The Greek theater and its drama

by Roy C. Flickinger

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:

Hush, you wild things, for Heaven’s sake!—still as death!

Shut your lips tight together!—not a breath!

Don’t wink, don’t cough, for fear the beast should wake

Ere we twist out his eye with that red stake.