tive of the emotions which their words express. And here a word must be said of this expressive dance.
It seems to be an art entirely lost—so entirely that we now cannot well guess what difference of steps or figures would represent even the most marked difference of feelings; but to the Greeks such variation was most certainly represented. And thus much may be noticed in explanation. The Greeks, in accordance with the general simplicity and natural frankness of their manners, were in the habit of giving much more unreserved expression to their feelings by gesture than is thought among ourselves consistent with dignity or culture; so we may suppose that their eyes became more accustomed to such outward indications than ours are, and their taste was not offended by gestures which to us would seem forced and ridiculous. Further, we must consider the facility with which a conventional system of expressing passion by the dance might become generally recognised, until movements, which originally were only conventionally significant, might appear spontaneous to an eye habituated to their use. Lastly, the notion, so difficult to get rid of, that in dancing there is something trivial and undignified, must be as far as possible discarded; for, to the Athenian, the dances of the chorus were probably among the most impressive, even the most awful, spectacles which ever met his eyes; and if to us dancing seems fit only for merriment and trifling, the cause lies not in our advance in culture, but in our having lost an art or a sensibility.
The relation of the chorus to the rest of a Greek
