. 123, above), the choruses became more sedate, generally consisting simply of men or women. In most cases these are citizens of the imagined scene of action. In addition to sex it was customary to indicate whether they were thought of as being young or old. Sometimes they are characterized as foreigners. For example, the scene of Euripides’ Phoenician Maids is laid in Thebes; but dress, accent, and the habit of oriental prostration mark the women in the chorus as non-Hellenic. The staid character of tragic choruses is abandoned in the unique furies of Aeschylus’ Eumenides. According to tradition their black garments, bloody faces, and snaky locks produced so frightful an impression that boys fainted and women miscarried. In satyric drama the chorus always consisted of satyrs (see pp. 125 f., above).

One of the first problems that confronted the Greek dramatist was the choice of such a character for his chorus as would make it an integral part of the play’s action. The never-changing character of the chorus in the satyr-plays prevented, for the most part, anything but the loosest of connections between chorus and actors there, as we have already noted (pp. 126 f., above). In tragedy the task was somewhat easier, yet still most difficult. In the earliest Greek tragedy extant, Aeschylus’ Suppliants, the chorus, the fifty daughters of Danaus who have fled from Egypt to Argos in order to escape marriage with their fifty cousins, are themselves the story. The actors are of secondary importance. From the standpoint of dramatic interest Danaus himself, the king of Argos, and the suitors’ herald do not compare with the girls themselves. In the Persians and the Seven against Thebes, Aeschylus has been nearly as successful. In these plays the fate of the chorus, though not the prime object of interest, is almost inextricably bound up with that of the other dramatic characters. In the former the Persian elders, for patriotic as well as personal motives, are no less concerned than the queen mother (Atossa) or King Xerxes himself in the fate of the army invading Greece. Similarly, in the Seven against Thebes the possibility of the city’s being captured has as vital a meaning to the chorus of Theban girls as to the others, and frightens them more. Here we find a new note; for whereas in the first part of the play the thought of the danger threatening themselves and the city swallows up all else, in the last part their hearts are torn with fear for Eteocles as he fares forth to single combat with his brother. This latter motivation, viz., that the chorus should be moved by a more or less sentimental interest in some actor rather than by a vital fear for itself, or for others and itself, was destined to play a prominent part in the history of the dramatic chorus. It recurs in Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound, Agamemnon, and Libation-Bearers (not to mention the plays of Sophocles and Euripides), in all of which the interest of the chorus in the action is more or less adventitious. Even in such cases, however, it was the practice of Greek playwrights, if possible, to bind the chorus more intimately to the hero in the final catastrophe. Thus, in Prometheus Bound the daughters of Oceanus, who constitute the chorus, bear no real relationship to the leading character; nevertheless, at the close (vs. 1067) they declare their wish to share his fate, mount the crag where he is fastened, and with him are hurled to Tartarus. A final refinement is found in Aeschylus’ Eumenides. Here the chorus of furies, so far from fearing for or sympathizing with one of the characters, is set in deadly opposition to Orestes and is bent upon tracking the guilty man down. Inasmuch as this was the especial duty of furies the chorus is raised once more to a point of primary importance. Thus it appears that from the standpoint of choral technique Aeschylus’ earliest play, the Suppliants, and his last play, the Eumenides, are the most successful.

In general, the chorus in Sophocles and Euripides is less intimately related to the plot than in Aeschylus. Yet there are notable exceptions to this statement. Thus, the chorus of Euripides’ Suppliants consists of Argive women together with their handmaids—the mothers of the seven chieftains who fell in the attack upon Thebes. They implore the aid of Theseus to force the Thebans to surrender the bodies of their sons for burial. According to ancient thought this was a matter of paramount importance and the whole play is occupied with it. The mothers are in fact the chief personages of the drama; the other characters speak and act only in their behalf. Not even the Danaids of Aeschylus’ Suppliants are more indispensable to the mechanism of the piece. On the other hand, the connection between chorus and plot in Euripides’ Phoenician Maids is of the flimsiest. This tragedy deals with the same subject as Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes. But the Aeschylean chorus consists, as we have observed, of Theban girls who are vitally concerned in the outcome of the battle. Euripides’ chorus is made up of Tyrian virgins on their way to Delphi. They have no personal interest in the possible capture of Thebes or in the fratricidal strife of Eteocles and Polynices.

The same sort of thing occurs also in Old Comedy. Dr. Fries (op. cit., p. 35) correctly points out that the knights in Aristophanes’ play of that name are present rather to listen than to act. In Aristophanes’ Clouds and Frogs the connection between chorus and action is of the slightest and entirely artificial. In general it can be said that the character of comic choruses is chosen rather to fit into some fantastic situation, and may be largely ignored toward the end of the play. Thus, in Aristophanes’ Women at the Thesmophoria the women of Athens assemble to contrive a punishment for Euripides, who has been maligning their sex. Euripides’ father-in-law, made up as a woman, tries to defend him but is detected. During vss. 871-1160 Euripides under various disguises attempts to rescue his relative, but each time is frustrated. But the chorus of Euripides-haters assist in balking him neither by word nor deed. Their original character, if retained throughout these lines, would have too effectually thwarted the humor of his stratagems.

It is possible, however, to detect more subtle effects in the relations between chorus and actors. Since the chorus is usually friendly to the principal character, the bond of sympathy is often strengthened by having the chorus of the same sex and of about the same age as that character. So, in Aeschylus’ Libation-Bearers the choreutae are Trojan slave women who are cognizant of conditions in the palace and fully share Electra’s eagerness to avenge her father’s murder. In Sophocles’ Maidens of Trachis the chorus of girls is in thorough accord with the gentle, unsophisticated Deianira. Furthermore, men or older women might have warned her against sending to her husband a robe dipped in the centaur’s blood, an act which is so essential to the plot; but such innocence is made to seem entirely plausible by reason of the youth and inexperience of the chorus. On the contrary, sometimes the run of the plot requires an effect precisely the opposite. In Sophocles’ Antigone, for example, the isolation of the heroine is intensified by a chorus, not only of men but of old men, who would be least sympathetic with her violation of a public edict. In Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound the defiant Titan would have scorned the overtures of a group of men, whoever they might be, but the feminine tact and sympathy of the Oceanides reach his heart at once. Such a chorus, moreover, is an effective foil the better to emphasize the hero’s indomitable strength and will-power. In Aeschylus’ Persians the chorus of Persian elders is not only natural in itself, but such experienced men’s fear for the army and their grief at its misfortunes produce an impression of utter collapse beyond the power of any chorus of women to effect. In Aristophanes’ Knights the chorus, in spite of criticisms, was appropriately constituted, since it represented a body of men who are said to have entertained a special grudge against Cleon. It would be easy to extend this topic to a great length. Suffice it to state that both the extant plays and the ancient commentaries upon them[246] prove that the Greek poets expended no little thought upon this detail of their dramaturgy.

Having once selected his chorus, the necessity rested upon the poet of composing choral odes appropriate to the character chosen. In this they were not always successful. In Euripides’ Electra the chorus consists of virgins from the Argive countryside. At vss. 434-78 they give an elaborate description of Achilles’ armor. Such women would have had no opportunity of seeing Achilles at Troy themselves, and hearsay would scarcely have been so circumstantial. Again, in Euripides’ Phoenician Maids, vss. 638-75, 801-27, and 1019-67, the Tyrian girls unroll the scroll of Theban history like antiquarians. Their knowledge is not justified by the fact that Thebes had been founded, some five generations before, by a Phoenician prince. Again, in Euripides’ Hippolytus, vss. 1102-19, women of Troezen, the intimates of a local washerwoman (!), discourse upon the conflict between faith and reality! Still again, in Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, vss. 794-800, a band of unassuming women from Chalcis throw doubt upon the mythological tradition that Zeus had appeared unto Leda in the form of a swan. The first two examples are somewhat different from the last two. The former arise simply from failure to find a satisfactory solution for the problem under consideration. But the latter reveal the poet dropping his mask and using the chorus as a mouthpiece for his own philosophizing and skepticism.

Lest anyone suppose that I exaggerate the difficulty or attribute to Greek playwrights a perplexity which they did not experience, let me point out the confessed failure of a modern poet. Concerning the close of Act III in the second part of Faust, Goethe said: “You have observed the character of the chorus is quite destroyed by the mourning song: until this time it has remained thoroughly antique, or has never belied its girlish nature; but here of a sudden it becomes nobly reflecting, and says things such as it has never thought or could think.” And to this Eckermann, uncontradicted, replied: “These little inconsistencies are of no consequence, if by their means a higher degree of beauty is obtained. The song had to be sung, somehow or other; and as there was no other chorus present, the girls were forced to sing it.”[247] That Euripides was equally conscious of what he was doing is proven by the fact that in some cases he makes only too patent an attempt to gloss over the difficulty. Thus, he makes the chorus in the Electra explain that they had heard of Achilles’ shield in the nearby harbor of Nauplia “from one who had fared from Troy” (vss. 452-55); and the Tyrian maidens justify their knowledge of Theban history by saying that they “had received an account at home in an alien tongue” (Phoenician Maids, vs. 819). A curious self-consciousness seems to obsess dramatic poets and force them to call to the hearer’s attention the very difficulty that they are striving to avoid. Like some scientists who think they have explained a phenomenon if they have provided a name for it, playwrights sometimes act as if they had justified an incongruity if they mention it. An excellent modern illustration of this occurs in Twelfth Night, II, 5. In order to extract the full humor from the scene it is necessary that Malvolio read aloud the forged letter which he has just found. Therefore, Shakespeare makes Sir Toby say: “The spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!” Since these words are uttered in an aside, they can have no real effect. Nevertheless, the dramatist eased his conscience by inserting them.

Sometimes the difficulty of finding motifs suitable for the rôle of the chorus caused the playwrights to introduce a second chorus of a different type. Phrynichus seems to have done this in 476 B.C., bringing on a chorus of elders as well as one of Phoenician women.[248] Likewise, in Euripides’ Hippolytus that hero’s comrades in the chase appear and sing a short ode (vss. 61-72) before the arrival of the regular chorus. Several other instances are known of in Euripides’ lost plays. In Seneca’s Agamemnon there is a chorus of Mycenaean women and another of Trojan captives. In the same writer’s Hercules on Mt. Oeta, Dr. Fries (op. cit., p. 49) maintains that three choruses are introduced, one of Oechalian captives at vs. 104, another of Deianira’s companions at vs. 583, and a third of Hercules’ comrades at vs. 1031. The same sort of thing occurs also in comedy. Thus, from Terence’s Self-Tormentor, which is a Latin translation of Menander’s play of the same name, it would appear that in the Greek original a chorus of banqueting companions performed at vs. 171 and another chorus of maidservants at vss. 409 and 748.[249] Occasionally, before making its appearance, the chorus sings, from behind the scenes, in a different character from that which it later assumes. Aristophanes’ Frogs, for example, derives its name from a chorus which never is seen. At vs. 209 the chorus, from behind the scenes, delivers a batrachian strain as an accompaniment to Dionysus and Charon when they row across the subterranean lake (see p. 90, above). It is not until after vs. 315 that this chorus actually appears and reveals its true character, that of men and women who had, when on earth, been initiated into the mysteries. This method of procedure gained one of two results—it obviated the necessity either of a lightning change of costume on the part of the chorus or that of hiring extra choreutae. As to the latter alternative, whatever may have been true of the tragic poets (see p. 134, above), there is no reason to suppose that the comic poets always had spare choreutae at their disposal.

But not only should choral odes be appropriate to the dramatic character of the chorus; they ought also to be closely connected with the theme of the play. And this requirement is no less difficult than the other. The ode on the inventive spirit of man in Sophocles’ Antigone, vss. 334-75, is so vague that an audience might well be in doubt as to which one of the dramatic characters it was intended for. Verses 1115-52 in the same play, a hymn to Dionysus, is quite irrelevant, except in so far as that divinity was the patron of the dramatic festival. Other instances are found in Euripides. Verses 1301-68 of Helen deal with Demeter’s search for her lost daughter and are so alien to the subject of the tragedy that many have considered them an interpolation. An adventitious connection is sought, at the close, by the suggestion that Helen’s misfortunes are due to her neglect of Demeter’s worship (vss. 1355-57). Again, the chorus’ eulogy of Apollo in Iphigenia among the Taurians, vss. 1234-83, is so disconnected with the story that Professor Decharme (op. cit., pp. 312 f.) could defend it only by saying: “If, therefore, the chorus wishes not to rouse the suspicion of Thoas, it must speak of something else than that which really engrosses its attention. Hence the eulogy of Apollo that compromises nobody, whose purport Thoas would not understand were he to appear suddenly, but which the spectator comprehends, provided he reflects.” The description of Achilles’ armor in Euripides’ Electra, vss. 434-78, has already been mentioned (pp. 139 f., above). It is as little connected with the plot as it is appropriate to the chorus of that play. Nevertheless, Euripides brought the ode back to the theme with a jerk by saying: “The lord of such warriors didst thou slay, O Clytemnestra” (vss. 479 f.). There are but two things that can be said to palliate this offense. The first is to indicate the difficulty of the problem; the other, to point out that the ingenuity of the ancient playwrights fell short in only a few plays and seldom more than once in any one piece.

There are certain ways, however, in which the lack of an organic relationship between chorus and actors or the failure of the odes to spring naturally from the dramatic situation may be compensated for or glossed over. One is by giving the choreutae an active participation in the action. The scene of Euripides’ Helen is laid in Egypt and the chorus consists of Greek slaves, who assist the heroine in her deception mainly because she is a fellow-Greek and her victim a barbarian. Their connection, therefore, is only moderately close and, as we have seen (p. 142, above), one of their odes is by some considered an interpolation. Yet, apart from their choral songs, they take an active and important part in the play. It is they who persuade Helen not to believe Teucer’s announcement of her husband’s death but to consult the seeress Theonoe concerning the matter (vss. 306 and 317). Again, it is they who, when the Egyptian king avows his intention of murdering Theonoe for abetting his deceivers, grasp his garments and declare: “We are your slaves and you can slay us, but slay us you must ere you can kill Theonoe” (vss. 1629 ff.). Similarly, in Euripides’ Orestes the chorus of Argive women is friendly toward Electra and her brother but does not share the danger which threatens them. Yet when Helen is being murdered behind the scenes, at Electra’s request, in order to guard against surprise, it divides into semi-choruses, which picket the two roads leading before the palace (vss. 1251 ff.). A little later they attempt to make noise enough to prevent the tumult from within the palace attracting the notice of the Argive citizens (vss. 1353 ff.). Thus, a chorus may actively participate in a plot to which it is but loosely joined. In fact, Professor Capps has boldly declared: “In every play whose chorus has been criticized for the irrelevancy of its songs, whether the criticisms have been just or not, are found indications of direct participation in the action” (op. cit., p. 295).

In this connection certain words of Aristotle[250] are usually cited: “The chorus ought to be regarded as one of the actors; it ought to be an integral part of the whole and take a share in the action, in the manner, not of Euripides but of Sophocles. The choral songs of the successors of Euripides and Sophocles have no more to do with the subject of the piece than with that of some other tragedy. They are therefore sung as mere intercalary numbers (ἐμβόλιμα), a practice first begun by Agathon. Yet this is no more justifiable than to transfer a speech or a whole act from one tragedy to another.” Aristotle’s praise of Sophocles at the expense of Euripides probably refers to the choice and setting of Sophoclean choruses and to the relevancy of their songs—points in which Sophocles usually surpassed his rival. Aristotle failed to notice or did not value the other characteristic of Euripidean choruses, viz., that they have more effect upon the plot and come into more direct contact with the actors, that is to say, that they really “act” more, than is the case in Sophocles. In fact, it is Sophocles’ use of the chorus which is mainly responsible for the modern notion that the Greek chorus was merely the “ideal spectator.”

The precise meaning of the latter part of this passage from the Poetics has not until recently become clear. It is evident that Aristotle brings the same charge, that of irrelevancy, against the choruses of both Euripides and Agathon. But if the difference between them were merely one of degree, he would hardly have said that Agathon “began” a practice which he had really borrowed from Euripides and only “developed” or “extended.” Therefore, Aristotle must mean that Agathon was guilty of a different kind of irrelevancy than Euripides, and we are now in a position to see whereof this consisted. Recently discovered fragments of Menander show that often in New Comedy the chorus did not appear in the course of the action at all, but only between acts, and that the poets did not write down the words of these entr’actes but simply indicated where they should come by writing the word ΧΟΡΟΥ (“of the chorus”) at the places required. To the stage manager ΧΟΡΟΥ in the manuscript would be simply a hint to use anything he chose or to refer to the poet or that he could rely upon the latter to provide the choreutae with a libretto, according to whatever arrangement they had between them on the subject. To the reader it was convenient, as marking off the divisions of the play. A parallel to this custom is found in Greene’s James the Fourth, where at the beginning of Act IV the stage directions read “Enter certain huntsmen (if you please, singing),” and again at the close of the same act, “Enter a round, or some dance at pleasure.” A passage in the ancient Life of Aristophanes had already mentioned this practice of the writers of New Comedy but had received scant consideration until substantiated by the Menander fragments.

Now, since embolimon means “something thrown in,” it seems clear that the songs of the chorus in the intermissions marked by ΧΟΡΟΥ (if songs not recorded in the text were sung) would be embolima in Aristotle’s use of the term. I believe that this was the innovation which Agathon introduced. This conclusion will be strengthened if we ask ourselves what sort of evidence enabled Aristotle to attribute the invention of embolima to Agathon. It is fairly certain that he never saw one of Agathon’s tragedies actually performed in the theater. Then his knowledge of Agathon’s dramatic art must have depended upon the latter’s published works. Therefore, if Agathon’s choral numbers were notable rather for the music than for the libretto, or consisted of music and dancing without words, or were borrowed from other poets, or if for any reason whatsoever Agathon preferred not to copy them down with the rest of the text, but merely to mark their location by ΧΟΡΟΥ or some other symbol, then we can understand how Aristotle could know that Agathon had inaugurated something new in dramatic technique. Whatever their defects of irrelevancy, Euripides’ odes were not “thrown in” in this sense; they were right there in the text. But in Agathon’s manuscripts, on the other hand, there were gaps indicated between acts. In actual performance suitable odes were “thrown in.” A “thrown-in” ode then would be one not appearing in the text. It is self-evident that this interpretation throws a flood of light upon Aristotle’s statements.

That ΧΟΡΟΥ was so used in tragedy prior to the time of New Comedy is attested by its occurrence in a recent fragment of a fourth-century Medea.[251] Moreover, by inference its use can be safely traced still further back, even close to the period of Agathon. We have seen that tragedy exercised a profound influence upon Old Comedy (see pp. 49 f., above); and Professor Navarre[252] has correctly pointed out that the influence of tragedy was more quickly and strongly felt in the second half of a comedy (that after the parabasis or, when that is lacking, after the agon; see p. 41, above). Accordingly a strong reason for believing that this use of ΧΟΡΟΥ originated in tragedy is found in the fact that ΧΟΡΟΥ occurs in this part of Aristophanes’ last two (extant) comedies; cf. Women in Council, vss. 729 and 876 (393-392 B.C.), and Plutus, vs. 770 (388 B.C.). It is significant that Aristophanes’ use of embolima is still embryonic, has not yet been carried to the logical issue found in New Comedy. That is to say, the chorus of these two plays still figures in the action and converses with the actors. In the Women in Council it even has, in addition to embolima, several choral songs, the words of which are preserved. The fragments of the fourth-century Medea, scanty as they are, nevertheless suffice to indicate that its author employed embolima and the chorus in the same fashion as Aristophanes.

But by the time of New Comedy a great change had taken place. In comedies of this period, or at least in many of them, the chorus appeared only to furnish entertainment between acts, withdrawing again at the end of its performance. It bore no speaking part and from the nature of the case could exercise no influence upon the plot. Occasionally it was brought into formal relationship with one of the actors. For example, in Menander’s Girl with the Shorn Locks the chorus seems to consist of Polemon’s boon companions, who took breakfast with him in the country and have now come to his house in the city to be on hand for the dinner in the evening. This is the most frequent type of chorus in New Comedy. The approach of these intermezzic choruses is often mentioned by the actors who thus motivate their own withdrawal from the scene during the choral entr’acte. For instance, in one case[253] ΧΟΡΟΥ is prefaced by one character remarking to another: “Let us withdraw into Charisius’ home, for a throng of tipsy youths is approaching whom it is inadvisable to provoke.” Such an introduction occurs also in a fragment of Alexis, a poet of Middle Comedy,[254] but the quotation is not long enough to determine whether Alexis resembled Aristophanes or the New Comedy in his use of embolima and of the chorus. Racine’s Athalie, which has been pronounced[255] the “one thoroughly satisfactory choric drama” that modern art has produced, presents several points of likeness to the later Greek chorus. The Levite maidens do not appear until just before the close of the first act and are withdrawn several times subsequently, being thus absent from the scene during long stretches of the dialogue. Their entrances, also, are sometimes alluded to by the actors. Their songs, however, are not embolima, but constituent parts of the text.

We have seen that with reference to the plot these intermezzic choruses of New Comedy are irrelevant. At times they must even have been disconcerting. Notwithstanding, in the light of modern dramatic theory they are not utterly defenseless. The principle is the same as that which is used to justify intermissions between acts. “It would be no gain but a loss, if a whole two hours’ or three hours’ action could be carried through in one continuous movement, with no relaxation of the strain upon the attention of the audience, and without a single point at which the spectator might review what was past and anticipate what was to come. The act division positively enhances the amount of pleasurable emotion through which the audience passes.”[256]

A word of caution is necessary. We have seen that the use of embolima and of the sign ΧΟΡΟΥ to indicate their position in the play originated in fifth-century tragedy (Agathon), that an actual instance of ΧΟΡΟΥ in a fourth-century tragedy is preserved, and that Aristophanes brought this tragic innovation over into comedy, where it was greatly extended. Now despite the fourth-century Medea there is good reason for believing that this practice never had the vogue in later tragedy that it had in later comedy. The Rhesus has erroneously come down to us under the name of Euripides, but is generally regarded by scholars as the product of some fourth-century writer, the only complete tragedy of that century which is extant. It contains no embolima and is a natural continuation of the tradition of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. The chorus is made up of the night watch in the Trojan camp. They go to Hector’s tent and rouse him with the news that the Greek host is on the move. They take part in the dialogue, almost capture Odysseus, who has entered the camp as a spy, have a keen personal interest in the proceedings, and sing choral odes which, though short, are apposite. It is indisputable that from the beginnings of tragedy to the end the rôle and importance of the chorus steadily declined, but there is no reason to suppose that it ever fell so low as was the case in New Comedy. This conclusion is confirmed by Seneca’s Latin tragedies and by the fragments of earlier Roman tragedies. In the fragments of Ennius, Pacuvius, and Accius the chorus is shown to be connected, sometimes even intimately connected, with the plot and some of the characters. It still conversed with the actors and its odes were not embolima, but actually written in the text. There are only two signs of a choral decline. In the first place the odes are no longer characterized by the elaborate strophic responsion which was seldom lacking in the choral songs of fifth-century tragedy in Athens. This doubtless means that the chorus no longer engaged in the complicated, carefully balanced evolutions which had once carried the choreutae over the broad expanse of the Greek orchestra, but sang and danced without moving about so much or occupying so much space. In the second place there is no evidence that the chorus and actors were brought into actual physical contact so frequently as in the fifth-century drama (see p. 88, above). Of course, these changes were not due to physical conditions, since in the Roman theaters actors and chorus performed together on a broad, low stage (see p. 78, above). The Romans seem to have had less appreciation for choral performances than the Greeks, and the chorus in contemporary Greek tragedy ought to be thought of as playing even a larger part than appears from the fragments of Roman tragedy.

The difference between tragedy and comedy in their treatment of the chorus arises from the innermost nature of each, as has been well stated by Mr. Cornford: “The comic chorus has not, from the standpoint of art, the justification and utility which kept the chorus alive in tragedy to the last days of ancient drama. In tragedy it is needed for a high function, not to be so well fulfilled by any other means. It has to utter emotions that can be expressed only in lyric poetry, to say things which the audience longs to have said, but which cannot be said by any character on the stage.... Their function, too, is integral and need never decay. Nothing of this applies to the comic chorus. The audience here can completely relieve their feelings in laughter; there are no thoughts or emotions stirred that lie too deep for stage dialogue, no remoter universal meaning to be caught only in the passionate images of lyric poetry.”[257]

Playwrights experience considerable difficulty in plausibly motivating the entrances of their characters, and this was a more troublesome problem in ancient times than it is today. I shall revert to the matter later in connection with the actors (see pp. 229 f. and 239, below), but I wish to touch upon it now as regards the chorus. Of course the chorus was so inevitably present in every Greek drama that it might be thought needless to account for its presence at all. As Richter[258] said: “The chorus in Attic tragedy is so firmly established, so much a matter of course, that its entrance does not need to be motivated.” Accordingly, in Aeschylus’ Suppliants, Sophocles’ Philoctetes, etc., the choral entrance is unmotived. In the Suppliants, however, the audience scarcely required to be explicitly told that the sacred precinct with its altars, which is what the orchestra represents in this play, was a natural place of retreat for refugees. Likewise it is quite unnecessary for Neoptolemus’ sailors, in the Philoctetes, to give an excuse for following their prince and captain ashore. On the contrary, in Aeschylus’ Persians there is no self-evident reason why the Persian elders should go to the tomb of Darius or why Atossa should expect to meet them there rather than at the palace or the council chamber, and Aeschylus apparently felt no necessity of inventing a pretext. Nevertheless, in most instances the Greek playwrights did motivate their choral entrances. In Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes the chorus of maidens, through fear of the invading host, has fled for protection to the images of the gods on the acropolis (vss. 214 and 240). In Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound the ocean nymphs have been drawn to the hero’s side by the sound of the shackles being bolted upon him (vss. 133 f.). In the same writer’s Libation-Bearers the maidservants are sent from the palace with offerings for the grave of Agamemnon (vss. 22 f.). In his Eumenides the furies sing their first song behind the scenes within the temple at Delphi, where they have been besetting the guilty Orestes; presently Apollo drives them from his sanctuary into the orchestra (vss. 179 ff.). Often the chorus enters in response to the cries of the tragic heroine,[259] or as the bearer of news,[260] or as the result of hearing a rumor;[261] still more often in reply to a summons.[262] “After going through some years of Dionysia it must have been hard not to smile, when the ‘shrieks’ were raised or the ‘proclamation’ issued.”[263] In Aeschylus’ Eumenides, vs. 244, Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, vss. 117 ff., and Aristophanes’ Acharnians, vss. 280 ff., the chorus comes upon the stage on the track of a transgressor. Occasionally the pretext is extremely trivial, far-fetched, or improbable. In Euripides’ Ion, vss. 234 f., Creusa’s handmaidens have obtained their mistress’ permission to view the sights at Delphi. The chorus in Euripides’ Phoenician Maids, vss. 202 ff., are on their way from Tyre to Delphi to be consecrated to Apollo’s service as a thank-offering and chance to be caught in Thebes at the time of the country’s invasion. In Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, vss. 164 ff. and 187 f., Chalcidian women are constrained by curiosity to cross the strait and blushingly visit the Greek camp. In Euripides’ Electra, vss. 168 ff., the choreutae come to invite Electra to participate with them in an Argive festival in honor of Hera, and when the princess replies that she has “nothing to wear,” generously offer to lend her raiment from their store! Nothing more is heard of this motive during the remainder of the play. Finally, the same heroine in Sophocles’ Electra intimates that the women of the chorus have come to soothe her woes (vss. 129 f.). Now when Aegisthus was home Electra was never permitted to leave the palace (cf. vss. 516 ff.). It is only the accident of his absence which allowed her to pass the doors on this occasion. But the choreutae were unaware of his absence (vss. 310 ff.). What reason, then, could they have had to expect that they would be able to meet Electra outside the house and comfort her? Sophocles supplies no answer to this question. Kaibel[264] seems entirely justified in writing: “Ihr Kommen ist durch nichts motivirt als dadurch, dass ein Chor nothwendig ist.”

The history and traditions of the Greek theater required a chorus to appear in each drama. But they also required it to render several songs at intervals throughout the play. If we stop to analyze this convention it will surely appear ridiculous enough. How absurd that the subjects and well-wishers of kings and princes should resort to singing and dancing at the crises of their royal fortunes! Dennis[265] sought a reductio ad absurdum in the dramatization, à la grecque, of the Spanish invasion: “Suppose, then, that an express gives notice to Queen Elizabeth of the landing of the Spaniards upon our coast, and of great number of subjects revolting and running in to them. The Queen, upon the reception of this news, falls a lamenting her condition.... But then, Sir, suppose as soon as the Queen has left off lamenting, the ladies about her, in their ruffs and farthingalls, fell a dancing a Saraband to a doleful ditty. Do you think, Sir, that if this had really happened at White-Hall, it would have been possible to have beheld it without laughing, though one had been never so much concerned for his country?” Nevertheless, despite the incongruity, these odes were so much a matter of course that usually not even a motivation was provided for them. Occasionally, however, this was done. For example, in Euripides’ Alcestis, vss. 423 f., Admetus invites the chorus to “chant an antiphonal strain to the implacable god below,” and to the balanced strophe and antistrophe of their song (vss. 435-76) the remains of his wife are borne into the palace. In Aeschylus’ Eumenides the furies have tracked Orestes from Delphi to Athens and at last have overtaken him. But since he has invoked Athena’s protection and is clasping her image, they cannot lay hands upon him. Therefore, they resort to a magic incantation to prevent his escaping them again: at vs. 306 they announce “you shall hear this spell to bind you,” referring to and motivating the long ode (vss. 307-96) which follows. Again, in Euripides’ Cyclops, Odysseus asks the chorus to accompany him and his comrades with a song of good cheer (see below).

Sometimes the noise of fifteen lusty choreutae lifting their voices in united song sadly interferes with the verisimilitude of the scene, especially when the dramatic situation imperatively demands silence. The stricken Orestes, in Euripides’ play of that name, has at last fallen asleep, guarded by his devoted sister. Enter the chorus to inquire of his condition. Electra groans as she catches sight of them, well assured that they will waken Orestes (vss. 131 ff.). She begs them to be quiet, to stand far away from his bed, to drop their voices still lower. She inquires why they have come; warns them that they will be the death of him if they rouse him; beseeches them to depart, to cease their chanting. It is all in vain. The chorus enjoin quiet, declare that they are obeying her biddings, protest that their singing is but a murmur, invoke winged night to come upon him, etc. They needs must enter and needs must carry their part of the lyric dialogue with Electra, until finally (vs. 211) her fears are realized and Orestes’ slumber is broken. Similarly, in Sophocles’ Philoctetes, Neoptolemus suggests that they give Philoctetes an opportunity to sleep. But the chorus sings an invocation to slumber, which under like circumstances in real life could hardly have had a very soporific effect. Nevertheless, Philoctetes succumbs to it; whereupon the chorus advise Neoptolemus to execute his sinister designs, circumspectly enjoining that his reply to them should be couched in whispered tones! An especially striking instance occurs in Euripides’ Cyclops. At vs. 601 Polyphemus, well filled with powerful wine, has just entered his cave; Odysseus prays that the liquor will close the monster’s eyelids in sleep and follows him in. It is not a moment suitable for any unnecessary noise, such as might tend to keep the Cyclops awake. But the satyrs, being alone upon the stage, have no option but to chant an ode (vss. 608-23). At its conclusion Odysseus rushes in with an expostulation: