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ANTirONH

AN ACCOUNT OF

THE PRESENTATION OF THE

ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES

LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY

APRIL SEVENTEENTH AND NINETEENTH
NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO

PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, SAN FRANCISCO
1903

] [

][

] C

Copyright, 190}
by Paul Elder an-u Company

The Tomoyf Preu
^an Francisco

STACK
ANNEX

PA

WE DEDICATE THIS VOLCME TO THE
MEMORY OF

LIXDA DOVVS COOKSEY

WHOSE SYMPATHY AND

HELP LIGHTENED CONSTANTLY THE TASK OF THOSE

WHO TOILED OVER THE ANTIGONE.

CONTENTS

The Antigone at Stanford University, by H. VV. Rolfe - - i

Antigone : A Dramatic Study, by A. T. Murray - - . 4

The Choral Side of Antigone, by H. Rushton- Fairclough - 22

Programme of the Original Presentations at Stanford University 67

THE ANTIGONE
AT STANFORD UNIVERSITY.

THIS little volume is to commemorate the presentation,
at Stanford University, in April, 1902, of the Antigone
of Sophocles, in the original Greek, with Mendelssohn's
choral music.

This enterprise was taken in hand in December of 1901.
Four months were given to preparation for it. The roles were
assumed by members of the Greek dejDartment, students and
instructors. The chorus was drawn, largely, from the university
Glee Club. The university orchestra prepared the instrumental
music. Cast, chorus, and orchestra were self-trained, except for
help in stage-grouping from a teacher of dramatic art, Mr. Leo
Cooper, of San Francisco, and the general musical oversight
exercised by Mr. A. L. Scott Brook, the organist of the memorial
church. The costumes were made on the ground.

A translation of the Antigone was prepared and published,
for purposes of preliminary study and for use at the perform-
ances. Lectures were given, before the university, interpretative
of the dramatic action, the function of the chorus, the music.
The play was read by many in the Greek. The entire university,
from the first, took the deepest interest in the matter, as did
groups of persons in San Francisco, Berkeley, and San Jose.

The initial performances were given in the Assembly Hall,
on the evening of Thursday, April 17th, and the morning of
Saturday, April 19th. They were successful, so much so that it
was decided to take the play to Southern California. This involved
further interruption of university work, but it seemed certain that
there would be gain to balance that loss. The aim in preparing

2 ANTIGONE

the play had been, from the outset, to strengthen the cause of
Cireek studies on the Pacific Coast. So excellent a result in that
direction had been achieved here in Central California that there
could be no doubt of the response in the cities of the South. The
university, therefore, granted a week's leave of absence.

The play was given in Los Angeles, on April 23d; in Pasa-
dena, on April 24th; and in Santa Barbara, on April 25th. The
expenses of the trip, above receipts, were met from the surplus of
the Stanford performances.

During the week of absence the directors of the play received
a cordial invitation from the University of California to give a final
performance at Berkeley, in the Harmon Gymnasium, on May
loth. It was accepted. Meanwhile there was a third presentation
at Stanford, on May 8th. President Wheeler placed the matter at
Berkeley in the hands of an efficient committee, who made all
arrangements and assembled a large and generous audience.
This last representation was the best of the series of seven, and
the most gratifying.

The impression made by the play upon the audience seemed
to be the same at every performance. The interest was intense,
he emotion deep. No one's attention wandered. Every one
was too much moved for frequent applause. All, even to the
childrer. present, were absorbed by the beauty of the costumes and
stage-pictures and acting and music and choral evolutions. At
the end, as the chorus marched from sight, the audience rose
and left the place, it seemed, with much the feeling with which
the Greeks must have ri.sen on the slopes of the Acropolis, lifting
their eyes to the familiar landscape once more, from the spot
where, during the morning hours, they had seen only Antigone
and Creon and the woes of the house of Labdacus.

The final outcome of the play has been a remarkable inten-
sification, throughout the university and in many preparatory
schools and high schools, of respect for classical studies and

ANTIGONE 3

interest in them. Through these performances many came to see,
for the first time, the truth of Thoreau's fine words: "Two
thousar.d summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian
literature, as to licr marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal
tint, for they have carried their own serene and celestial atmos-
phere into all lands, to protect them against the coirosion of
time, works as refined, as soHdly done, and as beautiful almost,
as the morning itself; for later writers, say what we will of their
genius, have rarely, if ever, equaled the elaborate beauty and
finish, and the lifelong and heroic literary labors, of the aiiri-nts."

H. W. ROLFE.

ANTIGONE:
A DRAMATIC STUDY.

THE Antigone of Sophocles, one of a half-dozen extant
Greek tragedies which deal with the fortunes of the
royal house of Thebes, was produced in 442 or 440
B. c. A bare statement of the story, in so far as it
precedes the action of the play, is as follows :

CEdipus, son of Laius, King of Thebes, and of his wife
Jocasto, had all imwittingly fulfilled the awful doom which the
oracle had declared should be his : he had slain his own father
and become the husband of his own mother. When the horrible
relationship became known Jocasta hanged herself, and (Edipus,
snatching the brooch with which her robe was fastened, dashed
out his own eyes in horror.

From this union had sprung two sons, Polynices and
Eteocles, and two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. CEdipus —
of whose end varying tales are told — had cursed his sons, that
they should divide his inheritance with the sword. They resolved
to rule alternately, and Polynices, the elder (for so Sophocles
conceives him), after reigning a year, yielded the throne to his
brother. When, however, the second year had elapsed, Eteocles
refused to give place, and Polynices, in wrath, withdrew to
Argos, where he allied himself to the royal house, and, in league
with si.x other chieftains, led an army against his native land — to
win by force the throne that was his due.

The attack failed, the Argive host fled in rout, and the two
doomed brothers fell — each slain by the other's spear.

It is at this point that the Antigone opens. The kingship
has devolved upon Creon, the brother of Jocasta, and hence the

4

ANTIGONE 7

uncle of Antigone and Ismene. He has put forth an edict that
Eteocles shall be buried with all honor, but that the corpse of
Polynices shall be left unburied, for dogs and birds to rend. It
must be remembered that this, to the Greek, was the most
dreadful fate that could befall a man, for on the burial of the
corpse depended the welfare of the spirit in the world below. It
was therefore a sacred duty to perform due rites over the dead —
if it were only the symbolic sprinkling of a few handfuls of
dust — and this duty rested with especial weight upon the ne.xt
of kin.

Hence it is easy for us to understand, in measure at least,
the position in which Antigone was placed, and the poet, with
great art, has at once emphasized that position and shown how
impossible it would have been for the high-minded girl, filled
with loyalty to the dead brother, traitor though he was, to have
chosen any other course. For the characterization of the person-
ages in the play is wholly admirable. With the concentration,
the restraint of antique art, they are not analyzed with the
subtlety which so engrosses us often on the modern stage ; the
soul is not laid bare before us ; but the overpowering emotion or
resolve is thought of as already possessing the heart, so that we
see it in act, moving resistless to its inevitable end. So the
proud girl, nobly loyal to the sacred duty that is laid upon her,
recks not of the consequences to herself and can be coldly defiant
toward Creon, for whose short-sighted maxims of government
and civic duty — essentially sound though they are — she has but
contempt; while, in her exalted mood, to do and to die is a priv-
ilege. An Antigone, wavering between a sense of duty to the
dead and the fear of the consequences of disobeying the king's
edict, would be a figure wholly alien to the spirit of Sophoclean art.

Beside Antigone stands her sister, Ismene, a character often
misunderstood. She is gentle, loving, and lovable, but not cast
in the heroic mould. She recognizes the duty that rests upon

8 ANTIGONE

her, as upon her sister, but, under the circumstances, it cannot be
fulfilled ; the State has forbidden the act, and defy the State she
cannot. She will pray the dead to pardon her, and live as she
may — in subjection to those stronger than she. She begs her
sister to recall the horrible past of their family — patricide and
incest, though unwitting, a miserable end for both parents, and
now again the death in mutual combat of their two brothers.
Shall they defy authority and perish most basely of all ? Nay,
they are powerless; the dead will forgive.

Here two points — subtle enough, perhaps, to be overlooked
by the casual reader — suggest theinselves. To Ismene, Creon
represents the State, and so it is their bounden duty to obey; to
Antigone his edict is the expression of the will of one who,
through circumstances, has come to stand at the head of the State,
but who is, after all, a tyrant — in the Greek sense: one, that is,
who arrogates all power to himself and rules justly or unjustly,
with mildness or severity, as he will. He may be resisted even
by the good citizen; and she says to his face that the jDeople of
Thebes side with her. In this view, it is to be remembered, the
poet himself and the thousands who thronged the theatre on that
spring day so long ago, would join.

The second point is that this difference in nature, in temper-
ament, this radically different point of view, ser\'es to isolate
Antigone from the only person in the play to whom she could
look for sympathy. There is no chorus of women upon whom
she could lean : the chorus is made up of Theban elders, cold and
politic in their submission to Creon ; and Greek feeling pre-
cluded the introduction of scenes which would have brought into
prominence her relation to her betrothed, Hcemon, Creon' s son.
In this situation, repelled by the very sister who should have acted
with her, small wonder if the tension she is under makes her
harsh — cruelly harsh, we feel. Yet all the more effective are the
moments when love for that sister finds expression.

ANTIGONE 13

In a great scene in which Antigone, caught in the act of
pouring libations over the dead, is brought before the angry king,
she calmly acknowledges her guilt — if guilt it be — and appeals to
the eternal and unwritten statutes of heaven, in the face of which
his edict sinks into insignificance. Here is, in a sense, the prob-
lem of the play — more clearly a conflict of duties than in most of
the thirty-three Greek tragedies we possess. Strictly speaking,
there can be no conflict of duties, since only one can be para-
mount at one time ; but it is part of life's tragedy that obedience
to a high principle may bring the individual into collision with
law, with convention, with family ties ; and the individual may
suffer or be crushed in consequence. This holds true even if
questions of " poetic justice " be flung to the winds. Sophocles
did not weigh Antigone and Creon nicely in the balance that he
might apportion to each the due measure of suffering. Those
who find Antigone's character not flawless must not use that fact
to account for her suffering. That suffering is the inevitable
result of the situation in which she is placed. If she seems cruel
to her weaker sister, that cruelty is to be explained, in part at
least, by the strain she is under, and, in part, by a desire to save
that sister's life.

For, when Ismene is brought in, she appears in a changed
mood. Not strong enough to do and dare with her sister, when
the deed was planned, now that it is over and Antigone must die,
a great wave of emotion sweeps over her. She can at least die
with her. So, when asked, she avows her guilt and takes her
stand at her sister' s side. She is repelled with words so true, and
yet so harsh, that the truth is plain even to Creon. But amid the
harshness there is seen now and again the love of a sister, too
true to brook falsehood, yet the very sadness of whose lot con-
sists, in part, in that they two must go their separate ways.
Finally Antigone is led away to her dreadful doom — to be interred
alive. Now the strength that enabled her to act regardless of

H ANTIGONE

consequences to herself, the strentrth that nerved her before
Creon, fails her, in a measure, and the inevitable reaction comes.
Life is so fair, and she must bid it farewell, must leave lovely
Thebes with its fountains, leave the light of day and go down
into the darkness, with none to pity, none to mourn ! Denied
the joys of love, she shall be the bride of Death ! O the pity of
it, the mystery of it !

Creon, the king, is a character broadly but forcibly drawn.
He is honest and well-meaning, and brings to his position of
authority abundant loyalty, and a good stock of sound, if some-
what conventional, views of government ; but his nature is a
narrow one, and his point of view only too apt to be personal.
In his first speech he lays down the principles of his rule — honor
to the loyal and dishonor to the disloyal. Hence his edict con-
cerning Polynices, an edict springing, it is true, from a sound
principle, but itself violating a higher law. When the guard
brings word that that edict has been defied, Creon becomes at
once furious. Brushing aside the opinions of others and brooking
no advice, however well meant, he asserts his own view : this is
the work of disaffected citizens who have bribed the guards. Let
them produce the doer under penalty of an awful fate for them-
selves. And all this coupled with many commonplaces, many
generalities — how characteristic of a narrow nature ! The State
has been defied, but so has Creon, and we feel already that it is
this last fact that rankles.

So we are prepared in advance for the great scene mentioned
abov-e. He has been defied, defied, it now appears, by a mere
girl, who, instead of breaking down, glories in her act and prates
about higher laws than his. Verily she is the man, not he, if she
perish not miserably, sister's child to him though she be, and
betrothed to his own son.

Then that son appears, not a frantic lover, but in the very
spirit of filial submission. And the father shows the fitness of

ANTIGONE 17

this submission, the wisdom of his course — more generalities,
more good maxims — yet when the young man ventures to sug-
gest counter-considerations which directly concern the father in
his position as ruler, Creon is again furious. Shall a mere boy
teach him wisdom? Nay, though all Thebes side with the disaf-
fected, is not he king, and shall he not rule as he will ? So at
last the despairing youth rushes from the stage with words which,
we know, betoken a resolve not to survive his betrothed, and
Creon — who had just bidden his attendants to bring forth "the
hated thing" that she might die before her lover's eyes — declares
the terrible fate in store for her. So is it that passion chjuds the
mind ; even as Antigone is led away, he breaks out once more,
and — a noteworthy touch — asserts that he is pure in the matter of
her death ; but die she shall, and her guards shall have cause to
rue their slowness.

Now comes the aged seer, Tiresias, with words of warning.
Creon is startled with dread, for Tiresias' s words are sooth ; but
as the seer declares that it is because of the king' s act that the gods
have been alienated and bids him rectify the wrong he has done,
dread gives place to another feeling — not to wrath at first, but. as
it were, to bewilderment. Was e\^er well-meaning man so beset ?
Even the seer will send a shaft at him ; and again, in self-defense
it may be, he comes back to the same thought : Tiresias has been
suborned, hired by malcontents to assail him. Then the seer
speaks again, and speaks words of doom, telling of the fate that
is in store for the unhappy king, — the death of one sprung from
his loins in requital for the dead, the shrieks of men and women
in his house, the hostility of states whose fallen sons ha\'e been
rent by dogs and birds.

Then Creon breaks down ; hurriedly calling his servants he
sets out to undo what he has done, but it is too late. From the
lips of a messenger we learn that Polynices's corpse was buried,
but that when they reached the cave where Antigone was

i8 ANTIGONE

entombed, they found her hanging in the noose with which she had
hung herseh", and Hiemon, frantic with grief, cHnging to her dead
body. A maddened rush at the father who had caused this woe,
and then the sword plunged into his own side ! Such was the
tale, told in part before the queen, who in silent anguish goes
within to take her life.

Here again a question of much interest suggests itself.
Creon first proceeds to give interment to the corpse of Polynices ;
he then goes to liberate Antigone, but is too late. This has
seemed a dramatic blemish, a flaw in structure, even to so sound
and so sympathetic a critic as Sir Richard Jebb, who maintains
that ' ' we are not given any reason for the burial being taken in
hand before the release," and who himself holds that Sophocles
here disregarded probability and the fitting order of events solely
that the following speech of the messenger, narrating the catas-
trophe, might end with a climax and so satisfy rhetorical canons.

This seems to me impossible and based upon a wrong inter-
pretation of Creon' s character. Rightly understood his attitude
from the first is that of one who represents the State. In his
speeches he ever recurs to that idea, and the grounds upon which
his cruel edict regarding Polynices was based were grounds of
State interest. Short-sighted his policy was, but it was sincere.
Now through the terrible words of the seer he learns that the
wrath of heaven menaces, not him alone, but the State because of
the sin he has committed in leaving the corpse of Polynices
unburied, — an act as a result of which the very altars of the gods
have been polluted. He will therefore seek to make this good
by interring the dead. The gods must be propitiated and the
safety of the State conserved. It is only as a secondary matter
that Antigone is to be released. Tiresias had not mentioned her
in his opening speech, in which he had so clearly pointed to the
king as the one by whose act the favor of heaven had been alien-
ated. It is this that fills Creon' s mind; and he turns first to the

ANTIGONE 21

interment of Polynices as the duty that touches him most nearly
as the head of the State. His attitude towards Antigone is not
essentially changed ; yet he will release her since the seer has
declared that in immuring a living soul in the tomb he has again
sinned against the gods, and he will leave nothing undone that
might restore his peace.

After the messenger's speech telling of the fulfilment of the
prophet's words the king again appears. Now he is changed
indeed — all the joy of life and of kingship gone, and through his
own folly. There is no more pride, no more self-confidence ;
only heartbreaking grief and the wish that death might come to
him too — a rash, foolish man, who has himself caused the death of
those he loved best.

For the rest, the simplicity of structure, the long speeches,
the dearth, some will say, of action, Httle need be said. To the
Greek the theory of dramatic structure was not summed up in
the development of a good fifth act, nor was he inclined to hasten
to the end. He loved well the stately, statuesque scenes, the
rhythmical movements of the chorus and its lyric' song ; but he
loved, too, effecti\e narrative and logical statement ; and in these
speeches he found much that, while it appealed to his sense of
reasonableness, added no little to the deep delight that came from
seeing the poet's profound interpretation of the facts of life as
seen in the play. A_ T. Murray.

THE CHORAL SIDE OF
ANTIGONE.

A GREEK tragedy resembles a modern opera to this
extent — that certain portions have a musical settinjj^ and
are presented by a chorus. This chorus, however, is not
an accidental or external element, but is, historically,
the oldest and most essential characteristic. Originally, indeed,
The Chonts tragedies were purely lyrical, — stories set forth
Essential to wholly in song and dance. With the develojjment
Grtr ijageay. of dialogue, the chorus was gradually subordinated
to this more dramatic element, but not until the decline of tragic
art had set in, did the Greek chorus serve as a mere ornament.
In Sophocles, therefore, representing as he does the high-water
mark of Greek tragedy, the chorus must be regarded as an
artistic essential, and in him the lyric and dramatic elements are
blended in perfect harmony.

The Greeks themseKes regarded the chorus as a dramatis

persona, and this is why, in the Stanford programme of the

Its Function Antigone, the chorus of Thel)an elders is given

as a Dramatis a place in the cast. The chorus, then, is an actor

Persona. ^^ acting body, and under the direction of the

coryphieus participates in the action of the piece. Nor is its part

unimportant. Of all the dramatis personce, it is the one most in

evidence during the play, making its apj^earance immediately

after the introductory scene {\\\^ prologue, in the Greek sense of

the word), and being the last to leave the stage. Its continuous

presence throughout the piece secures for the play a sense of

harmony, and an unbroken unity, which the modern drama of

the Romantic school, with all its merits, can never claim. The

r

ANTIGONE 27

chorus are interested spectators of the action from first to last.
They receive and impart information, give and accept counsel,
interpret the motives of conduct, relie\'e the monotony incidental
to long speeches, and in various ways facilitate a natural outwork-
ing of the dramatic situations.

As elders of the State, the chorus of the Antigone are vitally
concerned in the welfare of both princes and people. They
receive with due respect the message of the new illustrated
king, and though they betray a doubt as to the frmn the
wisdom of his course, yet they express their loyal Antigone.
submission to his decree (211-220). On learning the startling
news that some one unknown has paid the burial dues to Poly-
nices, they hazard the conjecture (278-9) that divine hands have
done the deed, whereupon they are sharply rebuked by the king.

The arrest of Antigone makes a profound impression upon
the chorus. That she, a royal maiden, the daughter of CEdipus,
should wilfully disobey the king, is past their understanding
(376-383). They can attribute her act only to passionate folly

(471).

In the angry scene which follows, both Antigone and Creon
claim to have the approval of the chorus, who however wisely
hold their peace, until the appearance of Ismene elicits the beau-
tiful anapaests, which show where their real sympathy lies. Their
genuine grief over the threatened punishment of Antigone leads
shortly to an actual remonstrance with the king (574), who by
his curt and sarcastic replies soon silences all opposition on their
part.

Throughout the scene between Haemon and his father, the
chorus adopt a strictly neutral attitude (681-2, 724-5), though on
the former's departure they suggest to the king that he should
make some allowance for the heat of youth. A moment later, a
hint from Creon that Ismene is to share her sister' s fate calls forth
a veiled protest (770), to which Creon deigns to give heed. As

28 ANTIGONE

to Antigone, the chorus attempt no more pleading on her
behalf, but simply inquire by what mode he intends to put her
to death.

In the king's absence, the chorus freely avow that pity for
Antigone tempts them to rebel against his sentence (800-5).
When the doomed maiden appears they offer words of comfort,
which, in her distress, sound like hollow mockery (839), where-
upon they confess their conviction that, notwithstanding her
nobility of conduct, the punishment was inevitable and is, in a
sense, self-imposed (872-5). Antigone's last words are addressed
to the chorus, as " lords of Theb^," who behold the sufferings
of this last daughter of their kingly race (940-3).

After the stormy scene between Creon and Tiresias, the
chorus plainly warn the king that he is pursuing a ruinous Course,
and as he is now disposed to listen to reason, they counsel him to
undo the wrong at once by setting Antigone free. The king
yields. It is at this point that the dramatic function of the chorus,
in its capacity as an actor influencing the action of the piece, can
be seen most conspicuously. In the rest of the play, the chorus
serve mainly as the recipients of the evil tidings brought by the
messenger, or as the confidants of the unhappy monarch, who
now confesses his terrible error to the very men whose advice he
had so hastily and foolishly rejected.

But notwithstanding this oft-forgotten importance of the dra-
matic side of the chorus, we must emphasize the fact that its

Lvrial "i^i" function is, after all, not dramatic but lyriail.

Function of the All great tragedies, whether Sophoclean or Shake>
dot us. pearian, are poems charged with emotion, but
while in a Shakespearian play this emotion finds expression in
outbursts of lofty poetry on the lips of the principal characters,
in a Sophoclean such imaginative flights are almost wholly con
fined to distinctly lyrical passages, presented by the whole chorus
in true lyrical fashion — with song-and-dance accompaniment. In

ANTIGONE 31

Shakespeare, such exalted poetry as characterizes certain scenes in
the dialogue, e. g., Macbeth' s —

" Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more,'"
or again, the great soliloquies, such as Hamlet's —

"To be or not to be,"
or Wolsey's —

" Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! "

however beautiful as poetry, are essentially undramatic in spirit,
and always present peculiar difficulties to actors in the rendition.
Only the greatest can prevent such scenes from becoming gro-
tesque.

Now, in a Greek tragedy, these imaginative lyrics — which,
after all, are essential in some form to every great drama, instead
of being diffused throughout the play, appear usually in more
concentrated form at the most important stages of the action.
The result is that, unlike a modern play, for which stage-managers
often feel compelled to provide irrelevant interludes, a Greek
tragedy is a continuous, unbroken performance, the purely dra-
matic scenes being punctuated, as it were, by lofty choral odes —
' ' lyrical interbreathings ' ' — which interpret the spiritual mean-
ing of the play, and are, therefore, perfectly relevant to the
-situation, but which, at the same time, from the manner of their
rendition, afford a pleasing relief to the strain on the spectator's
attention.

In the Antigone there are six of these choral odes — beauti-
ful compositions, which show much variety in lyrical conception.
The first (100-154) is a brilliant one, opening choral

and closing w-ith strains of joyful exultation. The Odes of /he
Theban elders, assembling in response to the igone.

king's summons, greet the newly risen sun, '* loveliest light that
ever shone on seven-gated Theb^," and describe in vivid fashion

32 ANTIGONE

the terrors of the Argive attack, the overthrow of Polynices, and
the subsequent flight of the besieging host. For so glorious a
victory they pour forth their thankfulness to the gods, whose
shrines they will visit under the leadership of Bacchus himself,
the tutelar god of Thebes.

The first episode, a term which practically coincides with the
modern act, comprises Creon's lengthy address upon a king's
duties and the announcement of his edict. This is followed by
the startling tidings that some daring person has already violated
the edict. Hence, in their second ode (332-375), the chorus are
led to reflect upon the mar\'elous ingenuity of man, who makes
himself master of sea and land ; who subdues to himself the fowls
of the air, the fishes of the sea, and the beasts of the field ; and
who has provided himself with all resources, save only against
Death. This inventive skill brings him to evil as well as to good.
When he upholds law and justice (as does Creon), he and his
State prosper, but when in his audacity he breaks the laws, ruin
must l)e his lot. " Never may he share my hearth, or think my
thoughts, who doth such things ! ' '

When the sentence of death is passed upon Antigone, the
chorus (582-625), in saddened tone, ponder on the destiny of the
royal house of Thebes, upon which the waves of trouble never
cease to break. Generation after generation is weighed dov^n
with calamity, and now utter extinction threatens the race. What
mortal, they cry, can set limits to the power of omnipotent Zeus?
By divine law, inordinate success or ambition brings to man a
curse, for in his blindness he falls into sin, and then " but for the
briefest space fares he free from woe." Thus do the chorus
unconsciously suggest Creon's subsequent punishment.

In the third episode, Ha^^mon vainly intercedes for his
betrothed, and then quits the scene in anger. The charming ode
which follows (78 1 -See) sings the resistless power of Love, who
sways mortals and immortals alike, and warps the minds even of

ANTIGONE 37

the just. It is under his spell that Haemon has been disobedient
to his father and disloyal to his king.

As Antigone passes to her rocky tomb, the chorus, in their
fifth ode (944-987), reflect upon the truth that no mortal can
escape fate and recall three other royal personages, who ha\e suf-
fered the horrors of a cruel punishment. Danae, a princess of
Argos, was immured in a brazen chamber ; Lycurgus, king of
Thrace, was imprisoned in a rocky cave ; and Cleopatra, of the
ancient house of the Erechthidae, and daughter of Boreas, endured
in agony the blinding of her sons by the woman who supplanted
her as wife of Phineus.

The last ode (1115-1154) has a distinct dramatic purpose.
The seer Tiresias has warned Creon that divine vengeance for his
offenses most surely awaits him, and after a short consultation
with the chorus the king has hastened forth to undo, if possible,
his terrible misdeeds. The chorus are filled with hope that his
repentance will avert the horrors foretold by the seer, and, in fervid
and exultant strains of joyful anticipation, invoke the saving
presence of the god, whom Thebes delights to honor — the bright
and glorious Dionysus.

But the lyrical quality, which is so conspicuous in a Greek
tragedy, is not necessarily confined to the choral odes, nor indeed
to the chorus itself. Thus in the Antigone, two Tvrics in the
passages in the dialogue are distinctly lyrical, and Dialogue of the
in the original are given in the strophic form, with " igotie.

metres characteristic of lyric poetry.

The fourth episode (806-943) is mainly of this character.
Antigone is led forth from the palace, to be conducted presently
to her rocky tomb. The full significance of her fate seems to be
borne in upon her, as she beholds for the last time the light of
the sun and the sacred soil of her native land, and in the presence
of the elders she pours forth her sad lament in touching strains.
It is worth noticing that the measures assigned to the chorus in

38 ANTIGONE

this pathetic scene are less emphatically lyrical than those given
to Antigone. Her emotion is naturally at its height at this
point, whereas the chorus, though extremely sympathetic, are
the less impassioned witnesses, who do not lose sight of the logic
of the situation.

The second passage occurs near the end of the play. Creon
enters (1260) with the body of Ha;mon, and in accents of remorse
and despair bewails his unhappy fate, and prays for a speedy
death. The metre, assigned here by the poet to Creon, is mainly
the dochmiac, which is expressive of the most intense and tem-
pestuous emotion, whereas the chorus employs the metre of
ordinary dialogue — the iambic trimeter — which passes into a
marching measure, as the broken-hearted Creon leaves the stage
and the chorus follow, chanting a sad strain on the fall that waits
upon pride.

An analysis of this sort shows how intimately blended in
Sophocles are the lyric and dramatic elements of tragedy, and this
Four Kinds of ^'"'"^^ "^ ^^ ^^ question of their mode of presen-
V^ocal Express- tation. It should always be borne in mind that
ions in Tragedy, ^^agedy was at first wholly lyrical, a stor>' set
forth in a dance-song. The musical element, therefore, far from
being extraneous to Greek tragedy, was an original feature, and
even when the dramatic side was fully developed, we have ample
evidence that much of the dialogue was rendered with a musical
delivery. Plutarch, for instance, tells us that the tragedians fol-
lowed the custom, first set by Archilochus, of having their iambics
(the ordinary dialogue) only partially, not wholly (as had been
the custom) sung, and musical recitative, we know, was always
employed very largely on the Greek stage. ' In fact, the presen-
tation of a Greek tragedy in ancient times necessitated four kinds
of vocal expression, viz., plain sjjeech, and three forms of musical
or semi-musical delivery, all of which involved an instrumental

I See .S/iiihf\ m Hntiiir of Basil Lan>i>-aii (iililfi sifrve. \i. iii ( Baltinv>re. igoii.

ANTIGONE 41

accompaniment. These were melodramatic declamation, musical
recitative, and distinct melody. It is impossible to define with
precision the limits assigned to these modes of delivery in regard
to any particular Greek play. Probably considerable latitude
was allowed in this respect, so that two choregi would follow a
different practice for the same play.

Plain speech, without musical accompaniment, was the rule
for the trimeters of ordinary dialogue, though we know from
Lucian (as well as from Plutarch), that even these
were sometimes sung. Melodies were, of course, Plam Speech.
employed in the choral odes, as well as in the
impassioned lyrical scenes in which the actors participated, e. g.,
the laments, in strophic form, of Antigone and Creon. Inter-
mediate between plain dialogue and pure lyrics
were the portions of tragedy which were Melody.
delivered either in musical recitative or in melodra-
matic declamation. * The form adopted depended, no doubt,
upon the emotional character of the scene, and the place it
occupies in the play.

Thus melodrama, i. e. , ordinary speech with musical accom-
paniment, was the form naturally employed in those anapaestic
lines with which the coryphaeus, at the close of a
choral ode, calls attention to the appearance of a Melodrama.
new character on the stage, as in the case of
Creon, Antigone, and Hamon (155- 161, 376-383, 626-630),
From the musical point of view, melodrama would afford a natural
transition from the sung lyrics to the spoken dialogue. In the
case of Ismene's entrance (526-530), which is made, not at the
end of a choral ode, but in the course of the dialogue between
Creon and Antigone, the pathos of the lines uttered would account
sufficiently for the introduction of music with the anapaests, while

2 Some writers make the mistake of failing to distinguish these two modes. Thus
Haijih, The Attic Theatre^ p. joi.

4* ANTIGONE

on the other hand the position of the lines used (i 180-2). the
iambic metre, and the commonplace character of the statement
made, would all indicate that Eurydice's appearance was heralded
without music of any sort. Creon's final appearance at the side
of Hremon's bier (1257- 1260) is announced by anapaests, the
melodramatic delivery of which would be a natural mode of pass-
ing from the dialogue to the lyrics which were undoubtedly sung
by Creon.

On the other hand, recitative, by which is meant a musical
chant delivery, not necessarily confined to a single voice, must
have been employed in the anajxestic systems
Recitative. (110-115, 127-133, 141-147) which separate the
strophes of the first choral ode, as well as in the
like systems, which are employed by the chorus between the
strophes of Antigone's lyrical lament (817-822, 834-839).
Further on in this latter scene, the chorus break into full melody,
in response to Antigone's song, employing a short strophe with
corresponding antistrophe (853-856=872-875). The anapaests
(800-5), with which the coryphaeus announces the final appearance
of Antigone, may well have been sung in recitative. They are
full of emotion, and do not introduce plain dialogue, but stand
between two strophic systems of lyrics. The single iambic lines
(1270, 1293), with which the chorus give to the actor of Creon's
part a moment's breathing-space between the strophes of his song,
were also probably sung in recitative, which would be the most
natural mode of expression for lines in such a position. Certainly,
the scene is too intensely lyrical for the employment of plain
speech at such points. The same is true of the choral iambics in
the remainder of this scene, including the single iambic line
( 1336) of Creon's, just before the last strophe of his piteous song :

" Yet all I crave is summed up in that prayer."
The closing anajjoests, which point the moral of the play, were
probably sung in recitative by the whole chorus. The lyrical

ANTIGONE 45

agitation, just preceding, has been too intense to permit a sudden
drop to mere melodrama, to say nothing of plain speech, and it
is hardly necessary to add that the chant of the whole chorus at
the close of the play is extremely impressive.'

The combination of these several modes of vocal expression
introduced great variety into the presentation of a play, and must
have done much toward relieving the monotony y ■ .

which we are inclined to associate with a Greek in the

tragedy, on account of the unchanged scene, the Presentation.
non-employment of interludes, and a strict observance of the
unities of time and place.

Let us illustrate this statement by that portion of the play
which intervenes between the third and fourth choral odes. After
the singing of the hymn to Eros (781-799) by illustration
the whole chorus, the coryphaeus chanted in reci- from the
tative the following anapaests (800-805). Then Antigone.
come the lyrics sung by Antigone — two strophes, two anti-
strophes and an epode (after-song), intermingled with which are
the X^KO anapaestic systems chanted by the chorus in recitati\'e,
and the single strophe (853-6), with its corresponding antistrophe
(S72-5), which were sung in melody. In the sudden change to
spoken iambics, Creon administers a harsh rebuke for these ' ' songs
and lamentations" (883), and sharply orders the guards to lead
t-lieir prisoner away. Antigone, however, is allowed to renew
her lament (891), which is no longer uttered in lyrical song, but
has subsided into plain iambics, delivered, I am inclined to think,
with a musical accompaniment. As she turns to leave the stage
the chorus speak of the fierce tempest in her soul, in melo-
dramatic anapaests, which Creon, in disdainful mockery, also
employs, as he launches a threat at the guards for their slowness.
Antigone's final anapaests, as the guards at last carry out Creon 's
order, may well, in view of the rising emotion, have been ren-

1 See Haigh, The Attic Theatre, p. 544.

46 ANTIGONE

dered in recitative, thus leading vip by a natural gradation to the
long choral ode, which precedes the entrance of Tiresias.

In the choral odes, we have the complete combination of the
sister arts of poetry, music, and dance, — a combination, which,

Ui itv ^^"^ from being artificial, is but the artistic devel-

ofthe Lyric opment of an ancient and even primitive concep-
tion of the essential unity of these rhythmic arts.
The Greek lyric or dramatic poet was necessarily a musician, and
not only wrote the verses to be sung, but gave them their
musical setting. Further, he possessed a practical knowledge of
orchestic, and originally taught the chorus the various gestures,
postures and attitudes, which, under the name dancing, aided in
the expression of emotion and the interpretation of his verse.

The Greek dancer desired to give visible expression by means
of rhythmical movements of the body, to the words of the song.
Hence gesticulation was the most prominent
Greek Dancing, feature of the art, and the hands and arms of the
dancer were more in evidence than his feet. This
dancing was not confined even to the lyrical parts of a drama.
We are told, for example, that Telestes, who lived in the days of
itschylus, was such an excellent artist that in dancing the Seven
aj^ainst Thebes, he brought the incidents vividly before his
audience. This cannot but refer to his art in illustrating the
lengthy descriptive speeches of the play. The whole action of a
drama was, of course, followed by the chorus with keen interest,
and the constant by-play in which it indulged might well come
under the head of dancing. There must, in fact, have been
infinite varieties of dancing, though we know that the art was to
some extent systematized for purposes of instruction and reduced
to certain types. Tragic dances naturally differed from comic ones,
and were usually confined to stately and dignified motions. Their
character, however, depended entirely upon the nature of the
ode. In the Antigone, the invocation to Bacchus belongs to the

ANTIGONE 51

class of odes known as hyporchemata, in which the dance-move-
ments are unusually lively. This is, of course, in keeping with
the situation. The first ode, too, which involves the vivid
description of a battle, and the joyous exultation of victors, must
have been accompanied by a very spirited dance. In the reflective
odes, the dancing was more subdued, but one noticeable artistic
feature of a play like the Antigone is the variety of its lyric
thought, and the consequent variety of expressive orchestic
movements which it involves.

The music of the ancient Greeks deserves more than the
slight notice which the limits of this paper will allow. It is usual
to dismiss the subject with the remark that Greek
music was utterly different from the modern art, Greek Music.
and being in a primitive stage is hardly worthy of
our consideration. " We are deaf to its appeal and incredulous
of its beauty." ' One might as well dispose of Greek mathe-
matics in the same way. We should remember that with the
Greeks music was "an art as living as poetry or sculpture " ^ —
an art which engaged the attention of their noblest intellects, and
upon which many scientific treatises were written. Unfortunately,
very little of their actual music has survived, and this little belongs
to a late period, when all the arts had sadly declined from their
earlier greatness. However, the music of the Hymn to Apollo,
which was composed in the third century before Christ, and
which, engraved on marble in the Greek notation, was discovered
by the French archaeologists at Delphi in 1893, has elicited much
admiration from cultivated audiences in Europe and America,
because of its ample melodiousness, its noble serenity, and its
uplifting spirituality. Judging from this late specimen alone, we
may well believe that the best Greek music, as Plato has it, could
' ' sink into our inmost soul and take hold of it most powerfully. ' ' '

I and 2 From a review of Professor Macraii's The Harmonics of Aristoxenus in
the London Tinifs' literarv supplement, Dec, 1901.
} Republic , III, 401' D.

52 ANTIGONE

The main difference between the ancient and modern art lies
in the fact that vocal music was pure melody, harmony Ixring
Contrast confined to instrumental music. All Greek singing
with Modem was therefore in unison, the accompaniment alone
«-y'^- being in harmony. This method, as is well known,

is frequently employed even today in the sacred music of many
great continental churches. In their lyric song, the Greeks
regarded the poetic thought as of prime importance, and the
music, aided by the dance, was exjiected, not to obscure, but to
emphasize and illuminate the words employed. Thus the music
of an ode was much less complex than the elaborate harmonies of
a modern opera, though, on the other hand, by reason of the
intricate rhythmical structure of the ode, it must have been far
more complicated than the simple airs, repeated with every stanza,
of our national and popular ballads. At the same time, the
rhythm of Greek music was always strongly marked, as we may
infer from Plato and Aristotle. The time, too, was in strict accord
with the verse-metre, so that, for example, owing to the frequent
use in poetry of cretic (-u- ) and p^eonian (-vw) feet, five-fourth
time (illustrated by the Hymn to Apollo^, though quite rare in
modern music, was common with the Greeks. Abo\e all, Greek
music, in its various modes, whatever be the correct theory as to
their nature, was able to interpret adequately many states of feel-
ing, and could give fitting and satisfying expression to the various
mental attitudes reflected in lyrical song.

Knowing then these leading facts about the Greek lyric art,
let us consider what kind of music — in view of the loss of the

ancient — we should employ in a modern repre-
^^Afitigive"^ sentation of the Antzgonr. For this play, at the

instance of Frederick William IV of Prussia,
Mendelssohn in 1841 composed some of the most beautiful choral
music ever written. Those who are thoroughly familiar with both
the music and the Greek text know how admirably he has inter-

ANTIGONE 55

preted the spirit of the original in strains that appeal to the
modern ear. The Greek itself, as well as Donner's German
translation, was evidently before the musician's eyes while com-
posing his work. In adapting the music to the original text, as
was done for the Stanford performances, one very seldom finds
that the Greek metrical feet and the musical phrasing do not
closely correspond. The metrical accent almost invariably coin-
cides with the main beat of the musical measure, and it not infre-
quently happens that the music is better suited to the Greek than
to. the translation, made "in the metres of the original." The
result is a set of brilliant choruses for male voices, which have
an almost unique musical value.

No one, of course, pretends to claim that Mendelssohn's
music enables us to realize, in any degree, the character of the
lost original. It must be judged wholly from a Poittt<; of
modern standpoint. And yet certain of its features Resemblance to
remind us of the leading characteristics of the ^''^'''^ Music.
Greek art. A large portion of it is sung in unison ; the rhythm
is strongly marked ; each note corresponds, as a rule, to a sep-
arate verse-syllable ; and only occasionally has the composer
yielded to the temptation of allowing different words to be sung
by different parts of the chorus at the same time. Moreover, the
frequent use of recitative and melodrama is, as we have shown,
thoroughly in accord with Greek usage, and in this connection it
is interesting to observe that xMendelssohn's lyric genius has led
him to follow pretty closely the general principles observed by
the ancients in distributing the forms of musical expression.
Above all, the music never overrides the poetic thought, but
assists it with such expressiveness that a hearer, though ignorant
of the Greek, can hardly fail to follow the general meaning.

We have dwelt thus fully upon the main features of Men-
delssohn's Antigone, because there are some who maintain that
the use of this modern music serves to convey to the spectators a

56 ANTIGONE

wrong impression as to the character of a Greek play. Such
critics would prefer to present the Antig^one with a minimum
amount of colorless music, specially composed by
Its Suitability, some local musician. Such a step may be neces-
sary in the case of most plays, but when a great
genius like Mendelssohn has provided the Antigone with a beau-
tiful and adequate musical setting, I see no good reason for putting
it aside in favor of a purely pedantic composition, which can never
appeal to modern ears and hearts in the way in which the ancient
music stirred the emotions of the hearers. For, after all, a modern
presentation of a Greek masterpiece should aim at producing the
ensemble effect of the original, and this can never be done if we
employ music which means little to us, because, forsooth, we
choose to imagine that the ancient music was valueless. Amid
all our ignorance of the actual music of the Greeks, one fact, at
least, is impressed upon us over and over again by the ancient
\\ Titers, and that is that the music of their great lyric poets was a
spiritual power, which ' ' sank into the inmost soul, ' ' and con-
tributed to the upbuilding of a manly, noble, and beautiful char-
acter.

An able critic of the Stanford performances' described the
genius of Mendelssohn as " half Christian, half Jewish," and
j^. therefore unsuited for Greek subjects. I must

Jewish Question confess that, as applied to music, the phrase
Again. employed conveys to my mind very little mean-
ing, and seems to be a mere echo of the outcry once raised in
German Wagnerian circles against things Semitic, but it does
serve to remind one of the interesting fact that historians of music
are still debating the question whether our oldest Christian music
— the Ambrosian and Gregorian chants — has come to us from
Greece or Palestine. If, as is commonly believed, these chants
are indeed the same as those once used in Solomon's temple,

I In the Santa Barbara Kxprrss.

ANTIGONE 59

there must have been a striking resemblance between them and
the music of Greece, when early Christian musicians could apply
to them the very names of the Greek modes. In this case, who
will dare to say that it is out of place for a Jewish musician to
compose music for a Greek play ?

One word more. The writer has recently witnessed in Rome
M. Mounet- Sully's representation of the Gldipus Tyranmis, as
given at the Comedie-Francaise in Paris. It was
undoubtedly brilliant in some respects, but I am '^""^ ' " y -^
convinced that the remark made by a cultivated '^

spectator was just, viz., that from such a performance one can
learn much better what to avoid than what to imitate in present-
ing a Greek play. This is especially true of the lyrical element.
In the French version the chorus practically disappears ; the
grand odes, which express the collective emotion of a dramatic
group of elders, are ruined by being delivered in weak melo-
drama by a single female voice; recitative and vocal melody are
abandoned, and the result is a succession of dramatic scenes,
which, with their long speeches, tend to become exceedingly
monotonous, being unrelieved by the lyric color, movement, and
variety of tone, which the Greeks considered essential to a great
tragedy. H. Rushton Fairclough.

Assembly Hall, Stanford University
Thursday, April Seventeenth, Nineteen
Hundred and Two, at Eight P. M., and
Saturday, April Nineteenth, at Eleven A. M.

TWO PRESENTATIONS OF

THE ANTIGONE
OF SOPHOCLES

IN THE ORIGINAL GREEK

WITH MENDELSSOHN'S MUSIC

BY MEMBERS OF THE FACULTY AND
STUDENTS OF LELAND STANFORD
JUNIOR UNIVERSITY UNDER THE AUS-
PICES OF THE DEPARTMENT OF GREEK

68

ANTIGONE

THE CAST

Antigone

IsMENE, her sister

Chorus of Theban Elders,

under the Coryphteus
Creon, the Kitijr
Guard . . . -

H^:mon, son of Creon
Tiresias, a seer - - -
Messenger

EuRYDiCE, the Queen -
Second Messenger

Attendants to the Queen
Attendants to the King

Extra Attendants

Boy, attending Tiresias

Miss E. Cooksey
Miss E. Crandall

Professor H. R. Fairclough

Professor A. T. Murray

Mr. J. K. Bonneil

Mr. R. V. Reppy

Professor S. S. Seward, Jr.

Mr. K. Rees

Mrs. J. P. Hall

Mr. C. W. Thomas, Jr.

Miss I. Richards

Miss G. M. Smith

j Mr. R. Bryan

( Mr. R. A. Hamilton

C Mr. H. A. Moran

) xMr. J. J. Ryan

\ Mr. J. McCaughern

( Mr. J. S. King

Robert Lindley Murray

■I

The Chorus is made up of the Coryphaeus and fourteen of the fol-
lowing: Messrs. O. H. Clarke, J. E. Cline, B. R. Cocks, C. E. Ellis,
E. C. Eppley, E. I. Frisselle, S. P. Frisselle, H. Gay, E. O. James,
O. Kehrlein, H. R. Mockridge, H. L. Morrison, B. P. Oakford, A. Per-
rin, H. M. Shipley, VV. J. Stack, E. Talbot, R. E. VVarfield.

The music has been adapted to the Greek by Professor H. R. Fair-
clough.

Prompter, Miss A. F. Weaver.

Musical Director, Mr. A. L. Scott Brook.

Stage Manager, Mr. Leo Cooper.

The scene is laid in Thebes, before the royal palace.

In order that the continuity of the play may not be interrupted, it will be impossible for
others than the chorus to respond to encores.

ANTIGONE 69

THE STORY

CEdipus, though unwittingly, had fulfilled the doom which the oracle declared should be
his : he had slain with his owai hand his father, Laius, and had become the husband of his
mother, Jocasta. When the horrible truth tecame known, Jocasta hanged herself and
CEdipus dashed out his eyes with the brooch of her robe.

The two sons of the ill-fated pair fell in deadly combat,— the younger, Eteocles, seeking
to hold the Theban throne against his brother, Polynices, who had come with an alien host
from Argos to claim his rights.

Creon, the uncle of the two youths, has become king, and has declared that the corpse
of Polynices shall be left unburied, to be rent of dogs and birds. To this edict the citizens
submit, and with them Ismene, one of the two sisters, upon whom, as next of kin, the duty of
paying burial rites to the fallen chiefly rested. The other sister, Antigone, in defiance of the
edict, gives burial to her brother, and, sister's child to the king though she is, and betrothed
to his son Hsemon, is herself condemned to be buried alive in a rocky vault, where she takes
her life.

Haemon slays himself in anguish by the side of his betrothed, and, learning of this,
Eurydice, the wife of Creon, takes her life; so that woe upon woe Is heaped on the head of
the unhappy king.

S U M M A R Y O F T H E D R A .M A

Antigone announces to Ismene her intention to perform the rites of burial over Polynicc-s.
First choral song — The Glorious Victory.

(a) Creon's speech.

(b) Guard brings news that the corpse has been buried.

Second choral song — Man's Audacity.

(a) .Antigone led before Creon.

(d) Guard's story of the arrest.

(c) Antigone pleads guilty. Her noble defense.
{(f) Isniene's devotion. Her appeal to Creon.

(e) Creon, In anger, orders both to be kept in restraint.

Third choral song — A House Accursed. Omnipotence of Zeus; Im-
potence of Man.

(a) Haemon pleads vainly with Creon.

(6) Creon atmounces Antigone's terrible punishment.

Fourth choral song — Love's Power.

{a) Antigone's lament. Chorus is moved to sympathy.
(6) Antigone led to her fate.

Fiftli choral song — Like Fates of Danae, Lycurgus and Cleopatra.

(a) Tiresias warns Creon ; and, when angered, aimounces divine vengeance.
{6) Creon is moved, and, urged by the chorus, seeks to undo his deeds.

70 ANTIGONE

Sixth Choral song — Invocation to Bacchus.

(a) Messenger announces Htenion's suicide.

(d) Eurydice's entrance.

(c) Messenger's tale : Creon lias been too late.

(rf) Eur>'dice silently withdraws.

{e) Creon enters, with Hfeinon's lifeless body.

(/) Creon's lament.

(g) Chorus marches from the stage, singing of the fall that waits upon pride.

SUPPLEMENTARY CHORUS

Prof. F. Angell, Dr. G. B. Little. Messrs. E. L. Anderson, H. H.
Atkinson, C. H. Baker, B. M. Breeden, C. E. Burton, H. E. Bush, Geo.
H. Clark, O. H. Clarke, T. A. Cutting, G. W. Dryer, L. C. Hawley,
W. R. Hogan, T. G. Hosmer, G. B. Jeffers, E. A. Jones, G. P. Jones,
J. Josephson, J. S. King, A. J. Klamt, T. McCaughern, J. T. McManis,

B. Nourse, M. Oppenheim, R. N. Park, W. D. Patterson, J. G. Perkins,
R. L. Pleak, N. C. Powers, E. L. Rea, V. L. Talbert, J. C. Taylor, F. B.
Tucker, E. Wakeman, H. A. VVeihe, F. T. Whitaker, W. T. VVhitaker.

THE ORCHESTRA

((ienerously put at the disposal of the Musical Director by its leader. Professor S. W.
Young. )

First Violin: Messrs. G. A. Scoville, R. H. Bacon, Miss G. H.
Bruckman, Messrs. A. J. Copp, C. E. Waite, E. V. Kehrlein, W. H.
Shadburne, J. J. Wertheimer. Second Violin : Misses A. Pearson, C. Still-
man, K. R. Kipp, Mr. C. C. James, Miss J. Henry, Messrs. V. E. Brackett,
V. E. Stork, E. Williams. Viola: Messrs. H. W. Fowler, L. G. Levy.
Cello: Mr. J. Hague. Bass: Mr. D. P. Campbell. F"lute : Professor B.
E. Howard. Clarinet: Messrs. R. U. Fitting, VV. C. Piatt. Comet:
Mr. A. E. Lee, Prof. C. B. Whittier, Mr. F. Roller. French Horn:
Messrs. E. A. Martin, G. E. Lucas, C. Hatton. Trombone, Messrs. B.

C. Bubb, C. A. Fitzgerald. Tympani : Mr. A. S. Halley. Piano: Miss
E. R. Gossett.

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JAN 1 6 19
NOV 151

UC SOU^MERN PE'J C';,f.-

A 000 135 055 2

Univer
Sou

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