STORIES FROM THE GREEK TRAGEDIANS.* Mn. CHURCH continues, with singular

success in this little book, his bold attempt to give us a genuinely classical version of the masterpieces of the great classics,—so far, at least, as these are adapted to the minds of the young. Of course, in dealing with the Greek tragedians, Mr. Church necessarily omits not indeed much more, but much more of what is most striking in his subjects, than it was necessary for him to omit in dealing with Homer and Virgil. In relation to these, he seldom omitted, we think, to give some effective equivalent for any passage that would have been held by the great devotees of Homer and Virgil to be one of the most striking passages in the poems. But in adapting the stories of the great Greek tragedies for the reading of the young, such an achievement would be, by the neces- sity of the case, simply impossible. In the great choric odes, the predominance of elegiac regret and foreboding is far too remark.. able to admit of their being incorporated at all freely into the substance of such stories as these, And since it is the great ohmic songs which chiefly embody the spirit of Greek tragedy,—which picture for us, as it were, that awful firmament of truth beneath the thousand eyes of which the heroic life of Greece was lived in the mind at least of the great Greek poets,—to omit the char- acteristic impression produced by the choric songs is to omit what constitutes to its readers the most striking feature of Greek tragedy. Again, it is hardly possible to give with anything like fullness even the effect of the sharply-ringing dialogue of the Greek plays, in which mind is made to encounter mind with even less than the usual result of such verbal conflict, though with very much more than the usual concentration of character in speech. It would have destroyed the charac- ter of the book to render for us this dialogue in more than the briefest outline ; and here again, therefore, the student of * Stories from the Greek Tragedians. By the Rev. Alfred J. Church, M.A. With Twenty-four Illustrations, from Designs by Flamnan and others. London : Seeley, Jackeon, and Halliday.

Greek tragedy will feel that the new volume is to him not quite ea much when compared with its classical original, as the Stories from Homer and from Virgil were in comparison with their originals. But if from the very nature of the case Mr. Church has given us in this volume what seems less to represent his Original than he. did in the Stories from Homer and from Virgil,—some- thing indeed that could not have been spoken of as " Stories" at all, if it had been in any degree more like the sources from which be derived it than it is,—he only makes us wonder the more on that account at the beauty of the effect, and the wonderful success he has achieved in taking just so much from his original as gives dignity and depth to the tragic tale, without in any way inter- fering with the flow of the narrative and the freedom of the style. If readers of the tragedies miss that depth of gloom, that over- hanging cloud of destiny, which gives so grand a. background to the development of the Greek drama, those who have not yet read them, those for whom these Stories are written, will yet find sufficient trace of that gloom to confess themselves spell-bound by these beautiful narratives, and impelled to such study as will enable them to go to the originals themselves. Nothing could show greater art than the mixture of' boldness and reserve with which Mr. Church has embodied the reflections of the tragic chorus in the texture of his story, so as to give it something of the grand moral outline of the original, without too much detail of misgiving or dismay. Take the story of "The Death of Agamemnon," — perhaps the most difficult, certainly the grandest, and we should say also the most successful in its rendering of the tragic background of thought, amongst this series of Mr. Church's. What can be more effective, for the purpose of the narrative, merely as narrative, than the use he makes of the great choric songs referred to in the following passage ?-

"Then came forth Queen Clytemnestra, and said, Mark ye who

doubted, bow that all things are even as I said. And new, herald, go tell thy lord that I wait to receive him with all honour ; wherefore let him come with what speed he may ; so shall he find a faithful guardian in his house who bath kept true watch and ward over all that he left behind, for this is the boast I make, both true and well beseeming a noble dame.' Then said the chief of the elders, 'Listen to her, herald, for her words are fair. But tell me now, bath Menelaila had safe return ?'—' Would,' said he, 'I had some bettor thing to tell ! But what profiteth it to deceive ? Truly, the man, together with his ship, is vanished out of our sight.' —' Sailed he then before you ?' said the elder, or was be parted from

you in a storm P'—"Tvves even so,' answered the herald,—' And did

men judge of him as living or dead P'—' That indeed, no man

knoweth, but only the sup who Booth all things. But hearken, I will

declare the whole matter. There went out wrath from heaven against us. For after we had set sail, the waves rose high in the night, and the fierce winds from the north dashed our ships one against another, SO that when the morning came, ho ! the sea was covered with bodies of men and wrecks. But the ship of the King suffered not, for the hand of a god, I trow, and not of a man, held the helm. But be of good cheer, For doubtless they too think of us as of those that have perished, even as we of them. And as for Menelails, be

assured that he will yet return, for the will of Zeus is not that this house should perish.' Then said one of the old men, Rightly they named her Helen, for like hell hath she devoured mon and ships, aye, and this great city of Troy. I have heard tell how a man reared a lion's cub in his house, Very pleasant was he at first, for the child- ren played with him, and he made sport for the old ; but when he grew he showed the temper of his race, and filled the house with blood. Even so came Helen, smiling and fair, to Troy, and now be- hold the end I But here comoth King Agamemnon. Let us greet him in fitting fashion.' And as he spake the King came near to the doors of the palace, sitting in a chariot drawn by mules ; and by him sat Cassandra, who was daughter to King Priatn, having been given to him by the princes when they divided the spoil of Troy. And when the King had saluted the Gods, giving them thanks that they had helped him to take vengeance on the men of Troy, and had also set forth his purpose to order all things in a regular assembly if any- thing had been done amiss in his absence, there came forth the Queen to greet him, saying, I am not ashamed, men of Argos, to confess that with greet gladness of heart f receive my husband. For truly it is an evil lot for a woman when she sitteth alone in her house, bearing continually rumours and tidings of misfortune. Verily had my lord here been wounded as oft as fame related this thing of him, these same wounds had been more in number than the meshes of a net ; and had he died as often as men reported him dead, three bodies such as the story tolleth Geryon to have had, had not sufficed him. Hence it is, 0 King, that our son Orestes is not here, for I sent him to Strophius the Phocian, who is, as thou knowest, an ancient friend of our house, fearing, if aught should befall thee at Troy, lest some tumult of the people should work harm also unto him. Scant truly and light have been my slumbers, and with many tears have I watched fur thee. And now thou art come what shall I Bay? Truly this man is to me as the strong pillar of a roof, as an only child to a father, as land' seen beyond all hope by sailors, after much toil at sea, as a clear shining after storm, as a fountain springing forth to one that journeyetb in a thirsty land. And now, my lord, I would that thou step from thy car, not setting thy foot upon the earth, seeing that it bath trampled upon the great city of Troy. Why linger ye, ye maids ?' Strew the pathway with carpeting of purple ! '—And King Agamem- non made answer, Truly, daughter of Leda, thy speech bath been even as may absence, exceeding long. But why dost thou pamper me with luxury, or make my goings hateful to the Gods, strewing this purple under my feet P It is not well, methinks, that a man should trample on such wealth.'—' Nay,' said the Queen, be con- tent. Thinkest thou that Priam would not have walked on purple if perchance be bad been the conqueror F' And after they bad talked awhile, she prevailed, only the King bade them loose the sandals from under his feet, thinking it shame to waste the substance of his, house. Also he gave commandment that they should deal very kindly with the strange woman that had ridden with him in his chariot, for that the Gods have a favour unto them that use their victory with mercy. And when he had said these things he went into the palace, the Queen leading the way. Then one of the elders said, There is a nameless fear ict my heart; and when I should rejoice for the return of the King and the host, a voice of boding riseth to my lips. If a man be wealthy above measure, let him fling overboard a part, and so escape shipwreck of his house. But blood that bath been spilt upon the earth, what charmer can bring back ? Did not Zeus slay- the man who raised the dead ? For a while 'twere best to be silent.' Then the Queen came forth from the palace, and bade Cassandra descend from the car and enter the gates. For why, she said, should' she struggle against fate which made her to be a slave ? Happy indeed was the lot which had brought her to a house of ancient. wealth,. 'Twas the newly rich that used harshness to their shaves But her persuasion availed nothing with the maiden, for she sat and made no answer ; and though the old men joined their counsel to thern same end, she moved not nor apake."

Now and then—especially, as it seems to us, in the "Story of Antigone "—Mr. Church has made, perhaps, a little more use of the dialogue and a little less of the choric odes, than in his masterpiece, "Time Death of .Agamemnon," and has not,. therefore, attained quite so high a measure of success. But there is not one, so far as the present writer can judge, in which he has failed to give us a striking and brilliant picture of the chief burden of the poet, and certainly no one in which he has fallen below the dignity and poetry of his theme.

Mr. Church manages, too, to give his readers the pith of the great characters painted by the tragic poets. In the Story of Philoetetes,. —a story singularly difficult to vivify with anything like a mere narrative interest, as there is hardly any incident in it,—he boldly

throws himself on the play of character which it contains, and. makes so striking a sketch of the high-minded though faltering

Neoptolemus, and of the crafty Odysseus, that even his youngest readers, we suspect, will find its interest almost as great as if it contained more moving incidents. Take the passage where Neoptolemus repents of his design to cheat Philoctetes into going with him, according to the crafty advice of Odysseus, and reveals to him the deception practised upon him, while Odysseus appears on the scene, and gives his own account of his own. guile :—

"But when the sailors would have had the Prince depart, seeing that he had now the great bow And the arrows, for whose sake he had come,

he would not, for they would be of no avail, he said, without the archer himself. And in no long space of time the Sick man woke. Right glad was he to sec that the strangers bad not departed, for, indeed, he had scarce hoped that this might be. Therefore commending the young man much for his courage and loving kindness, he would have hinr help him straightway to the ship, that his pain having now ceased' awhile, they might be ready to depart without delay. So they went, but the Prince was sorely troubled in his mind, and cried, 'Now what shall I clo ?' and now am I at my wits' end so that even words fair

me.' At which words, indeed, Philoctetes was grieved, thinking that it repented the Prince of his purpose, so that he said, Doth the trouble. of my disease then hinder thee from taking main thy ship ?' Then said the Prince, All is trouble when a man leaveth his nature to do things that are not fitting.' And Philoctotes made answer, Nay, is not this a fitting thing, seeing of what sire thou art the son, to help a brave man in his trouble ?'—' Can I endure to be so base,' said the Prince,. hiding that which I should declare, and speaking the thing that is false ?' And while Philoctotes still doubted whether he repented not of his purpose, he cried aloud, I will hide the thing no longer. Thou shalt sail with me to Troy.'—' What sayest thou?'—' I say that thou shalt be delivered from these pains, and shalt prevail together with me over the great city of Troy.'—' What treachery is this ? What bast thou. done to me ? Give me back the bow.'—' Nay, that I cannot do, for I am anchor authority, and must needs obey.' And when Philoc- tetes heard these words, he cried with a very piteous voice, ' What a marvel of wickedness thee art that has done this thing. Art thou not ashamed to work such wrong to a suppliant ? Give me my bow, for it is may life. But I speak in vain, for he goeth. away and heeded, me not. Here me then, ye waters and cliffs, and ye beasts of the field, who have been long time my wonted company, for I have none else to hearken to me. Hear what the son of Achilles bath done to me. For he aware that he would carry ma to my home,, and lo ! he taketh me to Troy. And he gave me the right hand of fellowship, and now he robbeth me of the bow, the sacred bow of' Hercules. Nay—for I will make trial of bim once more—give back this thing to me and be thy true self. What sayest thou ? Nothing ? Then am I undone. 0 cavern of the rock wherein I have dwelt, behold how desolate I am ! Never more shall I slay with my arrows bird of the air or beast of the field ; but that which I hunted shalt

pursue me, and that on which I fed shall devour me.' And the Prince was cut to the heart when he heard these words, hating the thing which he had done, and cursing the day on which he had come from Seyros to the plains of Troy. Then turning himself to the sailors, he asked what he should do, and was oven about to give back the bow, when Ulysses, who was close at hand, watching what should be done, ran forth crying that he should bold his hand. Then said Philoctetes, 'Is this Ulysses that I see ? Then am I undone.'—' Tis oven so j • and as for what thou askest of this youth, that he should give back the bow, ho shall not do it ; but rather thou shalt sail with us to Troy ; and if thou art not willing, these that stand by shall take thee by force.'—' Lord of fire, that rulest this land of Lemnos, hearest thou this ?'—' Nay, 'tie Zeus that is master here, and Zeus hath commanded this deed.' What lies are these ? Thou rankest the Gods false as thyself!— ' Not so. They are true and I also. But this journey thou must take.'—' Methinks I urn a slave, and not freeborn, that thou talkest thus.'—' Thou art peer to the bravest, and with them shalt take the great city of Troy.'—' Never ; I had sooner cast myself down from this cliff.' Then Ulysses cried to the men that they should lay hold on him; and this they straightway did. Then Philoctetes in many words reproached him with all the wrongs that he had done ; how at the first he had caused him to be left on this island, and now had stolen his arms, not with his own hands, indeed, but with craft and deceit, serving himself of a simple youth, who knew not but to do as ho was bidden. And he prayed to the Gods that they would avenge him on all that had done him wrong, and chiefly on this man Ulysses.

Then Ulysses made reply, can be all things as occasion serveth; such as thou sayest, if need be ; and yet no man more pious if the time call for goodness and justice. One thing only I must needs do, and that is to prevail. Yet here I will yield to thee. Thou wilt not go; so be it. Loose him ! We need thee not, having these arms of thine. Telmer is with us, an archer not one whit less skilful than thou. And now I leave thee to this Lemnos of thine. May be this bow shall bring me the honour which thou refused.'"

How finely Mr. Church has given the contrast between the honourable remorse of Neoptolemus, and the Told, utilitarian self-possession of Odysseus ! And so, too, how finely Mr. Church renders the remorseful love of Medea, when about to destroy her children, and yet possessed with the utmost passion for the offspring that in her deadly revenge she was resolved to sacrifice :—

"Then she called to the boys again and said, '0 my children! give me your right hands. 0 hands and mouths that I love, and faces fair exceedingly. Be ye happy—but not here. All that is hero your father bath taken from you. 0 dear regard, 0 soft, soft flesh, 0 sweet, sweet breath of my children! Go, my children, go; I cannot look upon your faces any more.' " It is hardly possible to say too much of the style of these stories. Mr. Church has a rare command of pure and liquid English, and hardly over offends the ear with a too familiar expression, and never with a pedantic one. He too often uses, we think, the expression" in a rage," where a less familiar and collognial form of speech would befit the context better (pp. 93, 102, 248); but the blots of this kind are 80 small and 80 arguable in point of taste, that their existence may almost be doubted. We regret rather that the somewhat feeble romance contained iu the Story of lon,—a great degeneration on all the other sub- jects of Greek tragedy here treated,—should have been included by Mr. Church. It is one of those subjects of Euripides which marks a great decline in Greek tragedy. But take the book all in all, we have never before seen so difficult a task as this Performed with greater vigour and a sincerer touch.