ATTIUS,
or Accius, as he is sometimes, but improperly, called, who brought forward his first play when thirty years old, in the same season in which Pacuvius, having reached the age of eighty, gave his last to the public[341]. Now, as Pacuvius would be eighty in 614, Attius, according to this calculation, must have been born in 584. It has been questioned, however, if he was born so early, since Valerius Maximus relates a story of his refusing to rise from his place on the entrance of Julius Cæsar into the College of Poets, because in that place they did not contest the prize of birth, but of learning[342],—which disrespect, if he came into the world in 584, he could not have survived to offer to the dictator, Julius Cæsar, who was not born till 654. This collector of anecdotes, however, may probably allude either to some other poet of the name of Attius, or to some other individual of the Julian family, than the Julius Cæsar who subverted the liberties of his country. At all events it is evident, that Attius lived to extreme old age. If born in 584, he must have been 63 years old at the birth of Cicero, who came into the world in 647. Now, Cicero mentions not only having seen him, but having heard from his own mouth opinions concerning the eloquence of his friend D. Brutus, and other speakers of his time[343]. Supposing this conversation took place even when Cicero was so young as seventeen, Attius must have lived at least to the age of eighty.
It is certain, that Attius had begun to write tragedies before the death of Pacuvius. Aulus Gellius relates, as a well-known anecdote, that Attius, while on his way to Asia, was detained, for some time at Tarentum, whither Pacuvius had retired, and was invited to pass a few days with the veteran poet. During his stay he read to his host the tragedy of Atreus, which was one of his earliest productions. Pacuvius declared his verses to be high sounding and lofty, but he remarked that they were a little harsh, and wanted mellowness. Attius acknowledged the truth of the observation, which he said gave him much satisfaction; for that genius resembled apples, which when produced hard and sour, grow mellow in maturity, while those which are unseasonably soft do not become ripe, but rotten[344]. His expectations, however, were scarcely fulfilled, and the produce of his more advanced years was nearly as harsh as what he had borne in youth. He seems, nevertheless, to have [pg 215]entertained at all times a good opinion of his own poetical talents: for, though a person of diminutive size, he got a huge statue of himself placed in a conspicuous niche in the Temple of the Muses[345]. Nor does his vanity appear to have exceeded the high esteem in which he was held by his countrymen. Such was the respect paid to him, that a player was severely punished for mentioning his name on the stage[346]. Decius Brutus, who was consul in 615, and was distinguished for his victories in Spain, received him into the same degree of intimacy to which Ennius had been admitted by the elder, and Terence by the younger, Scipio Africanus: and such was his estimation of the verses of this tragedian, that he inscribed them over the entrance to a temple adorned by him with the spoils of enemies whom he had conquered[347]. From the high opinion generally entertained of the force and eloquence of his tragedies, Attius was asked why he did not plead causes in the Forum; to which he replied, that he made the characters in his tragedies speak what he chose, but that, in the Forum, his adversaries might say things he did not like, and which he could not answer[348].
Horace, in the same line where he celebrates the dramatic skill of Pacuvius, alludes to the loftiness of Attius,—
—— “Aufert
Pacuvius docti famam senis—Attius alti;”
by which is probably meant sublimity both of sentiment and expression. A somewhat similar quality is intended to be expressed in the epithet applied to him by Ovid:—
“Ennius arte carens, animosique Attius oris,
Casurum nullo tempore nomen habent.”
It would appear from Ovid likewise, that he generally chose atrocious subjects for the arguments of his tragedies:—
“Nec liber indicium est animi, sed honesta voluptas,
Plurima mulcendis auribus apta ferens:
Attius esset atrox, conviva Terentius esset,
Essent pugnaces qui fera bella canunt[349].”
By advice of Pacuvius, Attius adopted such subjects as had already been brought forward on the Athenian stage; and we accordingly find that he has dramatized the well-known sto[pg 216]ries of Andromache, Philoctetes, Antigone, &c. There are larger fragments extant from these tragedies than from the dramatic works of Ennius or Pacuvius. One of the longest and finest passages is that in the Medea, where a shepherd discovering, from the top of a mountain, the vessel which conveyed the Argonauts on their expedition, thus expresses his wonder and admiration at an object he had never before seen:—
—— “Tanta moles labitur
Fremebunda ex alto, ingenti sonitu et spiritu
Præ se undas volvit, vortices vi suscitat,
Ruit prolapsa, pelagus respergit, reflat:
Ita num interruptum credas nimbum volvier,
Num quod sublime ventis expulsum rapi
Saxum, aut procellis, vel globosos turbines
Existere ictos, undis concursantibus?
Num quas terrestres pontus strages conciet;
Aut forte Triton fuscinâ evertens specus,
Subter radices penitus undanti in freto
Molem ex profundo saxeam ad cœlum vomit?”
With this early specimen of Latin verse, it may be agreeable to compare a corresponding passage in one of our most ancient English poets. A shepherd, in Spenser’s Epilogue to the Shepherd’s Calendar, thus describes his astonishment at the sight of a ship:—
“For as we stood there waiting on the strand,
Behold a huge great vessel to us came,
Dancing upon the waters back to land,
As if it scorn’d the danger of the same.
Yet was it but a wooden frame, and frail,
Glued together with some subtle matter:
Yet had it arms, and wings, and head, and tail,
And life, to move itself upon the water.
Strange thing! how bold and swift the monster was!
That neither cared for wind, nor hail, nor rain,
Nor swelling waves, but thorough them did pass
So proudly, that she made them roar again.”
Among the shorter fragments of Attius we meet with many scattered sentiments, which have been borrowed by subsequent poets and moral writers. The expression, “oderint dum metuant,” occurs in the Atreus. Thus, too, in the Armorum Judicium,—
“Nam trophæum ferre me a forti pulchrum est viro;
Si autem et vincar, vinci a tali, nullum est probrum.”
A line in the same play—
“Virtuti sis par—dispar fortunis patris,”
has suggested to Virgil the affecting address—
“Disce, puer, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem;
Fortunam ex aliis: ——”
This play, which turns on the contest of Ajax and Ulysses for the arms of Achilles, has also supplied a great deal to Ovid. The tragic poet makes Ajax say—
“Quid est cur componere ausis mihi te, aut me tibi.”
In like manner, Ajax, in his speech in Ovid—
—— “Agimus, prô Jupiter, inquit,
Ante rates causam, et mecum confertur Ulysses!”
There are two lines in the Philoctetes, which present a fine image of discomfort and desolation—
“Contempla hanc sedem, in qua ego novem hiemes, saxo stratus, pertuli,
Ubi horrifer aquilonis stridor gelidas molitur nives[350].”
Most of the plays of Attius, as we have seen, were taken from the Greek tragedians. Two of them, however, the Brutus and the Decius, hinged on Roman subjects, and were both probably written in compliment to the family of his patron, Decius Brutus. The subject of the former was the expulsion of the Tarquins: but the only passage of it extant, is the dream of Tarquin, and its interpretation, which have been preserved by Cicero in his work De Divinatione. Tarquin’s dream was, that he had been overthrown by a ram which a shepherd had presented to him, and that while lying wounded on his back, he had looked up to the sky, and observed that the sun, having changed his course, was journeying from west to east. The first part of this dream being interpreted, was a warning, that he would be expelled from his kingdom by one whom he accounted as stupid as a sheep; and the solar phenomenon portended a popular change in the government. The interpreter adds, that such strange dreams could not have occurred without the purpose of some special manifestation, but that no attention need be paid to those which merely present to us the daily transactions of life—
“Nam quæ in vitâ usurpant homines, cogitant, curant, vident,
Quæque agunt vigilantes, agitantque, ea si cui in somno accidunt.
Minus mirum est ——”
In his tragedies, indeed, Attius rather shows a contempt for dreams, and prodigies, and the science of augury—
“Nihil credo auguribus qui aures verbis divitant
Alienas, suas ut auro locupletent domos.”
The argument of Attius’ other drama, founded on a Roman subject, and belonging to the class called Prætextatæ, was the patriotic self-devotion of Publius Decius, who, when his army could no longer sustain the onset of the foe, threw himself into the thickest of the combat, and was despatched by the darts of the enemy. There were at least two of the family of Decii, a father and son, who had successively devoted themselves in this manner—the former in a contest with the Latins, the latter in a war with the Gauls, leagued to the Etruscans, in the year of Rome 457. No doubt, however, can exist, that it was the son who was the subject of the tragedy of Attius—in the first place, because he twice talks of following the example of his father—
“—— Patrio
Exemplo dicabo me, atque animam devotabo hostibus.”
And again—
“Quibus rem summam et patriam nostram quondam adauctavit pater.”
And, in the next place, he refers, in two different passages, to the opposing host of the Gauls—
—— “Gallei, voce canora ac fremitu,
Peragrant minitabiliter ——
* * * * *
Vim Gallicam obduc contra in acie.” ——
Horace, as is well known, bestowed some commendation on those dramatists who had chosen events of domestic history as subjects for their tragedies—
“Nec minimum meruere decus, vestigia Græca
Ausi deserere, et celebrare domestica facta[351].”
Dramas taken from our own annals, excite a public interest, and afford the best, as well as easiest opportunity of attract[pg 219]ing the mind, by frequent reference to our manners, prejudices, or customs. It may, at first view, seem strange, that the Romans, who were a national people, and whose epics were generally founded on events in their own history, should, when they did make such frequent attempts at the composition of tragedy, have so seldom selected their arguments from the ancient annals or traditions of their country. These traditions were, perhaps, not very fertile in pathetic or mournful incident, but they afforded subjects rich, beyond all others, in tragic energy and elevation; and even in the range of female character, in which the ancient drama was most defective, Lucretia and Virginia were victims as interesting as Iphigenia or Alcestis. The tragic writers of modern times have borrowed from these very sources many subjects of a highly poetical nature, and admirably calculated for scenic representation. The furious combat of the Horatii and Curiatii, the stern patriotic firmness of Brutus, the internal conflicts of Coriolanus, the tragic fate of Virginia, and the magnanimous self-devotion of Regulus, have been dramatized with success, in the different languages of modern Europe. But those names, which to us sound so lofty, may, to the natives, have been too familiar for the dignity essential to tragedy. In Rome, besides the risk of offending great families, the Roman subjects were of too recent a date to have acquired that venerable cast, which the tragic muse demands, and time alone can bestow. They were not at sufficient distance to have dropped all those mean and disparaging circumstances, which unavoidably adhere to recent events, and in some measure sink the noblest modern transactions to the level of ordinary life. This seems to have been strongly felt by Sophocles and Euripides, who preferred the incidents connected with the sieges of Troy and of Thebes, rendered gigantic only by the mists of antiquity, to the real and almost living glories of Marathon or Thermopylæ. But the Romans had no families corresponding to the race of Atreus or Œdipus—they had no princess endowed with the beauty of Helen—no monarch invested with the dignity of Agamemnon—they had, in short, no epic cycle on which to form tragedies, like the Greeks, whose minds had been conciliated by Homer in favour of Ajax and Ulysses[352]. “The most interesting subjects of tragedies,” says Adam Smith[353], “are the misfortunes of [pg 220]virtuous and magnanimous kings and princes;” but the Roman kings were a detested race, for whose rank and qualities there was no admiration, and for whose misfortunes there could be no sympathy. Accordingly, after some few and not very successful attempts to dramatize national incidents, the Latin tragic writers relapsed into their former practice, as appears from the titles of all the tragedies which were brought out from the time of Attius to that of Seneca.
Hence it follows, that those remarks, which have been repeated to satiety with regard to the subjects of the Greek theatre, are likewise applicable to those of the Roman stage. There would be the same dignified misfortune displayed in nobler and imposing attitudes—the same observance of the unities—the same dramatic phrensy, remorse, and love, proceeding from the vengeance of the gods, and exhibited in the fate of Ajax, Orestes, and Phædra—the same struggle against that predominant destiny, which was exalted even above the gods of Olympus, and by which the ill-fated race of Atreus was agitated and pursued. The Latin, like the Greek tragedies, must have excited something of the same feeling as the Laocoon or Niobe in sculpture; and, indeed, the moral of a large proportion of them seems to be comprised in the chorus of Seneca’s Œdipus—
“Fatis agimur—cedite fatis:
Non solicitæ possunt curæ
Mutare rati stamina fusi.”
M. Schlegel is of opinion, that had the Romans quitted the practice of Greek translation, and composed original tragedies, these would have been of a different cast and species from the Greek productions, and would have been chiefly expressive of profound religious sentiments.—“La tragedie Grecque avoit montré l’homme libre, combattant contre la destinée; la tragedie Romaine eut presenté a nos regards l’homme soumis a la Divinité, et subjugué jusques dans ses penchans les plus intimes, par cette puissance infinie qui sanctifie les ames, qui les enchaine de ses liens, et qui brille de toutes parts, a travers le voile de l’univers[354].” His reasons for supposing that this difference would have existed, are founded on the difference in the mythological systems of the two nations.—“L’ancienne croyance des Romains et les usages qui s’y rapportoient, renfermoient un sens moral, serieux, philosophique, divinatoire et symbolique, qui n’existoit pas dans la religion des Grecs.” There can be no doubt, [pg 221]that the Romans were in public life, during the early periods or their history, a devotedly religious people. Nothing of moment was undertaken without being assured that the gods approved, and would favour the enterprise. The utmost order was observed in every step of religious performance. We see a consul leaving his army, on suspicion of some irregularity, to hold new auspices—an army inspired with sacred confidence and ardour, after appeasing the wrath of the gods, by expiatory lustrations—and a conqueror dedicating at his triumph the temple vowed in the moment of danger. But notwithstanding all this, it so happens, that a spirit of free-thinking is one of the most striking characteristics of the oldest class of Latin poets, particularly the tragedians, and in the fragments of those very plays which were founded on Roman subjects, there is everywhere expressed a bitter contempt for augury, and for the sens divinatoire et symbolique, which they evidently considered as quackery: and the dramatists do not seem to have much scrupled to declare that it was so, or the people to testify approbation of such sentiments. Even the almost impious lines of Ennius, that the gods take no concern in the affairs of mortals, were received, as we learn from Cicero, with vast applause.—“Noster Ennius, qui magno plausu loquitur, assentiente populo—Ego Deûm genus[355],” &c. It is probable, however, that a tragedy purely Roman would have been written in a different spirit from a Greek drama, because the manners of the two people had little resemblance, and because the Roman passion for freedom, detestation of tyranny, and feelings of patriotism, had strong shades of distinction from those of Greece. The self-devotion of the Decii and Curtius, was of a fiercer description than that of Leonidas. It was the headlong contempt, rather than the resolute sacrifice, of existence.
It was probably, too, from a slavish imitation of the Greek dramatists, that the Latin tragedies acquired what is considered one of their chief faults—the introduction of aphorisms and moral sentences, which were not confined to the chorus, the proper receptacle for them, (it being the peculiar office and character of the chorus to moralize,) but were spread over the whole drama in such a manner, that the characters appeared to be vivendi preceptores rather than rei actores. Quintilian characterizes Attius and Pacuvius as chiefly remarkable for this practice.—“Tragœdiæ scriptores Attius et Pacuvius, clarissimi gravitate sententiarum.” A question on this point is started by Hurd,—That since the Greek trage[pg 222]dians moralized so much, how shall we defend Sophocles, and particularly Euripides, if we condemn Attius and Seneca? Brumoy’s solution is, that the moral and political aphorisms of the Greek stage generally contained some apt and interesting allusion to the state of public affairs, easily caught by a quick intelligent audience, and not a dry affected moral without farther meaning, like most of the Latin maxims. In the age, too, of the Greek tragedians, there was a prevailing fondness for moral wisdom; and schools of philosophy were resorted to for recreation as well as for instruction. Moral aphorisms, therefore, were not inconsistent with the ordinary flow of conversation in those times, and would be relished by such as indulged in philosophical conferences, whereas such speculations were not introduced till late in Rome, and were never very generally in vogue.
On the whole, it may be admitted that the bold and animated genius of Rome was well suited to tragedy, and that in force of colouring and tragic elevation the Latin poets presented not a feeble image of their great originals; but unfortunately their judgment was uninformed, and they were too easily satisfied with their own productions. Strength and fire were all at which they aimed, and with this praise they remained contented. They were careless with regard to the regularity or harmony of versification. The discipline of correction, the curious polishing of art, which had given such lustre to the Greek tragedies, they could not bestow, or held the emendation requisite for dramatic perfection as disgraceful to the high spirit and energy of Roman genius[356]:
“Turpem putat inscriptis metuitque lituram[357].”
To originality or invention in their subjects, they hardly ever presumed to aspire, and were satisfied with gathering what they found already produced by another soil in full and ripened maturity.
It may perhaps appear strange that the Romans possessed so little original talents for tragedy, and indeed for the drama in general; but the genius of neighbouring nations, who had equal success in other sorts of poetry, has often been very different in this department of literature. The Spaniards could boast of Lopez de Vega, Cervantes, and Calderon, at a time when the Portuguese had no drama, and were contented with the exhibitions of strolling players from Castile. Scotland [pg 223]had scarcely produced a single play of merit in the brightest age of the dramatic glory of England—the age of Shakspeare, Massinger, and Jonson. While France was delighted with the productions of Racine, Corneille, and Moliere, the modern Italians, as if their ancestors’ poverty of dramatic genius still adhered to them, though so rich and abundant in every other department of literature, scarcely possessed a tolerable play of their own invention, and till the time of Goldoni were amused only with the most slavish imitations of the Latin comedies, the buffooneries of harlequin, or tragedies of accumulated and unmitigated horrors, which excite neither the interest of terror nor of pity.
For all this it may not be easy completely to account; but various causes may be assigned for the want of originality in Roman tragedy, and indeed in the whole Roman drama. The nation was deficient in that milder humanity of which there are so many beautiful instances in Grecian history. From the austere patriotism of Brutus sacrificing every personal feeling to the love of country,—from the frugality of Cincinnatus, and parsimony of the Censor, it fell with frightful rapidity into a state of luxury and corruption without example. Even during the short period which might be called the age of refinement, it wanted a poetical public. To judge by the early part of their history, one would suppose that the Romans were not deficient in that species of sensibility which fits for due sympathy in theatrical incidents. Most of their great revolutions were occasioned by events acting strongly and suddenly on their feelings. The hard fate of Lucretia, Virginia, and the youth Publilius, freed them from the tyranny of their kings, decemvirs, and patrician creditors. On the whole, however, they were an austere, stately, and formal people; their whole mode of life tended to harden the heart and feelings, and there was a rigid uniformity in their early manners, ill adapted to the free workings of the passions. External indications of tenderness were repressed as unbecoming of men whose souls were fixed on the attainment of the most lofty objects. Pity was never to be felt by a Roman, but when it came in the shape of clemency towards a vanquished foe, and tears were never to dim the eyes of those whose chief pride consisted in acting with energy and enduring with firmness. This self-command, which their principles required of them,—this control of every manifestation of suffering in themselves, and contempt for the expression of it in others, tended to exclude tragedy almost entirely from the range of their literature.
Any softer emotions, too, which the Roman people may have once experienced—any sentiments capable of being awakened [pg 224]to tragic pathos, became gradually blunted by the manner in which they were exercised. They had, by degrees, been accustomed to take a barbarous delight in the most wanton displays of human violence, and brutal cruelty. Lions and elephants tore each other in pieces before their eyes; and they beheld, with emotions only of delight, crowds of hireling gladiators wasting their energy, valour, and life, on the guilty arena of a Circus. Gladiatorial combats were first exhibited by Decius and Marcus Brutus, at the funeral of their father, about the commencement of the Punic wars. The number of such entertainments increased with the luxury of the times; and those who courted popular favour found no readier way to gain it than by magnificence and novelty in this species of expense. Cæsar exhibited three hundred pairs of gladiators; Pompey presented to the multitude six hundred lions, to be torn in pieces in the Circus, besides harnessed bears and dancing elephants; and some other candidate for popular favour, introduced the yet more refined barbarity of combats between men and wild animals. These were the darling amusements of all, and chief occupations of many Romans; and those who could take pleasure in such spectacles, must have lost all that tenderness of inward feeling, and all that exquisite sympathy for suffering, without which none can perceive the force and beauty of a tragic drama. The extension, too, of the military power, and the increasing wealth and splendour of the Roman republic, accustomed its citizens to triumphal and gaudy processions. This led to a taste for what, in modern times, has been called Spectacle; and, instead of melting with tenderness at the woes of Andromache, the people demanded on the stage such exhibitions as presented them with an image of their favourite pastimes:—
“Quatuor aut plures aulæa premuntur in horas,
Dum fugiunt equitum turmæ, peditumque catervæ:
Mox trahitur manibus regum fortuna retortis;
Esseda festinant, pilenta, petorrita, naves:
Captivum portatur ebur, captiva Corinthus[358].”
This sort of show was not confined to the afterpiece or entertainment, but was introduced in the finest tragedies, which were represented with such pomp and ostentation as to destroy all the grace of the performance. A thousand mules pranced about the stage in the tragedy of Clytemnestra; and whole regiments, accoutred in foreign armour, were marshalled [pg 225]in that of the Trojan Horse[359]. This taste, so fatal to the genuine excellence of tragedy or comedy, was fostered and encouraged by the Ædiles, who had the charge of the public Shows, and, among others, of the exhibitions at the theatre. The ædileship was considered as one of the steps to the higher honours of the state; and those who held it could not resort to surer means of conciliating the favour of their fellow-citizens, or purchasing their future suffrages, than by sparing no expense in the pageantry of theatrical amusements.
The language, also, of the Romans, however excellent in other respects, was at least in comparison with Greek, but ill suited to the expression of earnest and vivid emotion. It required an artful and elaborate collocation of words, and its construction is more forced and artificial than that of most other tongues. Hence passion always seemed to speak the language with effort; the idiom would not yield to the rapid transitions and imperfect phrases of impassioned dialogue.
Little attention, besides, was paid to critical learning, and the cultivation of correct composition. The Latin muse had been nurtured amid the festivities of rural superstition; and the impure mixture of licentious jollity had so corrupted her nature, that it long partook of her rustic origin. Even so late as the time of Horace, the tragic drama continued to be unsuccessful, in consequence of the illiberal education of the Roman youth; who, while the Greeks were taught to open all the mind to glory, were so cramped in their genius by the love of gain, and by the early infusion of sordid principles, that they were unable to project a great design, or conduct it to perfection. The consequence was, that the “ærugo et cura peculi” had so completely infected the Roman dramatists, that lucre was the sole object of their pains. Hence, provided they could catch popular applause, and secure a high price from the magistrates who superintended theatrical exhibitions, they felt indifferent to every nobler view, and more worthy purpose:—
“Gestit enim nummum in loculos demittere; post hoc
Securus, cadat, an recto stet fabula tale[360].”
But, above all, the low estimation in which the art of poetry was held, must be regarded as a cause of its little progress during the periods of the republic: “Sero igitur,” says Cicero, “a nostris, poetæ vel cogniti vel recepti. Quo minus igitur [pg 226]honoris erat poetis, eo minora studia fuerunt[361].” The earliest poets of Rome had not the encouragement of that court favour which was extended to Chaucer in England, to Marot and Ronsard in France, and to Dante by the petty princes of Italy. From Livius Andronicus to Terence, poetry was cultivated only by foreigners and freedmen. Scipio and Lælius, indeed, are said to have written some scenes in the plays of Terence; but they did not choose that anything of this sort should pass under their names. The stern republicans seem to have considered poetry as an art which captives and slaves might cultivate, for the amusement of their conquerors, or masters, but which it would be unsuitable for a grave and lofty patrician to practice. I suspect, the Romans regarded a poet as a tumbler or rope-dancer, with whose feats we are entertained, but whom we would not wish to imitate.
The drama in Rome did not establish itself systematically, and by degrees, as it did in Greece. Plautus wrote for the stage during the time of Livius Andronicus, and Terence was nearly contemporary with Pacuvius and Attius; so that everything serious and comic, good and bad, came at once, and if it was Grecian, found a welcome reception among the Romans. On this account every species of dramatic amusement was indiscriminately adopted at the theatre, and that which was most absurd was often most admired. The Greek drama acquired a splendid degree of perfection by a close imitation of nature; but the Romans never attained such perfection, because, however exquisite their models, they did not copy directly from nature, but from its representative and image.
Had the Romans, indeed, possessed a literature of their own, when they first grew familiar with the works of the Greek poets, their native productions would no doubt have been improved by the study and imitation of the masterpieces of these more accomplished foreigners; yet they would still have preserved something of a national character. But, unfortunately, when the Romans first became acquainted with the writings of the Greeks, they had not even sown the seeds of learning, so that they remained satisfied with the full-ripened produce imported from abroad. Several critics have indeed remarked in all the compositions of the Romans, and particularly in their tragedies, a peculiar severity and loftiness of thought; but they were all formed so entirely on a Greek model, that their early poetry must be regarded rather as the production of art than genius, and as a spark struck by contact and attrition, [pg 227]rather than a flame spontaneously kindled at the altar of the Muses.
In addition to all this, the Latin poet had no encouragement to invent. He was not required to look abroad into nature, or strike out a path for himself. So far from this being demanded, Greek subjects were evidently preferred by the public—
“Omnes res gestas Athenis esse autumant,
Quo vobis illud Græcum videatur magis[362].”
All the works, then, which have been hitherto mentioned, and which, with exception of the Annals of Ennius, are entirely dramatic, belong strictly to what may be called the Greek school of composition, and are unquestionably the least original class of productions in the Latin, or perhaps any other language. But however little the early dramatists of Rome may have to boast of originality or invention, they are amply entitled to claim an unborrowed praise for the genuine purity of their native style and language.
The style and language of the dramatic writers of the period, on which we are now engaged, seem to have been much relished by a numerous class of readers, from the age of Augustus to that of the Antonines, and to have been equally abhorred by the poets of that time. We have already seen Horace’s indignation against those who admired the Carmen Saliare, or the poems of Livius, and which appears the bolder and more surprising, as Augustus himself was not altogether exempt from this predilection[363]; and we have also seen the satire of Persius against his age, for being still delighted with the fustian tragedies of Attius and the rugged style of Pacuvius—
“Est nunc Brisei quem venosus liber Atti,
Sunt quos Pacuviusque et verrucosa moretur
Antiope ærumnis cor luctificabile fulta.”
In like manner Martial, in his Epigrams, mimicking the obsolete phrases of the ancient dramatists—
“Attonitusque legis terräi frugiferäi,
Attius et quicquid Pacuviusque vomunt.”
Such sentiments, however, as is evident from Horace’s Epistle [pg 228]to Augustus, proceeded in a great measure from the modern poets being provoked at an admiration, which they thought did not originate in a real sense of the merit of these old writers, but in an envious wish to depreciate, by odious comparison, the productions of the day—
“Jam Saliare Numæ carmen qui laudat, et illud
Quod mecum ignorat, solus vult scire videri;
Ingentis non ille favet, plauditque sepultis,
Nostra sed impugnat—nos, nostraque lividus odit.”
But although a great proportion of the public may, with malicious designs, have heaped extravagant commendations on the style of the ancient tragedians, there can be no doubt that it is full of vigour and richness; and if inferior to the exquisite refinement of the Augustan age, it was certainly much to be preferred to the obscurity of Persius, or the conceits of Martial. “A very imperfect notion,” says Wakefield, in one of his letters to Fox, “is entertained in general of the copiousness of the Latin language, by those who confine themselves to what are styled the Augustan writers. The old comedians and tragedians, with Ennius and Lucilius, were the great repositories of learned and vigorous expression. I have ever regarded the loss of the old Roman poets, particularly Ennius and Lucilius, from the light they would have thrown on the formations of the Latin language, and its derivation from the Æolian Greek, as the severest calamity ever sustained by philological learning[364].” Sometimes, indeed, their words are uncouth, particularly their compound terms and epithets, in the formation of which they are not nearly so happy as the Greeks. Livius Andronicus uses Odorisequos canes—Pacuvius employs Repandirostrum and Incurvicervicum. Such terms always appear incongruous and disjointed, and not knit together so happily as Cyclops, and other similar words of the Greeks.
The different classes into which the regular drama of this period may be reduced, is a subject involved in great contradiction and uncertainty, and has been much agitated in consequence of Horace’s celebrated line—
“Vel qui Prætextas vel qui docuere Togatas[365].”
On the whole, it seems pretty evident, that the regular drama was divided into tragedy and comedy. A tragedy on a Greek subject, and in which Greek manners were preserved, as the [pg 229]Hecuba, Dulorestes, &c. was simply styled Tragœdia, or sometimes Tragœdia Palliata. Those tragedies again, in which Roman characters were introduced, as the Decius and Brutus of Attius, were called Prætextatæ, because the Prætexta was the habit worn by Roman kings and consuls. The comedy which adopted Greek subjects and characters, like those of Terence, was termed Comœdia, or Comœdia Palliata; and that which was clothed in Roman habits and customs, was called Togata[366]. Afranius was the most celebrated writer of this last class of dramas, which were probably Greek pieces accommodated to Roman manners, since Afranius lived at a period when Roman literature was almost entirely imitative. It is difficult, no doubt, to see how an Athenian comedy could be bent to local usages foreign to its spirit and genius; but the Latin writers were not probably very nice about the adjustment; and the Comœdia Togata is so slightly mentioned by ancient writers, that we can hardly suppose that it comprehended a great class of national compositions. The Tabernaria was a comedy of a lower order than the Comœdia Togata: It represented such manners as were likely to be met with among the dregs of the Plebeians; and was so called from Taberna, as its scene was usually laid in shops or taverns. These, I think, are the usual divisions of the regular Roman drama; but critics and commentators have sometimes applied the term Togata to all plays, whether tragedies or comedies, in which Roman characters were represented, and Palliata to every drama of Greek origin.
There was, however, a species of irregular dramas, for which the Romans were not indebted to the Greeks, and which was peculiar to themselves, called Fabulæ Atellanæ. These entertainments were so denominated from Atella, a considerable town of the Oscans, now St Arpino, lying about two miles south from Aversa, between Capua and Naples,—the place now named Atella being at a little distance.
When Livius Andronicus had succeeded in establishing at Rome a regular theatre, which was formed on the Greek model, and was supported by professional writers, and professional actors, the free Roman youth, who were still willing, amid their foreign refinements, occasionally to revive the recollection of the old popular pastimes of their Italian ancestry, continued to amuse themselves with the satiric pieces introduced by the Histrions of Etruria, and with the Atellane Fables which Oscan performers had first made known at [pg 230]Rome[367]. The actors of the regular drama were not permitted to appear in such representations; and the Roman youths, to whom the privilege was reserved, were not, as other actors, removed from their tribe, or rendered incapable of military service[368]; nor could they be called on like them to unmask in presence of the spectators[369]. It has been conjectured, that the popularity of these spectacles, and the privileges reserved to those who appeared in them, were granted in consequence of their pleasantries being so tempered by the ancient Italian gravity, that there was no admixture of obscenity or indecorum, and hence no stain of dishonour was supposed to be inflicted on the performers[370].
The Atellane Fables consisted of detached scenes following each other, without much dramatic connection, but replete with jocularity and buffoonery. They were written in the Oscan dialect, in the same way as the Venetian or Neapolitan jargons are frequently employed in the Italian comedies; and they differed from the Greek satiric drama in this, that the characters of the latter were Satyrs, while those of the Atellane fables were Oscan[371]. One of these was called Maccus, a grotesque and fantastic personage, with an immense head, long nose, and hump back, who corresponded in some measure to the clown or fool of modern pantomime, and whose appellation of Maccus has been interpreted by Lipsius as Bardus, fatuus, stolidus[372]. In its rude but genuine form this species of entertainment was in great vogue and constant use at Rome. It does not appear that the Atellane fables were originally written out, or that the actors had certain parts prescribed to them. The general subject was probably agreed on, but the performers themselves filled up the scenes from their own art or invention[373]. As the Roman language improved, and the provincial tongues of ancient Italy became less known, the Oscan dialect was gradually abandoned. Quintus Novius, who lived in the beginning of the seventh century of Rome, and whom Macrobius mentions as one of the most approved writers of Atellane Fables, was the author who chiefly con[pg 231]tributed to this innovation. He is cited as the author of the Virgo Prægnans, Dotata, Gallinaria, Gemini, and various others.
At length, in the time of Sylla, Lucius Pomponius produced Atellane Fables, which were written without any intermixture of the Oscan dialect, being entirely in the Latin language; and he at the same time refined their ancient buffoonery so much, by giving them a more rational cast, that he is called by Velleius Paterculus the inventor of this species of drama, and is characterized by that author as “sensibus celebrem, verbis rudem[374].” Pomponius was remarkable for his accurate observation of manners, and his genius has been highly extolled by Cicero and Seneca. The names of sixty-three of his pieces have been cited by grammarians, and from all these fragments are still extant. From some of them, however, not more than a line has been preserved, and from none of them more than a dozen. It would appear that the Oscan character of Maccus was still retained in many fables of Pomponius, as there is one entitled Maccus, and others Macci Gemini, Maccus Miles, Maccus Sequestris, in the same manner as we say Harlequin footman, &c. Pappo, or Pappus, seems also to have been a character introduced along with Maccus, and, I should think, corresponded to the Pantaloon of modern pantomime. Among the names of the Atellanes of Pomponius we find Pappus Agricola, and among those of Novius, Pappus Præteritus. This character, however, appears rather to have been of Greek than of Oscan origin; and was probably derived from Παππος, the Silenus or old man of the Greek dramatic satire.
The improvements of Pomponius were so well received at Rome, that he was imitated by Mummius, and by Sylla himself, who, we are told by Athenæus, wrote several Atellane Fables in his native language[375]. In this new form introduced by Pomponius the Atellane dramas continued to enjoy great popularity in Rome, till they were in some measure superseded by the Mimes of Laberius and Publius Syrus.
Along with the Atellane Fables, the Roman youth were in the practice of acting short pieces called Exodia, which were interludes, or after-pieces, of a yet more loose, detached, and farcical description, than the Atellanes, being a continuation of the ancient performances originally introduced by the Histrions of Etruria[376]. In these Exodia the actors usually wore the same masks and habits as in the Atellanes and tragedies[377], [pg 232]and represented the same characters in a ludicrous point of view:—
“Urbicus Exodio risum movet Atellanæ
Gestibus Autonoes. Hunc diligit Ælia pauper[378].”
Joseph Scaliger, in his Commentary on Manilius, gives his opinion, that the Exodia were performed at the end of the principal piece, like our farces, and were so called as being the issue of the entertainment, which is also asserted by a scholiast on Juvenal[379]. But the elder Scaliger and Salmasius thought that the exodium was a sort of interlude, and had not necessarily any connection with the principal representation. The Exodia continued to be performed with much license in the times of Tiberius and Nero; and when the serious spirit of freedom had vanished from the empire, they often contained jocular but direct allusions to the crimes of the portentous monsters by whom it was scourged and afflicted.
It has been much disputed among modern critics, whether the