Эсхил
Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy
CHORAL INTERLUDE II
Strophe 1. The Argive mountains round,
'Mongst tales of ancient days
From age to age recorded this remains:
Tuned to mellifluous lays,
Pan taught his pipe to sound,
And as he breath'd the sprightly-swelling strains,
The beauteous ram, with fleece of gold,
God of shepherds, on he drove.
The herald from the rock above
Proclaims, "Your monarch's wonders to behold,
"Wonders to sight, from which no terrors flow,
"Go, Mycenaeans, to th' assembly go."
With reverence they obey the call,
And fill th' Atridae's spacious hall.
Antis. Its gates with gold o'erlaid,
Wide oped each Argive shrine,
And from the altar hallow'd flames arise;
Amidst the rites divine,
Joying the Muse to aid,
Breath'd the brisk pipe its sweet notes to the skies;
Accordant to the tuneful strain
Swell'd the loud acclaiming voice,
Now with Thyestes to rejoice:
He, all on fire the glorious prize to gain,
With secret love the wife of Atreus won,
And thus the shining wonder made his own;
Then to the assembly vaunting cried,
"Mine is the rich Ram's golden pride."
Strophe 2. Then, oh then, indignant Jove
Bade the bright sun backward move,
And the golden orb of day,
And the morning's orient ray;
Glaring o'er the Western sky
Hurl'd his ruddy lightnings fly;
Clouds, no more to fall in rain,
Northward roll their deep'ning train;
Libyan Ammon's thirsty seat,
Wither'd with the scorching heat,
Feels nor show'rs nor heavenly dews
Grateful moisture round diffuse.
Antis. 2. Fame hath said (but light I hold
What the voice of fame hath told)
That the sun, retiring far,
Backward roll'd his golden car;
And his vital heat withdraw,
Sick'ning man's bold crimes to view.
Mortals, when such tales they hear,
Tremble with an holy fear,
And th' offended gods adore;
She, this noble pair who bore,
Dar'd to murder, deed abhorr'd!
This forgot, her royal lord. {815}
EPISODE III
As the Ode is concluding, shouts are heard from the direction of the field where the sacrifice is: Chorus summon Electra.
After a brief conversation, a Messenger arrives breathless, and after rapidly giving the news that Aegisthus has fallen, is encouraged to tell the scene at length, which he does in the regular 'Messenger's Speech.'
Mess. Departing from this house, the level road {845}
We enter'd soon, mark'd by the chariot wheel
On either side. Mycenae's noble king
Was there, amidst his gardens with fresh streams
Irriguous walking, and the tender boughs
Of myrtles, for a wreath to bind his head,
He cropt; he saw us, he address'd us thus
Aloud: "Hail, strangers; who are ye, and whence
Come, from what country?" Then Orestes said,
"Thessalians; victims to Olympian Jove
We at the stream of Alpheus go to slay."
The King replied, "Be now my guests, and share
The feast with me; a bullock to the Nymphs
I sacrifice; at morn's first dawn arise,
Then shall you go; but enter now my house."
Thus as he spoke, he took us by the hand
And led us, nothing loth: beneath his roof
Soon as we came, he bade his slaves prepare
Baths for the strangers, that, the altars nigh,
Beside the lustral ewers they might stand.
Orestes then, "With lavers from the pure
And living stream we lately have been cleansed:
But with thy citizens these rites to share,
If strangers are permitted, we, O King,
Are ready to thy hospitable feast,
Nothing averse." The converse here had end.
Their spears, with which they guard the king, aside
Th' attendants laid, and to their office all
Applied their hands; some led the victim, some
The baskets bore, some rais'd the flames and plac'd
The cauldrons on the hearth; the house resounds.
Thy mother's husband on the altars cast
The salted cakes, and thus address'd his vows;
"Ye Nymphs that haunt the rocks, these hallow'd rites
Oft let me pay, and of my royal spouse
Now absent, both by fortune blest as now;
And let our foes as now, in ruin lie;"
Thee and Orestes naming. But my lord,
Far other vows address'd, but gave his words
No utt'rance, to regain his father's house.
Aegisthus then the sacrificing sword
Took from the basket, from the bullock's front
To cut the hair, which on the hallow'd fire
With his right hand he threw; and, as his slaves
The victim held, beneath its shoulder plung'd
The blade; then turning to thy brother spoke:
"Among her noble arts Thessalia boasts
To rein the fiery courser, and with skill
The victim's limbs to sever; stranger, take
The sharp-edg'd steel and show that fame reports
Of the Thessalians truth." The Doric blade
Of temper'd metal in his hand he grasp'd,
And from his shoulders threw his graceful robe;
Then to assist him in the toilsome task
Chose Pylades, and bade the slaves retire:
The victim's foot he held, and its white flesh,
His hand extending, bared, and stript the hide
E'er round the course the chariot twice could roll,
And laid the entrails open. In his hands
The fate-presaging parts Aegisthus took,
Inspecting: in the entrails was no lobe;
The valves and cells the gall containing show
Dreadful events to him, that view'd them, near.
Gloomy his visage darken'd; but my lord
Ask'd whence his sadden'd aspect: He replied —
"Stranger, some treachery from abroad I fear;
Of mortal men Orestes most I hate,
The son of Agamemnon; to my house
He is a foe." "Wilt thou," replied my lord,
"King of this state, an exile's treachery dread?
But that, these omens leaving, we may feast,
Give me a Phthian for this Doric blade,
The breast asunder I will cleave." He took
The steel and cut. Aegisthus, yet intent,
Parted the entrails; and, as low he bow'd
His head, thy brother, rising to the stroke,
Drove through his back the ponderous axe, and riv'd
The spinal joints: his heaving body writh'd
And quiver'd, struggling in the pangs of death.
The slaves beheld, and instant snatched their spears,
Many 'gainst two contesting; but my lord
And Pylades with dauntless courage stood
Oppos'd, and shook their spears. Orestes then
Thus spoke: "I come not to this state a foe,
Nor to my servants; but my father's death
I on his murderer have aveng'd; you see
Th' unfortunate Orestes: kill me not,
My father's old attendants." At these words
They all restrain'd their spears, and he was known
By one grown hoary in the royal house.
Crowns on thy brother's head they instant plac'd
With shouts of joy. He comes, and with him brings
Proof of his daring, not a Gorgon's head,
But whom thou hat'st, Aegisthus: blood for blood,
Bitter requital, on the dead has fall'n. {939}
General exultation (in Lyric measures) succeeds, which increases as Orestes and Pylades re-enter bearing the corpse of Aegisthus. After brief celebration of the deed the face of the corpse is uncovered, and Electra, gazing at it, gives vent to her scorn and hatred: how he had slain a hero, made her an orphan, lived in shame with her mother, enjoying and trusting in her father's wealth: but
Nature is firm, not riches: she remains
For ever, and triumphant lifts her head.
But unjust wealth, which sojourns with the base,
Glitters for some short space, then flies away.
His effeminate manners are more than maiden tongue may speak of; beauty graced his perfect form:
But be not mine a husband, whose fair face
In softness with a virgin's vies, but one
Of manly manners; for the sons of such
By martial toils are trained to glorious deeds;
The beauteous only the dance give grace.
Let the wicked in future learn they are not secure till the goal of life is reached. {1092}
Clytaemnestra is then seen approaching: they hurry Orestes in; his heart fails him at the thought of his mother; with difficulty Electra rouses him to his appointed vengeance. [Exeunt all but Electra into the Cottage. Enter Clytaemnestra in a Chariot and splendid array.] The Chorus welcome her, and she begs their aid to alight. —Electra thrusts herself forward clad in rags as she is, and begs that she too may assist. —Clyt. feels the impropriety of the scene, and falls into an apologetic tone; it was Electra's father who, by his injustice to Iphigenia, was the real cause of Electra's trouble. This leads to the usual judicial disputation: Clyt. pleading that this sacrifice of her daughter was done not for a good cause, but for the wanton Helen; this sacrifice she had avenged, and to avenge it must join an enemy, not a friend, of Agamemnon. —Electra, getting permission, replies: Helen was not the only wanton one of her family; if no motive but vengeance, why begin to adorn as soon as Agamemnon was out of the way, why rejoice whenever the Trojans prospered, why go on to persecute Orestes and herself, nay, why not slay Aegisthus for persecuting these her children? The sight of Electra's miserable condition makes even Clyt. feel compunction: she has been too harsh, she will be kinder now, and so shall Aegisthus – Electra replying to all that it is too late. At last Clyt. prepares to go within the house and perform the rite for Electra; then she will join her husband. Exeunt Attendants with Chariot, and Electra ushers Clytaemnestra into the Cottage.
Let my poor house receive thee: but take heed
Lest thy rich vests the blackening smoke denies. —
There shalt thou sacrifice, as to the gods
Behoves thee sacrifice: the basket there
Is for the rites prepared, and the keen blade
Which struck the bull; beside him shalt thou fall
By a like blow; in Pluto's courts his bride
He shall receive, with whom in heav'n's fair light
Thy couch was shared: to thee this grace I give,
Thou vengeance for my father shalt give me. {1274}
CHORAL INTERLUDE III
The waves of mischief are flowing back, the gale of Violence is veering: Vengeance for the crime of old standing is come at last. {1298}
EXODUS, OR FINALE
Cries are heard from within: the Chorus know that the deed is done.
By the machinery of the roller-stage the interior of the Cottage is displayed, with Orestes and Electra standing over the corpse of Clytaemnestra.
A revulsion of feeling has come over them; they did the deed in frenzy; now, instead of triumph, they have no thoughts but for the act they have done, and how they will carry a curse with them ever after, and all will shun them. With horror they recall the details of the scene:
Ores. Didst thou see her when she drew {1338}
Her vests aside, and bared her breasts, and bow'd
To earth her body whence I drew my birth,
Whilst in her locks my furious hand I wreath'd?
Elec. With anguish'd mind, I know, thou didst proceed,
When heard thy wailing mother's piteous cries.
Ores. These words, whilst with her hands she strok'd my cheeks,
Burst forth, "Thy pity I implore, my son;"
Soothing she spoke, as on my cheeks she hung,
That bloodless from my hand the sword might fall.
Chor. Wretched Electra, how could'st thou sustain
A sight like this? How bear thy mother's death,
Seeing her thus before thine eyes expire?
Ores. Holding my robe before mine eyes, I rais'd
The sword and plung'd it in my mother's breast.
Elec. I urged thee to it, I too touch'd the sword.
Chor. Of deeds most dreadful this which thou hast done.
Cover thy mother's body; in her robes
Decent compose her wounded limbs. – Thou gav'st
Being to those who were to murder thee.
DIVINE INTERVENTION
Suddenly over the Permanent Scene two Supernatural Beings appear and move along, recognized by the Chorus as Castor and Pollux, the Family Deities. {1364}
Hear, son of Agamemnon: for to thee
Thy mother's brothers, twin-born sons of Jove
Castor, and this my brother Pollux, speak.
Late, having calmed the ocean waves, that swell'd
The lab'ring vessel menacing, we came
To Argos, where our sister we beheld,
Thy mother, slain: with justice vengeance falls
On her; in thee unholy is the deed.
Yet Phoebus, Phoebus – but, my king is he;
I will be silent: yet, though wise, he gave
To thee response not wise; but I must praise
Perforce these things. Thou now must do what Fate
And Jove decree.
Electra is to marry Pylades, and Orestes to flee to Athens and be purified by the Court on the Hill of Mars: Apollo assisting. Orestes' future life is foretold [thus working out various details of the Orestes legends]. – With awe Orestes, Electra, and Chorus enter into converse with the gods, and the word is confirmed. They failed to avert the trouble from their house on account of dire Fate and 'the voice unwise of Phoebus from his shrine.' There has been a Demon hostile to Electra's parents. – Then the brother and sister's thoughts turn to the life-long separation, and the painful wandering, sorrows e'en to the gods mournful to hear. Farewell to Argos: the Gods hurry Orestes away for the Furies are already on his track, and conclude:
To the impious thro' the ethereal tract
We no assistance bring: but those to whom
Justice and sanctity of life is dear,
We from their dangerous toils relieve and save.
Let no one then unjustly will to act,
Nor in one vessel with the perjured sail:
A god to mortals this monition gives.
Chor. Oh, be you blest! And those, to whom is given
Calmly the course of mortal life to pass,
By no affliction sunk, pronounce we blest.
THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES7
MEMORANDUM
Of the Story as it would be traditionally familiar to the Audience before-hand. – Admetus was the splendid King of Pherae, so famous for the sacred rites of Hospitality that he had Sons of the Gods for Guests, and the God of Brightness, Apollo, himself while he sojourned on earth chose Admetus's household to dwell in. In the full tide of his greatness the time came for him to die: Apollo interposed for his chief votary, and won from the Fates that he might die by substitute. But none was found willing to be the victim, not even his aged parents: at last Alcestis his wife, young and bright as himself, gave herself for her husband and died. Then another Guest-Friend of Admetus came to the rescue, Jupiter's own son Hercules, and by main force wrested Alcestis from the grasp of Death, and restored her to her husband.
PROLOGUE
Scene: Pherae in Thessaly. The early morning sunshine blazes full on the Royal Palace of the Glorious Admetus, and on the statues, conspicuous in front of it, of Jupiter Lord of Host and Guest, and Apollo: nevertheless the Courtyard is silent and deserted. – At last Apollo himself is seen, not aloft in the air as Gods were wont to appear, but on the threshold of the Central Gate.
APOLLO meditates on his happy associations with the house he is quitting. How when there was trouble in heaven, and he himself, for resisting Jove's vengeance on the Healer Aesculapius, was doomed to a year's slavery amongst mortal men, he had bound himself as herdsman to Admetus, and Admetus exercised his lordship with all reverence:
A holy master o'er his holy slave. {13}
How again when trouble came to Admetus he had saved him from the day of death, on condition that another would die in his stead.
His friends, his father, e'en the aged dame {19}
That gave him birth were asked in vain: not one
Was found, his wife except.
The dreadful day has come, and Alcestis is at this moment breathing her last in the arms of her husband: and he himself must leave his loved friend, for Deity may not abide in the neighborhood of death's pollution. {27}
Suddenly, the hideous Phantom of Death becomes visible, ascending the Steps of the Dead [from below the Orchestra on to the Stage]: his pace never flags, yet he cowers, like all things of darkness, before the Bow of Apollo.
Death reproaches Apollo with haunting the dwellings of mortals, and with seeking by that Bow of his to defraud the Infernal Powers of their due. Apollo defends himself: he is but visiting friends he loves: he has no thought of using force. But would he could persuade Death to choose his victims according to the law of nature, and slay ripe lingering age instead of youth!
Death. Greater my glory when the youthful die! {58}
Apollo appeals to self-interest: more sumptuous obsequies await the aged dead. – That, answers Death, were to make laws in favor of the rich. —Apollo condescends to ask mercy for his friend as a favor; but favors, Death sneers, are not in keeping with his manners; and taunts Apollo with his helplessness to resist fate. The taunt rouses Apollo to a flash of prophecy (which is one of his attributes), giving (as the Greek stage loved to do) a glimpse into the end of the story.
Apollo. Yet, ruthless as thou art, soon wilt thou cease {67}
This contest; such a man to Pherae's house
Comes… He, in this house
A welcome guest to Admetus, will by force
Take his wife from thee; and no thanks from me
Will be thy due; yet what I now entreat
Then thou wilt yield, and I shall hate thee still.
Apollo moves away and disappears in the distance [by Left Side-door], while Death, hurling defiance after him, waves his fatal sword and crosses the threshold. {81}
PARODE, OR CHORUS-ENTRY
Enter the Orchestra [by the Right Archway, as from the neighborhood] the Chorus: Old Men of Pherae, come to enquire how it is with the Queen on the morning of this appointed day of her death. As usual in such Chorus-Entries their chanting is accompanied with music and gesture-dance to a rhythm traditionally associated with marching. But by a very unusual effect they enter in disordered ranks, moving in two loosely-formed bodies towards the Central Altar. {82}
1st Semichorus. What a silence encloses the Palace!
What a hush in the house of Admetus!
2nd Semichorus. Not a soul is at hand of the household
To answer our friendly enquiry —
Is it over, all over but weeping?
Or sees she the light awhile longer,
Our Queen, brightest pattern of women
The wide world through,
Most devoted of wives, our Alcestis?
Arriving at the Altar they fall for a time into compact order, and exchange their marching rhythm for the elaborate Choral ritual, the evolutions taking them to the Right of the Orchestra. {89}
Strophe
Full Chorus. Listen for the heavy groan,
Smitten breast and piercing moan,
Ringing out that life is gone.
The house forgets its royal state,
And not a slave attends the gate.
Our sea of woe runs high: – ah, mid the waves
Appear, Great Healer, Apollo!
They break again into loose order and marching rhythm, remaining on the Right of the Orchestra.
1st Semi. Were she dead, could they keep such a silence? {94}
2nd Semi. May it be – she is gone from the Palace?
1st Semi. Never!
2nd Semi. Nay, why so confident answer?
1st Semi. To so precious a corpse could Admetus
Give burial bare of its honours?
They reunite in Choral order and work back to the Altar.
Antistrophe
Full Chorus. Lo, no bath the porch below, {99}
Nor the cleansing fountain's flow,
Gloomy rite for house of woe.
The threshold lacks its locks of hair,
Clipp'd for the dead in death's despair.
Who hears the wailing voice and thud of hands,
The seemly woe of the maidens?
At the Altar they again break up and fall into marching rhythm.
2nd Semi. Yet to-day is the dread day appointed – {105}
1st Semi. Speak not the word!
2nd Semi. The day she must pass into Hades —
1st Semi. I am cut to the heart!
I am cut to the soul!
2nd Semi. When the righteous endure tribulation,
Avails nought long-tried love
Nought is left to the friendly – but mourning!
Accordingly they address themselves to a Full Choral Ode, the evolutions carrying them to the extreme Left of the Orchestra in the Strophe, and in the Antistrophe back to the Altar.
CHORAL INTERLUDE I
Strophe
In vain – our pious vows are vain – {111}
Make we the flying sail our care,
The light bark bounding o'er the main;
To what new realm shall we repair?
To Lycia's hallow'd strand?
Or where in solitary state,
Mid thirsty deserts wild and wide
That close him round on every side,
Prophetic Ammon holds his awful seat?
What charm, what potent hand
Shall save her from the realms beneath?
He comes, the ruthless tyrant Death:
I have no priest, no altar more,
Whose aid I may implore!
Antistrophe
O that the Son of Phoebus now {121}
Lived to behold th' ethereal light!
Then might she leave the seats below,
Where Pluto reigns in cheerless night!
The Sage's potent art,
Till thund'ring Jove's avenging pow'r
Hurl'd his red Thunders at his breast,
Could, from the yawning gulf releast,
To the sweet light of life the dead restore.
Who now shall aid impart?
To ev'ry god, at ev'ry shrine,
The king hath paid the rites divine:
But vain his vows, his pious care;
And ours is dark despair!
EPISODE I
At last they have been heard, and one of the Queen's Women comes weeping from the Palace [by one of the Inferior Doors]: the Chorus fall into their Episode position, in two ranks, between the Altar and the Stage, taking part by their Foreman in the dialogue.
The Chorus eagerly enquire whether Alcestis yet lives. {138}
Attend. As living may I speak of her, and dead. Cho. Living and dead at once, how may that be? Attend. E'en now she sinks in death and breathes her last.
They join in extolling her heroic devotion, and the Attendant tells of her bearing on this day of Death, which she celebrates as if a day of religious festival.
When she knew {160}
The destin'd day was come, in fountain water
She bath'd her lily-tinctured limbs, then took
From her rich chests, of odorous cedar form'd,
A splendid robe, and her most radiant dress;
Thus gorgeously array'd she stood before
The hallow'd flames, and thus address'd her pray'r:
"O Queen, I go to the infernal shades!
Yet, e'er I go, with reverence let me breathe
My last request: Protect my orphan children,
Make my son happy with the wife he loves, {170}
And wed my daughter to a noble husband:
Nor let them, like their mother, to the tomb
Untimely sink, but in their native land
Be blest through length'ned life to honour'd age."
Then to each altar in the royal house
She went, and crown'd it, and address'd her vows,
Plucking the myrtle bough; nor tear, nor sigh
Came from her, neither did the approaching ill
Change the fresh beauties of her vermeil cheek.
Her chamber then she visits, and her bed; {180}
There her tears flow'd, and thus she spoke: "O bed
To which my wedded lord, for whom I die,
Led me a virgin bride, farewell; to thee
No blame do I impute, for me alone
Hast thou destroy'd; disdaining to betray
Thee and my lord, I die: to thee shall come
Some other woman, not more chaste, perchance
More happy" – as she lay, she kissed the couch,
And bath'd it with a flood of tears; that pass'd,
She left her chamber, then return'd, and oft {190}
She left it, oft return'd, and on the couch
Fondly, each time she enter'd, cast herself.
Her children, as they hung upon her robes,
Weeping, she rais'd, and clasp'd them to her breast
Each after each, as now about to die.
Each servant through the house burst into tears
In pity of their mistress; she to each
St[r?]etch'd her right hand; nor was there one so mean
To whom she spoke not, and admitted him
To speak to her again. Within the house {200}
So stands it with Admetus. Had he died,
His woes were over: now he lives to bear
A weight of pain no moment shall forget.
Alcestis is wasting away, and fading with swift disease, while her distracted husband holds her in his arms, entreating impossibilities. And now they are about to bring her out, for the dying Alcestis has a longing for one more sight of heaven and the radiant morning. The Chorus are plunged in despair: how will their king bear to live after the loss of such a wife!
The lamentations rise higher still as the Central Gates open and the couch of Alcestis is borne out, Admetus holding her in his arms, and, her children clinging about her; the Stage fills with weeping friends and attendants. The whole dialogue falls into lyrical measures with strophic alternations just perceptible. Alcestis commences to address the sunshine and fair scenery she has come out to view – when the scene changes to her dying eyes, and she can see nothing but the gloomy river the dead have to cross, with the boatman ready waiting, and the long dreary journey beyond. Dark night is creeping over her eyes, when Admetus, as he ever mingles his passionate prayers with her wanderings, conjures her for her children's sake as well as his own not to forsake them. A thought for her children's future rouses the mother from her stupor, and she rallies for a solemn last appeal [the measure changing to blank verse to mark the change of tone]. She begins to recite the sacrifice she is making for her lord:
I die for thee, though free {284}
Not to have died, but from Thessalia's chiefs
Preferring whom I pleas'd, in royal state
To have lived happy here – I had no will
To live bereft of thee with these poor orphans —
I die without reluctance, though the gifts
Of youth are mine to make life grateful to me. {290}
Yet he that gave thee birth, and she that bore thee,
Deserted thee, though well it had beseem'd them
With honour to have died for thee, t' have saved
Their son with honour, glorious in their death.
They had no child but thee, they had no hope
Of other offspring, should'st thou die; and I
Might thus have lived, thou mightst have lived till age
Crept slowly on, nor wouldst thou heave the sigh
Thus of thy wife deprived, nor train alone
Thy orphan children: – but some God appointed {300}
It should be thus: thus be it.
All this is the basis for a requital she demands of her husband: that he shall let her children be lords in their own house, and not set over them the cruel guardianship of a step-mother.
My son that holds endearing converse with thee {315}
Hath in his father a secure protection;
But who, my daughter, shall with honour guide
Thy virgin years? What woman shalt thou find
New-wedded to thy father, whose vile arts
Will not with slanderous falsehoods taint thy name,
And blast thy nuptials in youth's freshest bloom?
For never shall thy mother see thee led
A bride, nor at thy throes speak comfort to thee,
Then present when a mother's tenderness
Is most alive: for I must die! {325}
The Chorus pledge their faith that the king will honour such a request as long as reason lasts. Admetus addresses a solemn vow to his dying wife, that her will shall be done:
Living thou wast mine, {334}
And dead thou only shalt be called my wife.
It will be only too easy to keep such a pledge as that, for life henceforth will be one long mourning to him.
Hence I renounce
The feast, the cheerful guest, the flow'ry wreath, {350}
And song that used to echo through my house:
For never will I touch the lyre again,
Nor to the Libyan flute's sweet measures raise
My voice: with thee all my delights are dead.
Thy beauteous figure, by the artist's hand
Skillfully wrought, shall in my bed be laid;
By that reclining, I will clasp it to me,
And call it by thy name, and think I hold
My dear wife in my arms, and have her yet,
Though now no more I have her: cold delight {360}
I ween, yet thus th' affliction of my soul
I shall relieve, and visiting my dreams
Shalt thou delight me.
O for the power of Orpheus's lyre, that might rescue thee even from the realms of the dead!