And so, with reiterated lamentations, the spectacle concludes.

With the Athenians, whose glory it exhibited so prominently, this play was naturally a favourite; but it appealed also to a far wider audience. The Persian War had been the means of bringing all Greeks together in union against the common foe; and accordingly, a play like this could not but be welcomed as an expression of the new national enthusiasm. This explains the fact that it was among those chosen by Hiero, tyrant of Syracuse, while Eschylus was his guest, to be repeated before the Greeks of Sicily; and this also justifies the poet in leaving for once the old national heroes, Hercules and Agamemnon, to celebrate the event which, for the first time since the Trojan war, was for all Greece a common triumph.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SEVEN CHIEFS AGAINST THEBES.

THE story of Thebes and its sieges was one of the most favourite themes of the Greek poets from the earliest times. The many old chronicles in verse which recorded different parts of the history formed a continuous series, second only in popularity to that Trojan series of which the 'Iliad' was the centre. In the uncritical language of the early Greeks, all these were attributed to Homer, and to a few other names-for they are little more; so that when we are told that Eschylus called his own tragedies only scraps from the great banquet of Homer, it is not to the 'Iliad' and Odyssey' alone, but to this large collection of poetical chronicles, that we must suppose him to refer. But the dramatist cannot deal with the history of whole cities; his subjects are individuals or families. Out of all the noble names which were connected with the Theban story, the fancy of the Greek tragedians dwelt most fondly on the fate of the unhappy house of Edipus. The terrible story is well known.

Laius the king (so runs the legend) cast out his son

Edipus that he might die, because an oracle had foretold that the child should kill his father. But Laius did not so avoid his fate, for the child was preserved by a shepherd, and became a man; and meeting Laius one day on a road he slew him unwittingly, and came to Thebes. He saved the city from the ravaging Sphinx by guessing her riddle about the life of man, and so became king of Thebes, and husband of the late king's wife-his own mother. But at last the gods brought it about that all the truth should be revealed to this unhappy king; and when he heard it, he put out his own eyes in his despair. Afterwards his sons Eteocles and Polynices, wishing that so horrible a thing should be forgotten, shut up their father in a prison; and he in his anger cursed them, and prayed that they might divide the kingdom between them by the sword.

So they, fearing lest the gods should fulfil that prayer, determined to reign in turn, each for a year. Eteocles, as the elder, reigned first, and at the end of the time agreed on, Polynices came and asked for the sceptre; but Eteocles refused, and clung resolutely to his throne, and sent him away empty. Then Polynices went away, and came to Argos, and married the daughter of King Adrastus, and persuaded him to help him with an army to recover his kingdom. So Adrastus gave him a great host, and he came against the Thebans. And six other captains led the host with him, and he was the seventh; and each led a division against one of the seven gates.

In the besieged city the scene is now laid. Before us rises the citadel, and the citizens-among whom

enters Eteocles himself-are gathering in the square beneath. Here is a picturesque scene to begin with. Such openings are favourites in our own operas; and the reader will remember how effective they are rendered by variety of dresses, and the signs of different trades by rapid motion, and the hum of many voices. These gay pictures are fit introductions to a modern opera; but the serious tragedy of Athens requires a more solemn opening. Moreover, the square of a Greek city would not supply so highly coloured, so harlequinlike a scene; nor would the taste of a Greek audience appreciate it. They prefer the beautiful to the picturesque. Our Theban citizens come in with more order, and less animation; their dresses are graceful in their folds, and rich in their simple colours; and their grouping on the stage is formal and systematic, instead of studiously disordered. We are to remember that they represent the dignity of a great people, and are there not to amuse or excite us, but to enact a solemn scene in the history of a very serious world.

The Athenian audience is always interested in a crowd. Every citizen is a politician, and delights in comparing other constitutions with his own; so that when a popular assembly in any shape comes before his eyes he is eagerly on the watch for indications of the degree of freedom which they possess, and for illustrations of his own political theories. This curiosity is consulted in the opening words of Eteocles, who begins by stating the necessity of watchfulness on the part of a ruler, the helmsman of the state, since his position is both responsible and thankless. Prosperity, he

says, is attributed to the gods, while for disasters the king is always held guilty. Much the same sentiment is expressed by an English writer :

"Among misfortunes that dissension brings
This not the least is, that belongs to kings:
If wars go well, each to a part lays claim;

If ill, then kings, not subjects, bear the blame."

Only the Englishman says nothing about the gods. However, it is ill-omened to speak of disaster, so Eteocles goes on to pray that all such calamity may be kept from Thebes by Zeus the Averter. We, who are in the poet's secret, know that the ill omen is not to be so lightly put aside. The king calls on all, young and old, to come to the aid of the state, and pay to their native earth the debt due to her for their nurture. This claim of the mother-land is very touchingly urged. "Defend," he says,

"This land, your common parent,
And dearest nurse, who on her fost❜ring soil
Upheld with bounteous care your infant steps,
And trained you to this service, that your hands
For her defence might lift the faithful shield."*

This childlike attachment to the native soil, the simplest basis of patriotism, has been generally exchanged among civilised nations for love of one's countrymen, or loyalty to the king-or has been supplanted by philosophical theories about nationality; but even now it is curious to notice how, when a nation is strongly and deeply moved, the old simple

* The translations throughout this play are from Potter.