Originally there were fifty choristers, but we learn that early in the fifth century there were only twelve, and it is suggested that this change was due to the introduction of tetralogies—the fifty choreutæ being divided as equally as possible between the four dramas. Sophocles, it is said, raised the number to fifteen. This account is doubtful. It is not in the nature of things likely that Æschylus (if it was he) caused or approved such an immense drop in numbers, from fifty to twelve: for the notion that the original chorus was split up into four is frivolous. Is it not obvious that a poet would employ the same choristers for each play of his tetralogy? Again, that Sophocles should chafe at Æschylus’ twelve singers and alter the number, and that by a mere trifle of three, is quite unlikely. There is, moreover, strong evidence that the elder poet used fifty choreutæ, at any rate in his earlier time. The Supplices has for chorus the daughters of Danaus, and their exact number, fifty, was a familiar datum of the legend. The natural view is that Æschylus began with fifty, that Sophocles ended with fifteen, and that between these two points the number gradually sank. Whether the choreutæ after the fifth century became still fewer is not clearly known; there is some evidence that at times they were only seven.
Next, the dramatic value of the chorus steadily went down. In our earliest tragedy, the Æschylean Supplices, the chorus of Danaids is absolutely vital; they are the chief, almost the sole, interest. In other works of the same poet their importance is certainly less, but still very great; everywhere they are deeply interested in the fate of the chief persons—Xerxes, Eteocles, Prometheus, Agamemnon, Orestes; the chorus of the Eumenides is even more closely attached to the plot. In Sophocles a certain change is to be felt. The connexion between chorus and plot is of much the same quality as in the five plays just mentioned, but the emotional tie and (still more) the tie of self-interest are weaker. The chorus of Greek seamen in Philoctetes are (in the abstract) as deeply concerned in the issue as the Oceanids in Prometheus, but most readers would probably agree that they show it less; we can “think away” the chorus more easily from the Philoctetes. In all the other six Sophoclean dramas the interest of the chorus in the action is about the same as in the Philoctetes—strong but scarcely vital. Euripides’ work shows more variety. Alcestis, Heracleidæ, Hecuba, Ion, Troades, Iphigenia in Tauris, Helen, and Rhesus all possess choruses which are prima-facie Sophoclean in this regard, though their language tends to show less personal concern. In other dramas, Medea, Hippolytus, Andromache, Electra, Phœnissæ, Orestes, Iphigenia at Aulis, the chorus is simply a company of spectators. Thirdly, in two plays, Supplices and Bacchæ, the importance of the chorus is thoroughly Æschylean. In Euripides, then, there is found on the whole a weakening in the dramatic value of the chorus: in some instances the singers are little more than random visitors. In the fourth century Aristotle protests against this: “the chorus too should be regarded as one of the actors; it should be an integral part of the whole, and share in the action, in the manner not of Euripides but of Sophocles”.[193]
A precisely similar change operated in the length of the ode. The lyrics of Æschylus’ Supplices form more than half the work, those of Orestes only one-ninth. Even at the end of Æschylus’ career we find in the Agamemnon odes magnificent, elaborate, and lengthy. Sophocles composed shorter songs which were still closely germane to the plot. But in Euripides there frequently occur lyrics whose connexion with the plot is slight, sometimes difficult to make out. Agathon carried this still further: his odes are mere interludes, quite outside the plot.[194]
The fifteen choristers usually entered through the parodos, marching like soldiers.[195] Drawn up in ranks upon the orchestra, they followed the action with their backs to the audience but faced about when they sang. Their work fell into two parts, the odes sung between the episodes, and participation in the episodes. The entrance-song was called the parodos or “entrance,” and was written in anapæstic rhythm, suitable for marching. If so, it was chanted in recitative; lyrics were sung. Songs between episodes were called stasima. This means “stationary songs,” not because the singers stood still but because they had taken up their station in the orchestra. As they left at the end they sang an exodos or “exit” in anapæsts. Besides these, there were occasional hyporchemes (ὑπορχήματα, “dances”), short, lively songs expressing sudden joy. All lyrics were rendered by both song and dance. Singing was generally executed by all the choreutæ, but some passages were divided between them. The most frequent division was into two semi-choruses (ἡμιχόρια), but now and then individuals sang a few words. Incidental iambic lines were spoken by one person, and the short anapæstic system which at the end of the lyric often announces the approach of an actor was no doubt assigned to the coryphæus, or chorus-leader alone. Dancing was also an essential feature, but both Greeks and Romans meant more by dancing than do we, or than we did before the rise of “Salome” performances. It was in fact a mimetic display, giving by the rhythmic manipulation of all the limbs an imitation of the emotions expressed, or the events described, by the song. The whole company, moreover, went through certain evolutions over the surface of the orchestra. When they sang the strophe[196] they moved in one direction, back again for the antistrophe,[196] and perhaps stood still when there was an epode.[196] But nothing is known as to details here. The centre of all the dancing was the coryphæus (κορυφαῖος, “top man”), the leader of the chorus; when two semi-choruses acted separately each had its leader. As was natural, choric dancing flourished mightily in the early days, and went down with lyrical performance in general. Thus Phrynichus congratulated himself on having devised “as many figures of the dance as are the billows on the sea under a dread night of storm”. Æschylus too was a brilliant ballet-master. But Plato, the comic playwright, at the end of the same century grumbles[197] amusingly:—
There was something to watch when the dancing was good,
But now there’s no acting to mention—
Just a paralysed row of inflexible singers,
Who howl as they stand at attention.
During the best period of the chorus its mimetic dancing must have been a wonderful spectacle. We hear of highly-skilled performers who could reproduce action so that the audience followed every detail. They seem to have “accompanied” some portions of the episodes in this manner; and that fact may account for a rather curious feature in the Ion. The messenger gives a remarkably detailed description of the designs upon the embroideries wherewith Ion roofed his great banqueting-marquee—the constellations and “Dawn pursuing the stars” are all described. Possibly this was written for the sake of an unusually brilliant mimetic evolution by groups of choreutæ.