Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy

CHORAL INTERLUDE IV

Strophe I

            My venturous foot delights {1018}          To tread the Muses' arduous heights;          Their hallow'd haunts I love t' explore,            And listen to their lore:          Yet never could my searching mind        Aught, like Necessity, resistless find.          No herb of sovereign pow'r to save,          Whose virtues Orpheus joy'd to trace,          And wrote them in the rolls of Thrace;            Nor all that Phoebus gave,          Instructing the Asclepian train,        When various ills the human frame assail,          To heal the wound, to soothe the pain,          'Gainst Her stern force avail.

Antistrophe I

            Of all the Pow'rs Divine {1032}          Alone none dares t' approach Her shrine;          To Her no hallow'd image stands,            No altar She commands.          In vain the victim's blood would flow,        She never deigns to hear the suppliant's vow.          Never to me mayst Thou appear,          Dread Goddess, with severer mien          Than oft in life's past tranquil scene            Thou hast been known to wear.          By Thee Jove works his stern behest:        Thy force subdues e'en Scythia's stubborn steel;          Nor ever does Thy rugged breast            The touch of pity feel.

Strophe II

            And now, with ruin pleas'd, {1046}          On thee, O King, her hands have seiz'd,          And bound thee in her iron chain:            Yet her fell force sustain.          For from the gloomy realms of night        No tears recall the dead to life's sweet light.          No virtue, though to heav'n allied,          Saves from the inevitable doom:          Heroes and sons of gods have died,            And sunk into the tomb.          Dear, whilst our eyes her presence blest,        Dear, in the gloomy mansions of the dead:          Most generous she, the noblest, best,            Who graced thy nuptial bed.

Antistrophe II

            Thy wife's sepulchral mound {1060}          Deem not as common, worthless ground          That swells their breathless bodies o'er            Who die, and no are more.          No, be it honor'd as a shrine;        Raised high, and hallow'd to some Pow'r Divine:          The traveller, as he passes by,          Shall thither bend his devious way,          With reverence gaze, and with a sigh,            Smite on his breast, and say:          "She died of old to save her lord;        Now blest among the blest; Hail, Pow'r revered,          To us thy wonted grace afford!"            Such vows shall be preferred.EXODUS, OR FINALE

Re-enter Hercules, leading a veiled woman

Herc. I would speak freely to my friend, Admetus,           Nor what I blame keep secret in my breast.           I came to thee amidst thy ills, and thought           I had been worthy to be proved thy friend.           Thou told'st me not the obsequies prepared {1080}           Were for thy wife; but in thy house receiv'dst me           As if thou griev'dst for one of foreign birth.           I bound my head with garlands, to the gods           Pouring libations in thy house with grief           Oppress'd. I blame this: yes, in such a state           I blame this: yet I come not in thine ills           To give thee pain; why I return in brief           Will I unfold. This woman from my hands           Receive to thy protection, till return'd           I bring the Thracian steeds, having there slain {1090}           The proud Bistorian tyrant; should I fail —           Be that mischance not mine, for much I wish           Safe to revisit thee – yet should I fail,           I give her to the safeguard of thy house.           For with much toil she came unto my hands.           To such as dare contend some public games,           Which well deserv'd my toil, I find propos'd;           I bring her thence, she is the prize of conquest:           For slight assays each victor led away           A courser; but for those of harder proof {1100}           The conqueror was rewarded from the herd,           And with some female graced; victorious there,           A prize so noble it were base to slight.           Take her to thy protection, not by stealth           Obtain'd, but the reward of many toils:           The time, perchance, may come when thou will thank me.  Adm. Not that I slight thy friendship, or esteem thee           Other than noble, wished I to conceal           My wife's unhappy fate; but to my grief           It had been added grief, if thou had'st sought           Elsewhere the rites of hospitality;           Suffice it that I mourn ills which are mine.           This woman, if it may be, give in charge,           I beg thee, king, to some Thessalian else,           That hath not cause like me to grieve; in Pherae           Thou may'st find many friends; call not my woes           Fresh to my memory; never in my house           Could I behold her, but my tears would flow:           To sorrow add not sorrow; now enough           I sink beneath its weight. Where should her youth           With me be guarded? for her gorgeous vests           Proclaim her young; if mixing with the men           She dwell beneath my roof, how shall her fame,           Conversing with the youths, be kept unsullied?           It is not easy to restrain the warmth           Of that intemperate age; my care for thee           Warns me of this. Or if from them remov'd           I hide her in th' apartments late my wife's,           How to my bed admit her? I should fear           A double blame: my citizens would scorn me           As light and faithless to the kindest wife           That died for me, if to her bed I took           Another blooming bride; and to the dead           Behoves me pay the highest reverence           Due to her merit. And thou, lady, know,           Whoe'er thou art, that form, that shape, that air           Resembles my Alcestis! By the Gods,           Remove her from my sight! it is too much,           I cannot bear it; when I look on her,           Methinks I see my wife; this wounds my heart           And calls the tears fresh gushing from my eyes.           This is the bitterness of grief indeed!  Chor. I cannot praise thy fortune; but behoves thee           To bear with firmness what the gods assign.  Herc. O that from Jove I had the pow'r to bring           Back from the mansions of the dead thy wife           To heav'n's fair light, that grace achieving for thee!  Adm. I know thy friendly will; but how can this           Be done? The dead return not to this light.  Herc. Check then thy swelling griefs; with reason rule them.  Adm. How easy to advise, but hard to bear!  Herc. What should it profit should'st thou always groan?  Adm. I know it; but I am in love with grief.  Herc. Love to the dead calls forth the ceaseless tear.  Adm. O, I am wretched more than words can speak.  Herc. A good wife hast thou lost, who can gainsay it?  Adm. Never can life be pleasant to me more.  Herc. Thy sorrow now is new; time will abate it.  Adm. Time say'st thou? Yes, the time that brings me death.  Herc. Some young and lovely bride will bid it cease.  Adm. No more: What say'st thou? Never could I think —  Herc. Will thou still lead a lonely widow'd life?  Adm. Never shall other women share my bed.  Herc. And think'st thou this will aught avail the dead?  Adm. This honor is her due, where'er she be.  Herc. This hath my praise, though near allied to frenzy.  Adm. Praise me or not, I ne'er will wed again.  Herc. I praise thee that thou'rt faithful to thy wife.  Adm. Though dead, if I betray her, may I die!  Herc. Well, take this noble lady to thy house. {1170}  Adm. No, by thy father Jove, let me entreat thee.  Herc. Not to do this would be the greatest wrong.  Adm. To do it would with anguish rend my heart.  Herc. Let me prevail; this grace may find its meed.  Adm. O that thou never had'st receiv'd this prize!  Herc. Yet in my victory thou art victor with me.  Adm. 'Tis nobly said: yet let this woman go.  Herc. If she must go, she shall! but must she go?  Adm. She must, if I incur not thy displeasure.  Herc. There is a cause that prompts my earnestness. {1180}  Adm. Thou hast prevailed, but much against my will.  Herc. The time will come when thou wilt thank me for it.  Adm. Well, if I must receive her, lead her in.  Herc. Charge servants with her! No, that must not be.  Adm. Lead her thyself, then, if thy will incline thee.  Herc. No, to thy hand alone will I commit her.  Adm. I touch her not; but she hath leave to enter.  Herc. I shall entrust her only to thy hand.  Adm. Thou dost constrain me, king, against my will.  Herc. Venture to stretch thy hand, and touch the stranger's. {1190}  Adm. I touch her, as I would the headless Gorgon.  Herc. Hast thou her hand?  Adm. I have.  Herc. (lifting the veil) Then hold her safe.           Hereafter thou wilt say the son of Jove           Hath been a generous guest; view now her face,           See if she bears resemblance to thy wife,           And thus made happy bid farewell to grief.  Adm. O, Gods, what shall I say? 'Tis marvelous,           Exceeding hope. See I my wife indeed?           Or doth some god distract me with false joy?  Herc. In very deed dost thou behold thy wife. {1200}  Adm. See that it be no phantom from beneath.  Herc. Make not thy friend one that evokes the shades.  Adm. And do I see my wife, whom I entomb'd?  Herc. I marvel not that thou art diffident.  Adm. I touch her; may I speak to her as living?  Herc. Speak to her: thou hast all thy heart could wish.  Adm. Dearest of women, do I see again           That face, that person? This exceeds all hope;           I never thought that I should see thee more.  Herc. Thou hast her; may no God be envious of thee. {1210}  Adm. O be thou blest, thou generous son of Jove!           Thy father's might protect thee! Thou alone           Hast rais'd her to me; from the realms below           How hast thou brought her to the light of life?  Herc. I fought with him that lords it o'er the shades.  Adm. Where with the gloomy tyrant didst thou fight?  Herc. I lay in wait and seized him at the tomb.  Adm. But wherefore doth my wife thus speechless stand?  Herc. It is not yet permitted9 that thou hear           Her voice addressing thee, till from the Gods {1220}           That rule beneath she be unsanctified           With hallow'd rites, and the third morn return.           But lead her in; and as thou'rt just in all           Besides, Admetus, see thou reverence strangers.           Farewell: I go t' achieve the destined toil           For the imperial son of Sthenelus.  Adm. Abide with us, and share my friendly hearth.  Herc. That time will come again; this demands speed.  Adm. Success attend thee: safe may'st thou return.           Now to my citizens I give in charge, {1230}           And to each chief, that for this blest event           They institute the dance; let the steer bleed,           And the rich altars, as they pay their vows,           Breathe incense to the gods; for now I rise           To better life, and grateful own the blessing.THE CHORUS, RETIRING:Our fates the Gods in various shapes dispose: {1236}Heaven sets the crown on many a hopeless cause:                    That which is looked for                    Fails in the issue.                    To goals unexpected                    Heav'n points out a passage.               And this is the end of the matter.

THE CYCLOPS OF EURIPIDES

A SPECIMEN OF THE SATYRIC DRAMA

Scene: Sicily, in front of cave of the Cyclops, Polyphemus.

Prologue by Silenus, the rural demi-god, who recounts his faithful service to Bacchus, and yet the ungrateful god has let himself and his children fall into this slavery to the horrid Cyclops Polyphemus, where, worst of their many woes, they are debarred from the wine they worship.

Parode: The Chorus of Satyrs driving their goats and lamenting how different this from the merry service of Bacchus.

Episode I. Silenus hurries back with the news that a ship is approaching to water in the island: fresh victims for the monster. Enter Ulysses and crew: mutual explanations, all couched in 'burlesque' tone. The mariners have had no food except flesh, and gladly partake milk and fruits of the Satyrs, affording in return to Silenus the long-lost luxury of wine: the scene then going on to paint [with the utmost coarseness] the oncoming of drunkenness.

Suddenly enter Polyphemus: Ulysses and the crew hide. After some rough bandying between the Monster and the Chorus, the strangers are discovered: and Silenus, to save himself, turns traitor, and tells Polyphemus how they have beaten him because he would not let them steal, also what dire woes they were going to work upon Polyphemus. In spite of their protests Silenus is believed: Ulysses promises, if set free, to erect shrines in Greece for the Cyclops, besides dwelling upon the impiety of attacking innocent strangers: Polyphemus replies that he does not care for shrines, and as for impiety he is independent of Zeus; which gives occasion for a glorification of the life of nature. They are driven into the cave to be fed on at leisure.

Choral Ode: General disgust at the monster.

Episode II. Ulysses [apparently standing at the mouth of the cave] describes Polyphemus gorging – then details his plan of deliverance by aid of the wine.

Choral Ode: Lyric delight of Chorus at prospect of deliverance.

Episode III. The Cyclops appears sated with his banquet, and settling down to this new treat of drinking – the effects of on-coming intoxication are painted again in Polyphemus, with the usual coarseness – a farcical climax being reached when the monster begins to be affectionate to his cup-bearer, old Silenus, in memory of Zeus and his famous cup-bearer, Ganymede.

Choral Ode: Anticipation of Revenge.

Exodus. The plan of Revenge, the boring out of the Cyclops's one eye while overpowered with drink, is carried out – various farcical effects by the way, e.g., the Chorus drawing back with excuses and leaving Ulysses to do the deed at the critical moment. The Drama ends with the Monster's rage and vain attempts to catch the culprit, Ulysses putting him off with his feigned name 'No man': thus all are delivered.

THE BACCHANALS OF EURIPIDES10

PROLOGUE

The permanent scene covered by movable scenery representing a wide landscape – the valley of the Dirce. A pile of buildings occupies the middle, to which the central entrance is an approach: these are the Cadmeia and royal palaces. That on the left is the palace of Pentheus, and further to the left is the mystic scene of Bacchus's birth – a heap of ruins, still miraculously smouldering, and covered by trailing vines. On the right is the palace of Cadmus, and the scene extends to take in the Electron gate of Thebes, and (on the right turn-scene) the slopes of Cithaeron.

DIONYSUS enters, in mortal guise, through the distance archway, and (in formal prologue) opens the situation. He brings out the points of the landscape before him, dear as the site of his miraculous birth and the sad end of his mortal mother. Then he details the Asiatic realms through which he has made triumphant progress, Lydia, Phrygia, sun-seared Persia, Bactria; the wild, wintry Median land; Araby the Blest, and the cities by the sea; everywhere his orgies accepted and his godhead received. Now for the first time he has reached an Hellenic city: and here – where least it should have been – his divinity is questioned by his own mother's sisters who make the story of his birth a false rumor, devised to cover Semele's shame, and avenged by the lightning flash which destroyed her. To punish his unnatural kin he has infected all their womenkind with his sacred phrensy, and maddened out of their quiet life, they are now on the revel under the pale pines of the mountain, unseemly mingled with the sons of Thebes: so shall the recusant city learn her guilt, and make atonement to him and his mother. Pentheus, it seems, is the main foe of his godhead, who reigns as king over Thebes, the aged Cadmus having yielded the sovereignty in his lifetime to his sister's son: he repels Bacchus from the sacred libations, nor names him in prayer. So he and Thebes must learn a dread lesson, and then away to make revelation in other lands. As to force, if attempt is made to drive the Maenads from the mountains, Bacchus himself will mingle in the war, and for this he has assumed mortal shape.

He calls upon his 'Thyasus of women,' fellow-pilgrims from the lands beyond the sea, to beat their Phrygian drums in noisy ritual about the palace of Pentheus till all Thebes shall flock to hear; he goes to join his worshippers on Cithaeron. {70}

PARODE, OR CHORUS-ENTRY

The Chorus enter the orchestra, Asiatic women in wild attire of Bacchic rites, especially the motley (dappled fawnskin) always associated with abandon: they move with wild gestures and dances associated with Asiatic rituals.

The wild ode resumes the joyous dance that has made their whole way from Asia one long sacred revel —

Toilless toil and labour sweet.

Blest above all men he who hallows his life in such mystic rites, and, purified with holiest waters, goes dancing with the worshippers of Bacchus, and of thee, mighty Mother Cybele, shaking his thyrsus, and all his locks crowned with ivy. Bacchus's birth is sung, and how from the flashing lightning Jove snatched him and preserved in his thigh, until at the fated hour he gave him to light, horned and crowned with serpents. Wherefore should Thebes, sacred scene of the miracle, be one blossom of revellers, clad in motley and waving the thyrsus, the whole land maddening with the dance. The Chorus think of the first origin of such noisy joys, when the wild ones of Crete beat their cymbals round the sunless caverns where the infant Jove was hidden, and these rites of Rhoea soon mingled for the frantic Satyrs with the third year's dances to Bacchus. Then the ode recurs to the bliss of such holy rites, luxurious interchange of wild energy and delicious repose. They long for the climax of the dance, when, with luxuriant hair all floating, they can rage and madden to the clash of heavy cymbals and the shout Evoë, Evoê, frisking like colts to the soft breathing of the holy pipe, while the mountain echoes beneath their boundings. {178}

EPISODE I

The blind prophet Teiresias enters from Thebes, and is soon joined by Cadmus from the palace. Old as they are they have put on the livery of the god, and will join in the dance, for which supernatural strength will be given: they alone of the city are wise.

          The ancestral faith, coeval with our race,          No subtle reasoning, if it soar aloft          Ev'n to the height of wisdom, can o'erthrow.

They are stopped by the entrance of Pentheus, as from a far journey. His opening words betray his anxiety as to the scandal in his realm – the young women of his family, even his mother Agave, all gone to join the impious revels.

          In pretext, holy sacrificing Maenads,          But serving Aphrodite more than Bacchus.

Some he has imprisoned, the rest he will hunt from the mountains, and put an end to the joyous movements of this fair stranger with golden locks, who has come to guide their maidens to soft inebriate rites. Suddenly he sees his hero ancestor and the prophet in Bacchic attire. Bitter reproaches follow; the scene soon settling down into the forensic contest. Teiresias elaborately puts the case for the god. Man has two primal needs: one is the solid food of the boon mother, the other has been discovered by the son of their Semele – the rich grape's juice: this beguiles the miserable of their sorrow, this gives all-healing sleep. The author of such blessings is recognized in heaven as a god: yet Pentheus puts scorn upon him by the story of the babe hidden in Jove's thigh. [This is explained away by a play upon words, as between ho meeros, thigh, and homeeros, a hostage: Jove hid the infant god in a cleft of air, a hostage from the wrath of Heré.] Prophecy is ascribed to the wine-god, for phrensy is prophetic; and he is an ally in war, sending panic on the foe ere lance crosses lance. He will soon be a god celebrated through all Greece and hold torchdance on the crags of Delphi. Let Thebes take her place among the worshippers, fearing nought for the purity of its daughters, who will be no less holy in the revel than at home. – The Chorus approve, and Cadmus follows on the same side, urging policy: a splendid falsehood making Semele the mother of a god will advance their household. Pentheus shakes off Cadmus's clasp in disgust: bids some of his servants go and overturn the prophet's place of divination, and others seek out the stranger who leads the rebels. Exit to the palace, while Teiresias and Cadmus depart, in horror at his impiety, in the direction of Cithaeron. {379}

CHORAL INTERLUDE I

Shocked at such defiance of heaven the Chorus invoke Sanctity, crowned as goddess in the nether world, to hear the awful words of Pentheus, uttered against the immortal son of Semele, first and best of gods, ruler of the flower-crowned feast, and the dance's jocund strife, and the laughter, and the sparkling wine-cup, and the sweet sleep that follows the festival. Sorrow closes the lot of such aweless, unbridled madness: stability is for the calmly reverent life, knitting whole houses in sweet domestic harmony. Clasp the present of brief life: no grasping after a bright future with far-fetched wisdom. Oh, for the lands where the graces and sweet desire have their haunts, and young loves soothe the heart with tender guile: fit regions for the Bacchanals, whose joy is Peace – wealth-giver to rich and poor. Away with stern austerity: hail the homely wisdom of the multitude. {439}

EPISODE II

An officer brings in Dionysus as prisoner; he has yielded himself without resistance, while as for the imprisoned worshippers their chains have fallen off spontaneous, and they are away to the revels on the mountains. In long-drawn parallel dialogue Pentheus questions the Stranger – struck with his beauty though he be. Dionysus calmly answers to every point, but allows the orgies are secret and must not be revealed to the uninitiated. The King threatens in vain.

Pen. First I will clip away those soft bright locks. Dio. My locks are holy, dedicate to my god. Pen. Next, give thou me that thyrsus in thy hand. Dio. Take it thyself; 'tis Dionysus' wand. Pen. I'll bind thy body in strong iron chains. Dio. My god himself will loose them when he will. Pen. When thou invok'st him 'mid thy Bacchanals. Dio. Even now he is present, he beholds me now. Pen. Where is he then? mine eyes perceive him not. Dio. Near me: the impious eyes may not discern him.

The king relies on his superior strength.

Dio. Thou knowest not where thou art or what thou art. Pen. Pentheus, Agave's son, my sire Echion. Dio. Thou hast a name whose very sound is woe.

Dionysus is removed a prisoner to the palace of Pentheus, while the latter retires to prepare measures against the Maenads.

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

The Chorus, addressing the landscape before them, expostulate with the sacred stream in which the infant god was dipped for not accepting the divinity whose mystic name is 'Twice-born.' They call upon Dionysus to see them from Olympus, his rapt prophets at strife with dark necessity, and, golden wand in hand, to come to their rescue against the threats of the proud dragon-brood. They are wondering what fair land of song may be holding their sacred leader, when cries from within put an end to the ode. {582}

EPISODE III

In wild lyric snatches shouts are interchanged between Dionysus within and groups of the disordered Chorus, bringing out the tumultuous scene – the earth rocking beneath them, sounds of crashing masonry, capitals of pillars hurled through the air; then by the machinery of the hemicyclium the whole scene left of the center disappears and is replaced by a tableau representing Pentheus' palace in ruins, and the smouldering tomb of Semele surmounted by bright flame. From the ruins steps Dionysus, unharmed and free, the metre breaking into accelerated rhythm. {613}