NOTES.
NOTE 1, page 18. – Even Aristotle comprehended most thoroughly this
first part of the poet’s work, the fashioning and developing of the poetic
idea. If, in comparison with history, he makes poetry the more significant and
philosophical, because poetry represents what is common to all men, while
history gives an account of the incidental, or special detail; and because
history presents what has happened, while poetry shows how it could have
happened, yet we moderns, impressed with the weight and grandeur of historical
ideas, must reject his comparative estimate of the two fundamentally different
kinds of composition; we shall, however, concede the fine distinction in his
definition. He indicates, in a sentence immediately following this and often
misunderstood, the process of idealization. He says, IX., 4: “That which in
poetry is common to humanity, is produced in this way, – the speeches and
actions of the characters are made to appear probable and necessary; and that
which is humanly universal poetry works out from the raw material and then
gives to the characters appropriate names,” – whether using those already
at hand in the raw material or inventing new ones. (Buckley’s translation is
as follows: But universal consists indeed in relating or performing
certain things which happen to a man of a certain description, either probably
or necessarily, to which the aim of poetry is directed in giving names.)
Aristotle was of the opinion, too, that a poet would do well at the beginning
of his work to place before himself the material which had attracted him, in a
formula stripped of all incidentals, or non-essentials; and he develops this
idea more fully in another place, XVII., 6, 7: “The Iphigenia and the Orestes
of the drama are not at all the same as those in the material which came to the
poet. For the poet who composed the play it is almost an accident that they
bear these names. Only when the poet has raised his actions and his characters
above the incidental, the real, that which has actually happened, and in place
of this has put a meaning, a significance which will be generally received,
which appears to us probable and necessary, – only then is he again to make
use of color and tone, names and circumstances, from the raw material.”
Therefore it is also possible that dramas which have been taken from very
different realms of material, express, fundamentally, the same meaning, or, as
we put it, represent the same poetical idea. This is the thought in the
passages cited.
NOTE 2, page 22. – The few technical terms used in this book must
be received by the reader without prejudice and without confusion. In their
common use for the last century several of them have passed through many
changes of meaning. What is here called action, the material already
arranged for the drama (in Aristotle, myth; in the Latin writers,
fable), Lessing sometimes still calls fable, while the raw
material, the praxis or the pragma of Aristotle, he calls
action. But Lessing also sometimes uses the word action more
correctly, giving it the meaning which it has here.
NOTE 3, page 28. – As is well known, unity of place is not demanded
by Aristotle; and concerning the uninterrupted continuity of time he says only
that tragedy should try as far as possible to limit its action to one course of
the sun. Among the Greeks, as may be shown, it was only Sophocles and his
school who, in the practice of their art, adhered to what we call the unity of
place and of time. And with good reason. The rapid, condensed action of
Sophocles, with its regular structure, needed so very short a part of the story
or tradition that the events underlying it could frequently occur in the same
brief space of a few hours which the representation on the stage required. If
Sophocles avoided such a change of scene, as, for example, occurs in
Aeschylus’s Eumenides, he had a peculiar reason. We know that he
thought much of scenic decoration; he had introduced a more artistic decoration
of the background; and for his theatrical day he positively needed for the four
pieces four great curtains, which with the gigantic proportions of the scene at
the Acropolis occasioned an immense outlay. A change of the entire background
during the representation was not allowable; and the mere transposition of the
periakte, if these had been introduced at all in the time of Sophocles,
would be to the taste of an ancient stage director as imperfect an arrangement
as the change of side curtains, without the change of background, would be to
us. It may not be so well known that Shakespeare, who treats time and space
with so much freedom, because the fixed architecture of his stage spared him
from indicating, or made it easy for him to indicate the change of scenes,
presented his pieces on a stage which was the unornamented successor of the
Attic proscenium. This proscenium had been gradually transformed by slight
changes into the Roman theater, the mystery-platform of the middle ages, and
the scaffold of Hans Sachs. On the other hand, the same classical period of the
French theater, which so rigidly and anxiously sought to revive the Greek
traditions, has bequeathed us the deep, camera-like structure of our stage,
which had its origin in the needs of the ballet and the opera.
NOTE 4, page 31. – The details of the novel, and what Shakespeare
changed in it, may be here passed over.
NOTE 5, page 46. – It is a poor expedient of our stage directors to
neutralize or render harmless the weakest of these groups, the Attinghausen
family, by cutting their rôles as much as possible, and then depreciating them
still more by committing them to weak actors. The injury is by this means all
the more striking. This play of Schiller’s should either be so presented as
to produce most completely the effects intended by the author, in which case
the three barren rôles, Freiherr, Rudenz, Bertha, must be endowed with
sufficient force, – our actors can thus express their gratitude to the poet
who has done so much for them; or else, the Tell action only should be
presented as it may be most easily made effective on our stage, and the three
rôles should be entirely stricken out, – a thing that is possible with very
slight changes.
NOTE 6, page 47. – Even in the time of the Greeks the word,
episode, had a little history. In the earliest period of the drama it denoted
the transition from one choral song to the following: then, after the
introduction of actors, first, the short speeches, messenger-scenes, dialogues,
and so forth, which comprised the transitions and motives for the new moods of
the chorus. After the extension of these recited parts the word remained, in
the developed drama, as an old designation of any part of the drama which stood
between two choral songs. In this meaning it nearly corresponds to our act, or
more accurately, to our elaborated scene. In the workshop of the Greek poet it
became a designation of that part of the action which the poet with free
invention inserted as a richer furnishing, as a means of animating his old
mythological material; for instance, in Antigone, that scene between
Antigone, Ismene, and Creon, in which the innocent Ismene declares herself an
accomplice of her sister. In this signification, an episode might fill the
entire interval between two choral songs; but as a rule it was shorter. Its
places were generally in the rising action, only occasionally in the return
action – our second, and fourth act. Because with this meaning it denoted
little portions of the action, which might indeed have originated in the most
vital necessities of the drama, but which were not indispensable for the
connection of the events: and because since Euripides, poets have sought more
and more frequently for effect-scenes which stood in very loose connection with
the idea and the action, – there came to be attached to the word this
secondary meaning of an unmotived and arbitrary insertion. In The
Poetics the word is used in all of the three meanings: in XII., 5, it is a
stage-manager’s term; in XVII., 8-10, it is a technical expression of the
poet; in X., 3, it has its secondary significance.
NOTE 7, page 72. – The structure of the drama is disturbed by this
irregularity in the ordering of the action, which appears like a relapse into
the old customs of the English popular theater. The action offered in the
material and the idea was as follows: Act I. Antony at Cleopatra’s, and his
separation from her. Act II. Reconciliation with Caesar, and restoration to
power. Act III. Return to the Egyptian woman, with climax. Act IV. Sacrifice of
principle, flight, and last struggle. Act V. Catastrophe of Antony and of
Cleopatra. But the deviation of Shakespeare’s play from the regular structure
is for a more profound reason. The inner life of the debauched Antony possessed
no great wealth, and in its new infatuation offered the poet little that was
attractive. But his darling dramatic figure, Cleopatra, in the development of
which he had evinced his consummate, masterly art, was not a character adapted
to great dramatic emotion and excitement; the various scenes in which she
appears full of passionate demeanor without passion, resemble brilliant
variations of the same theme. In her relations with Antony she is portrayed
just often enough and from the most diverse points of view to present a rich
picture of the vixenish coquette. The return of Antony gave the poet no new
task with respect to her. On the other hand, the exaltation of this character
in a desperate situation, under the fear of death, was a fascinating subject
for him, and to a certain extent rightly so; for herein was an opportunity for
a most peculiar, gradual intensification. Shakespeare, then, sacrificed to
these scenes a part of the action. He threw together the climax and the return
action, indicating them in little scenes, and accorded to the catastrophe two
acts. For the aggregate effect of the play, this is a disadvantage. We are
indebted to him, however, for the scene of Cleopatra’s death in the monument,
– of all that is extraordinary in Shakespeare, perhaps the most astonishing.
That the accessory persons, Octavianus and his sister, just at the summit of
the action, were more important to the poet than his chief person, is perhaps
due to the fact that to the poet in advanced life, any single person with his
joy and his sorrow must seem small and insignificant, while the poet was
contemplating, prophetically and reverentially, the historical and established
order of things.
NOTE 8, page 83. – The scene is, however, by no means to be
omitted, – as indeed happens. Moreover, an abbreviation must make prominent
the contrast with the first, the imperial hardness of the tyrant, the lurking
hostility of the mother, and Richard’s deception by a woman whom he despises.
If our stage directors would not endure more, they might tolerate the
following: Of the lines in the passage beginning,
Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you,
and extending to the end of the scene, to Richard’s words,
Bear her my true-love’s kiss; and so farewell,
numbered consecutively from 198 to 436, Globe Edition, the following lines
might remain: 198-201; 203-206; 251-256; 257; 293-298; 300; 301; 310, 311;
320-325; 328; 330; 340-357; 407-418; 420; 422-424; 433-436.
NOTE 9, page 101. – Both of these expressions of the craft are
still occasionally misunderstood. Peripeteia does not always denote the
last part of the action from the climax downward, which in Aristotle is called
Katabasis; but it is only what is here called “tragic force,” – a
single scene-effect, sometimes only a part of a scene. The chapter on the
Anagnorisis, however, one of the most instructive in the Poetics,
because it affords a glimpse into the craftsman’s method of poetic work, once
appeared to the publishers as not authentic.
NOTE 10, page 147. – That the choruses did not, as a rule, rush in
and off again, but claimed a good share of the time, may be inferred from the
fact that in Sophocles sometimes a brief chorus fills up the time which the
player needs to go behind the scenes to change his costume, or to pass from his
door to the side-entrance, through which he must enter in a new rôle. Thirteen
lines and two strophes of a little chorus suffice for the deuteragonist
whose exit, as Jocasta, has been made through the back-door, to change costume
and reappear upon the stage as shepherd from the field side. Upon the stage of
the Acropolis this was no little distance.
NOTE 11, page 147. – That a favorite order of presentation was from
the gloomy, the horrible, to the brighter and more cheerful, we may infer from
the circumstance that Antigone and Electra were first pieces of
the day. This is known from Antigone not only by the first choral-song,
the first beautiful strophe of which is a morning song, but also from the
character of the action which gives to the great rôle of the pathos actor only
the first half of the piece, and thus lays the center of gravity toward the
beginning. In the most beautiful poem it would not have been advisable to
entrust to the so-little-esteemed third actor (who, nevertheless, is sometimes
shown a preference by Sophocles) the closing effects of the last piece, so
important in securing the decision of the judges. In the prologue of
Electra, also, the rising sun and the festal Bacchic costume are
mentioned. The beautiful, broadly elaborated situation in the prologue of
King Oedipus and the structure of Ajax, the center of gravity of
which lies in the first half, and which distinctly reveals the early morning,
seem to point to these as first pieces. The Trachinian Women probably
entered the contest as a middle piece; Oedipus at Colonos, with its
magnificent conclusion, and Philoctetes with its splendid pathos rôle
and reconciling conclusion, as closing pieces. The conjectures which are based
upon the technical character of the pieces, have at least more probability than
conjectures which are drawn from a comparison or collation of dramas which have
been preserved, with such as have not been.
NOTE 12, page 148. – Six pieces of Sophocles contain an average of
about 1,118 verses, exclusive of the speeches and songs of the chorus. Only
Oedipus at Colonos is longer. If, again, the number of verses of each of
the three players is on the average about equal, the tragedies of a day,
together with a burlesque of the length of The Cyclops (about 500 verses
for three players) would give to each player a total of about 1,300 verses. But
the task of the first player was already, on account of the affecting pathos
scenes and on account of the songs, disproportionately greater. Besides, much
more must be expected from him. If in the three pieces of Sophocles in which
the hero suffers from a disease inflicted by the gods (Ajax, The
Trachinian Women, Philoctetes) the parts of the first player are
summed up, (Ajax, Teucros, Heracles, Lichas, Philoctetes) there will be about
1,440 verses; and with the burlesque, there will be about 1,600 verses: and
there is the effort required to carry through six rôles and sing about six
songs. There is no doubt that, in the composition of his tetralogies, Sophocles
gave attention to the pauses for rest for his three players. Each last tragedy
demanded the most powerful effort; and it must also, as a rule, have demanded
most from the first actor. That The Trachinian Women was not a third
piece may be inferred from the fact that in it the second actor had the chief
rôle.
NOTE 13, page 153. – In the extant plays of Sophocles, the
assignment of rôles among the three actors is as follows, Protagonist,
Deuteragonist, Tritagonist, being indicated by the numbers 1, 2, 3,
respectively:
King Oedipus: 1, Oedipus. 2, Priest, Jocasta, Shepherd, Messenger of
the catastrophe. 3, Creon, Tiresias, Messenger.
Oedipus at Colonos: 1, Oedipus, Messenger of the catastrophe. 2,
Antigone, +Theseus (in the climax scene). 3, Colonians, Ismene, Theseus (in the
other scenes), Creon, Polynices.
Antigone: 1, Antigone, Tiresias, Messenger of the catastrophe. 2,
Ismene, Watchman, Haemon, +Eurydice, Servant. 3, Creon.
The Trachinian Women: 1, +Maid-servant, Lichas, Heracles. 2,
Deianeira, Nurse (as messenger of the catastrophe), Old man. 3, Hyllos,
Messenger.
Ajax: 1, Ajax, Teucros. 2, Odysseus, Tecmessa. 3, Athene, Messenger,
Menelaus, Agamemnon.
Philoctetes: 1, Philoctetes. 2, Neoptolemos. 3, Odysseus, Merchant,
Heracles.
Electra: 1, Electra. 2, Warden, Chrysothemis, Aegisthos. 3, Orestes,
Clytemnestra.
The rôles marked + are uncertain. Besides the three actors, the Attic stage
always had several accessory players for dumb-show rôles: thus in
Electra, Pylades; in The Trachinian Women, the especially
distinguished rôle of Iole in which perhaps Sophocles would present to the
public a young actor whom he esteemed. It is probable that these accessory
players sometimes relieved the actors of less important subordinate rôles, –
for example, in Antigone, Eurydice, which is treated very briefly; and
in The Trachinian Women, the maid-servant of the prologue. How else
could they test their voices and their powers? Such aid as was rendered by
characters disguised from the audience by masks, was not reckoned playing. The
accessory actors were also needed as representatives of the three players upon
the stage, if the presence of a mask was desirable in a scene, and the player
of this scene must at the same time assume another rôle; then the accessory
player figured in like costume and the required mask, as a rule without saying
any lines; but sometimes single lines must be given him. Thus Ismene, in the
second half of Oedipus at Colonos, is represented by an accessory
player, while the player himself represents Theseus and Polynices. This piece
has the peculiarity that at least at the climax, one scene of Theseus is
presented by the second actor, the player of Antigone, while the remaining
scenes of this rôle are presented by the third actor. If the player had
practiced the voice, and so forth, this substitution for a single scene did not
offer special difficulty. It is possible, however, that the player of the rôle
of Antigone, also gave the first Theseus scene. Antigone has gone into the
grove in the background, in order to watch her father; she may very
conveniently appear again as Theseus, while a stage-walker goes up and down in
her mask. If even in this play, a fourth actor had taken part, in any rôle of
importance, some account would have come to us of what even at that time would
have been a striking innovation.
NOTE 14, page 155. – Upon our stage every play has one first hero,
but more chief rôles; not frequently is one of these more ample and of deeper
interest than that of the first hero, as, for example, the rôle of Falstaff in
Henry IV.
NOTE 15, page 156. – The presuppositions of The Trachinian
Women are, so far as Deianeira is concerned, very simple; but Heracles is
the first hero, and his preparation for being received among the gods was the
master-stroke of the play.
NOTE 16, page 156. – It is impossible just in Sophocles, from the
extant names of lost plays and from scattered verses, to come to any conclusion
as to the contents of the plays. What one might think from the tradition to be
the contents of the play, could often prove to be only the contents of the
prologue.
NOTE 17, page 178. – Prologue: Neoptolemos, Odysseus. Chorus and
Neoptolemos in Antiphone—
| Ascent
of
Action, | 1. Messenger scene with recognition, | Philoctetes, Neoptolemos. |
| 2. Messenger scene, | The same, and Merchant. |
| 3. Recognition scene (of the bow), | Philoctetes, Neoptolemos. |
| Choral song –
Climax, | 1. Double pathos scene, | Philoctetes, Neoptolemos. |
| Tragic Force, | 2. Dialogue scene, | The same, Odysseus. |
Chorus and Philoctetes in Antiphone—
| Falling Action
and
Catastrophe, | 1. Dialogue scene, | Neoptolemos, Odysseus. |
| 2. Dialogue scene, | Philoctetes, Neoptolemos;
afterward Odysseus. |
| 3. Announcement and
conclusion, | Philoctetes, Neoptolemos, Heracles. |
NOTE 18, page 183. – The “balcony scene” belongs, on our stage,
at the end of the first act, not in the second; but this makes the first act
disproportionately long. It is a disadvantage that our (German) division of
plays often makes a break in the action where a rapid movement is demanded, or
only a very short interruption is allowed.
NOTE 19, page 208. – Let this structure be represented by means of
lines. (See page 115.)
- A DRAMA, such as did not lie in Schiller’s plan. Idea: A perfidious
general endeavors to make the army desert its commander, but is deserted by
his soldiers and put to death.
- Exciting force: inciting to treason.
- Rising action: certain stipulations with the enemy.
- Climax: apparent success; the subtly sought signature of the
generals.
- Return action: the conscience of the army is awakened.
- Catastrophe: death of the general.
- SCHILLER’S Wallenstein without The Piccoloinini. Idea:
Through excessive power, intrigues of opponents, and his own proud heart, a
general is betrayed into treason; he seeks to make the army desert its
commander, etc.
In this a, b, c, rising action to climax; inner struggles and temptations.
- Questenberg in camp, and separation from emperor.
- Testing the generals; banquet scene.
- Climax: the first act of treason; for example, the treating with
Wrangel.
(c–d) Attempts to mislead the army.
- Return action: the conscience of the soldiers is awakened.
- Catastrophe: death of Wallenstein.
- THE DOUBLE DRAMAS.
- The Piccolomini, indicated by the dotted lines.
- Wallenstein’s Death, indicated by plain lines.
aa. The two exciting forces, a', the generals and Questenberg,
for the combined action; a2, Max’s and Thekla’s arrival
for The Piccolomini.
cc. The two climaxes, c, release of Max from Octavio, at the
same time, catastrophe of The Piccolomini; c2,
Wallenstein and Wrangel, at the same time the exciting force of
Wallenstein’s Death.
ee. The two concluding catastrophes, e', of the lovers, and
e2, of Wallenstein. Further, b, the love scene between Max
and Thekla is the climax of The Piccolomini; f and g are the
scenes interwoven from Wallenstein’s Death: audience of
Questenberg, and banquet, the second and fourth acts of The
Piccolomini; h, d, and e' are scenes interwoven from The
Piccolomini and Wallenstein’s Death: Octavio’s intrigue,
the departure of Max, the announcement of his death, together with
Thekla’s flight, – the second, third, and fourth acts, d, is the
scene of the cuirassiers, at the same time the climax of the second
drama.
NOTE 20, page 212. – In printing our plays, it frequently happens
that within acts, only those scenes are set off and numbered which demand a
shifting of scenery. The correct method, however, would be to count and number
the scenes within an act according to their order of succession; and where a
change of scenery is necessary, and must be indicated, add to the current scene
number the word “change,” and indicate the character of the new stage
setting.
NOTE 21, page 237. – The act is in two parts. The first preparatory
part contains three short dramatic components: the entrance of Max, the
submitting of the forged documents by the intriguers, Buttler’s connection
with them. At this point the great conclusion begins, introduced by the
conversation of the servants. The carousing generals must not be seen during
the entire act in the middle and back ground: the stage presents to better
advantage an ante-room of the banquet hall, separated from this by pillars and
a rear wall, so that the company, previous to its entrance at the close, is
seen only indistinctly and only an occasional convenient call and movement of
groups are noticed. In Wallenstein, Schiller was still a careless stage
director; but from the date of that play he became more careful in stage
arrangement. Among the peculiarities of clear portrayal in this scene, belongs
the unfeeling degradation of Max. It is wonderfully repeated by Kleist in
The Prince of Hamburg. Shakespeare does not characterize dreamers by
their silence, but by their distracted and yet profound speeches.
NOTE 22, page 308. – Of course Emilia Galotti must be
represented in the costume of the time, 1772. The piece demands another
consideration in acting. From the third act, the curtain must not be dropped
for pauses between acts; and these should be very short.
NOTE 23, page 361. – Twenty of our great dramas have the following
lengths in verses:
- Don Carlos: 5,471
- Maria Stuart: 3,927
- Wallenstein’s Death: 3,865
- Nathan the Wise: 3,847
- Hamlet: 3,715
- Richard III: 3,603
- Torquato Tasso: 3,453
- Maid of Orleans: 3,394
- William Tell: 3,286
- King Lear: 3,255
- Othello: 3,133
- Coriolanus: 3,124
- Romeo and Juliet: 2,979
- Bride of Messina: 2,845
- The Piccolomini: 2,669
- Merchant of Venice: 2,600
- Julius Caesar: 2,590
- Iphigenia: 2,174
- Macbeth: 2,116
- Prince of Homburg: 1,854
These figures do not pretend to absolute correctness, since the incomplete
verses are to be deducted; and the prose passages, in which Shakespeare is
especially rich, admit of only a rough estimate. The prose plays, Emilia
Galotti, Clavigo, Egmont, Love and Intrigue,
correspond more nearly to the length of the plays of our own time. Of the
dramas in verse, enumerated above, only the last three can be presented entire,
without that abbreviation which is necessary on other grounds.
It would require six hours to play all of Don Carlos, which in length
exceeds all bounds.
Since Wallenstein’s Camp together with the lyric lines has 1,105
rapid verses, the three parts of the dramatic poem, Wallenstein, contain
7,639 verses; and their representation on the stage, the same day, would
require about the same time as the Oberammergau Passion Play. No single
chief rôle is so comprehensive that it would place an excessive burden upon an
actor to carry it through in a single day.
