II. HOW THE ANCIENT THEATRE EXPRESSED THE EMOTIONS WHICH ARE CAUSED BY PHYSICAL SUFFERING AND THE FEAR OF DEATH-HOW THE MODERN THEATRE EXPRESSES THEM-THE IPHIGENIA OF RACINE-ANGELO, TYRANT OF PADUA, BY VICTOR HUGO. EACH sentiment has its history, and this history is curious, because it is, if we may so speak, an abridged history of humanity. Although the feelings of the human heart do not undergo any permanent change, yet they feel the effect of the religious and political revolutions which are going on in the world. They retain their nature, but change their expression; and it is in studying these changes of expression that the literary critic writes, without designing it, the history of the world. The love of life is the strongest and most universal sentiment of the human heart. 66 66 "Better be a peasant alive than an emperor dead," says the fabulist;* and in speaking thus he was only relating the conversation of Achilles and Ulysses in Hades. Achilles," said Ulysses, you were once honored as a god among the living, and even now you command the dead: you cannot regret life." Ulysses," replied Achilles, "do not seek to console me for my death: I would rather be a poor laborer, and gain my living under some poor master who would not always have enough food to provide me, than to command here these lifeless shadows." So sweet a thing is life! This regret of life, which the poets attributed to their dying heroes, had nothing timid or weak: it was affecting without being pusillanimous. Two kinds of men who are not always the most faithful * LA FONTAINE. La Matrone d'Ephese. + Odyssey. interpreters of human nature, the Satiric poets* and the Philosophers-the one, because they viewed the world on its dark side, and the other, because they wished to make a methodical and regular system of the human affections,—had already among the Greeks censured the weakness of dying heroes. Plato accused them of enervating their souls by their complaints, and Cicero, a disciple and translator of the Greek philosophers, commends old Pacuvius for having in his play, entitled Ulysses Wounded, in imitation of Sophocles, given to his dying hero a firmness and constancy worthy of the stoicism of Rome. † The ancient French dramatists seem to have been in this respect of the opinion of Cicero rather than Sophocles: their heroes and heroines die with an admirable magnanimity. The haughtiness of their sentiments restrains pity, and in seeing them renounce life with so much indifference, in spite of ourselves we acquire a cold insensibility. The influence which the ancient philosophy had on the dramatic poets, the example of the Christian martyrs, and above all, thes entiment of honor, concurred in establishing the firmness of our tragic heroes. The point of honor which arose from the habits of military life and of that fearless contempt of death which characterized the Germanic nations, has contributed much towards the firmness of the heroes of the modern stage. Each age gives to its dramatic personages the kind of courage which it prizes most. When the sort of courage which braves death is held in greatest esteem, when it is by this standard that we measure men, Achilles and Ajax, if they appeared upon the stage, would not be less audacious and high-spirited than a musketeer or a grenadier; it would be even necessary, by virtue of their title of hero, that they should be a little more so. Hence their contempt of death pushed to exaggeration; hence their blusterings about their intrepidity and resignation ! The modern drama has endeavored to correct the tragic *See how Aristophanes, in his Frogs, ridicules the heroes of Euripides who weep and lament. + Cicero, in his Tusculan Questions, b. ii. ch. xiii., censures the Philocletes of Sophocles for giving way to grief: "Hoc quidem in dolore maxime providendum est, ne quid abjecte, ne quid timide, ne quid ignave, ne quid serviliter muliebriter ve faciamus; imprimis que refutetur ac rejiciatur Philoctetœus ille clamor. Ingemiscere non nunquam viro concessum est, id que raro: ejulatus, ne mulieri quidem." heroes of this philosophic, chivalric and Christian magnanimity which wearied the spectator without interesting him. We will notice the different expressions of the sentiments of the love of life from the days of the Greeks to our own times; and in order to accomplish this purpose to best advantage, we will select a few of the characters of the ancient and modern drama. There were on the Greek stage, three maidens sacrificed in the bloom of their youth; the Antigone of Sophocles, the Iphigenia and Polyxena of Euripides. None of them in dying affect courage and firmness; none of them are lavish of their youth and hopes; none of them are ashamed of weeping, and yet all are resigned. It is this which constitutes the crowning glory of the Greek art; it excites pity without exhausting it; it mingles sorrow and resignation in the plaints of its victims, in order that they may inspire at the same time pity and respect, and that these two sentiments may temper each other in the bosom of the spectator. The Greek art always seeks to maintain a just equilibrium between these two emotions. Thus Antigone in openly disobeying the law of Creon, which prohibited the burial of the body of Polynice, has shown more firmness than belongs to a young maiden; Sophocles, fearing that we may have less pity for her, seeing her so courageous, has given to her regrets for life something heart-rending. Antigone is almost. a martyr, since she prefers to obey the divine law rather than the human; but she has not the resignation of a martyr: now she weeps, because she will have no more nuptial songs, nor sweet marriage, nor dear children; and at other times, she accuses the Thebans of baseness, and the gods of indifference. The chorus also, which in the ancient tragedy expresses the sentiments which the poet wishes to excite in the breast of the spectator, remarks with horror the frightful tempest which agitates her soul. Sophocles has prolonged the agony of Antigone only with a view to temper with pity the admiration which her courage inspired. Less brave and less bold, the Iphigenia of Euripides does not require so much effort to move us to pity. There is therefore in her complaints nothing violent or agitated. She regrets to part with life; she does not fear to express her dread of death; she also mourns over her youth, which was blooming with fond anticipations; she was, in a word, as af fecting by the sweetness of her lamentations, as Antigone was by the violence of her despair. Polyxena is more resigned than Antigone and Iphigenia ; for she has lost her father and her country, and if she lived, it would be only to become a slave; there could be no husband for her except a slave like herself. She had then no fear of death: she resigned herself to it without ostentation, arrogance or stoicism. She only regretted the care which she would have bestowed upon Hecuba; she dies a timid and chaste virgin, without complaining, and thinks in the act of falling only of arranging her garments-the last trait of modesty in her last moments. In Seneca, on the other hand, Polyxena becomes fearless and wild; her magnanimity borders on madness, and she terrifies Pyrrhus who is about to sacrifice her.* Thus we have seen that all three lament their premature death, regret to part with life, and yet are finally resigned to their fate. Thus are mingled the love of life with the feeling of resignation and firmness, thereby giving a faithful representation of the human heart, which is at once both weak and strong, timid and brave. The entreaty which the Iphigenia of Euripides makes to her father to dissuade him from sacrificing her, is full of touching simplicity and grace: "My father," says she, "if I had the tongue of Orpheus, if I had the eloquence and persuasiveness which could attract rocks, if I could by my supplications enchant whom I wish, I would now avail myself of them; but I have no other art but my tears, which I cannot refrain from shedding. Permit me as a suppliant to prostrate at your knees this body destined to so sudden a death; and which my mother brought forth with so much pain. Do not compel me to die before my time the light is so pleasant to see, do not make me descend into the subterranean shades. It was I who first called you father; I who, seated upon your knees, received and returned your caresses. You said to me then: How proud I will be to see you, my daughter, contented and happy in the house of your husband;' I replied in patting your chin with my hands as I do now: 'My father, when you become old, I * Audax virago non tulit utro gradum SENECA. will receive you under my roof, and will return you the kindness which I received from you.'-I still remember these conversations, but you have forgotten them, since you wish me to die. No, my father, in the name of Pelops and Atreus; in the name of my mother who suffered so much at my birth, and who suffers still more cruelly now, I beseech you no ! And what have I to do with the faults of Paris and Helen? Why is Helen fatal to me? If you will not be moved by my words, I pray you, give me a last look and kiss, so that I may at least have this farewell remembrance of you before I die. My brothers, who are still young, entreat you to pardon their sister. Spare me, take pity on me! My father, nothing is more agreeable to mortals than to see the day. No person desires the night of Hades. It is madness to wish to die. A miserable life is better than a glorious death." Neither the allusion to the eloquence of Orpheus, which serves as an exordium to this discourse, nor the sententious maxim which concludes it, are in good taste; they partake too much of the rhetorical art, which was warmly cherished and assiduously cultivated by the Greeks. But the happy mixture of natural sentiments and mournful reflections render this supplication exceedingly touching. We see how revolting to the instinct of youth is the idea of death! The Iphigenia of Racine is more resigned and magnanimous. She is afraid to say that she loves, and that she regrets to part with life, that the light of day is pleasant to see, and that the darkness of death is horrible. My father, [says she to Agamemnon,] Cease to trouble yourself, you are not betrayed; When you command, you shall be obeyed. With a contented and submissive heart I will accept the husband whom you have promised me. Offer my innocent head to the stroke of Calchas; And respecting the blow, since it is ordered by you, Render back to you all the blood which you have given me. If, however, this respect, if this obedience Seems worthy in your eyes of another recompense; If you pity the sorrows of a weeping woman, I dare to say that in the state in which I am, |