THE CRIME OF PROMETHEUS

Tragedy, the art of Dionysus, has been variously defined
in aesthetic terms, and poets as well as critics do lament
its conspicuous absence, in aesthetic terms, as if this lost
art form only waited for a poet to recall it to the aesthetic
fold. At the present time, when the historical panorama of
art is spread out as the impressive if somewhat motley back-
drop of an enlightened age, a facite and ingenious taste may
derive some pleasurable excitement from the contempla-
tion of an obsolete art and even believe that the melancholy
sweetness evoked is attributable to the art jtself and not
to the fact that the art is so irretrievably distant, as is the
tragic drama.

Greek tragedy was a short-lived phenomenon. It has
been widely imitated, both in ancient and in modern times,
and has stimulated new forms of dramatic expression. Trag-
edy itself, exquisite and late born, Athens’ violet crown,
perished in its very fulfilment, to the perpetual regret of
subsequent aestheticians, whose historically trained glance
has never discovered another art that could provide so much
““disinterested”’ pleasure as the Greek drama and who, from
their serene distance from the Greek scene, have spared no
pains in attempting to account for the origin and character-
istics of this unique art.

The mask of Greek tragedy, however, now belongs to a
ghost, rising on the horizon of the past with ghosts of misty
ancient gods, and it is no longer worn by actors of the living
scene. Hence, the form of tragedy appears, from the vast dis-
tance, a mere illusion, a free form available to any audience
disposed by a minimum of antiquarian lore to feel an Epi-
curean thrill of sadness in the contemplation of lost beau-