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 harlequin-like 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
