6 Greek Drama & Poetry
At the same time as Greek thought was developing
in Ionia and Italy, Athens gave birth to tragedy and comedy. There seems no
doubt that the rise of tragedy in Athens is linked to the growth of the
two great Dionysia (festivals of the god Dionysius) : the City Dionysia
in January and the Lenaea in March-April.
Legend says that around 540 an actor, Thespis, introduced the
role of a single actor (called "Hypocrite" or
"explainer") into celebrations originally consisting of lyrics sung
by a dancing Chorus of citizens.
There is no clear solution to the question why this serious form of
drama is called "Goat-song" (Tragodia) although it may be
because the Chorus used to be dressed as Satyrs with goats' ears. Originally the choral lyrics must have
celebrated the god Dionysius but before Aeschylus, probably, other
stories were being recalled.
For the Dionysia, three writers were chosen by
the city authorities and each had to prepare the texts of a trilogy of
tragedies and a fourth "satyr-play". A prize was awarded to the best. The authorities also named a rich citizen to be the "Choregus"
of each writer, whose role was to pay the citizens forming the Chorus and also
cover the costs of staging.
Aeschylus liked to offer trilogies telling
related stories, his Oresteia is the only surviving example. Others seem not to have followed
him. It was Aeschylus who
introduced the second individual actor, which makes dialogue possible.
Sophocles then introduced a third actor and Aeschylus quickly followed his
example. Sophocles also introduced
painted scenery, which Aeschylus adopted too. While the Chorus was always composed of citizens, the actors
were professionals, like Sophocles.
The main actor was called the Protagonist.
In the theatres of Greece, the play was a
religious celebration, and therefore open to all citizens, free. Much debate has raged as to whether
women were present at performances; modern opinion tends to think that they
were. The statue of Dionysius presided over the performances from the front
seats. The actors were masked, so that one actor might play several; roles. The
steps on which the audience sat usually follow the curve of a hillside, around the circular dance-area on which
the Chorus performed, the Orchestra.
At the back of the Orchestra was the Skene, a wall against
which there may have been a platform (stage) and with doors that could open to
reveal the result of scenes of horror that happened out of sight inside. There were also machines to allow gods
to descend from above.
In Greek tragedy, violent actions are described,
not presented on¡©stage. The play is a series of lyric passages sung by the
Chorus, interspersed by dialogues between actors or between actor and Chorus.
Aristotle's definition of Tragedy in the
"Poetics" is famous, but he was writing when all the great tragedies
had already been written and the tragedians were dead. His words had no effect on the way they
wrote and may very well not represent accurately what they intended to
represent in their plays, which are mostly illustrations of the arbitrary ways
in which Fate or the gods bring humans to suffering and disaster for no clear
fault of their own.
Greek tragedy is not a 'morality play' in which
people are punished for sin. Much depends on some kind of flaw or latent
characteristic of the main character but all the tragedians stress the theme of
blindness; humans cannot know that they are doing is a transgression of law,
but that does not protect them from the consequences. There are a number of
Greek tragedies which do not end
with the death of the main character, unlike Shakespearean tragedy, for
example.
Aeschylus
Born 525, died 456, he is the father of Greek
tragedy. He wrote some 90 plays,
of which 7 survive: "The Suppliants", "The Persians",
"Seven against Thebes", "Prometheus Bound" and the
"Oresteia" trilogy composed of "Agamemnon", "The
Coephori", "The Eumenides". The action of his plays is usually quite static, the tone,
especially of the choral lyrics, is solemn, exalted and religious. He struggles to combine a respect for
the gods, especially for Zeus, with the highest vision of human morality.
The Oresteia leads from the news
of the fall of Troy, through Agamemnon's murder by Clytemnestra to her murder
by Orestes, encouraged by his sister Electra. Orestes is then pursued by the Furies for having shed his
mother's blood, but is sent to Athens where he presents his defense to the
citizens who justify him and dismiss the Furies' claims. The Chorus, old men of Argos, witness
the events they cannot control, and pay homage to the greatness of Zeus.
Agamemnon
The play opens at the palace of King Agamemnon
of Argos. A Watchman stands
waiting, then spots a beacon in
the distance signalling that the Greeks have conquered Troy. He is overjoyed and runs off to tell
Agamemnon's wife Clytemnestra. The
Chorus speaks of the war, and of
how Agamemnon had sacrificed his daughter Iphigenia in order to get a fair wind
when setting off for Troy ten years before. At that time Calchas the prophet
spoke:
"Bless
the sign we saw today!
Cancel
all its presaged ill,
all
its promised good fulfil!
Next
my anxious prayers entreat
Lord
Apollo's hearing power,
that
his sister may not plan
winds
to chain the Hellene fleet;
that
her grievance may not crave
blood to drench another grave
from
a different sacrifice
hallowed by no festal joy,
blood
that builds a tower of hate,
mad
blood raging to destroy
its
self-source, a ruthless Fate
warring
with the flesh of man;
bloodshed
bringing in its train
kindred
blood that flows again,
anger
still unreconciled
poisoning
a house's life
with
darkness, treachery and strife,
wreaking
vengeance for a murdered child."
So
Calchas, from that parting prodigy
auguring
the royal house's destiny,
pronounced
his warning of a fatal curse,
with
hope of better mingling fear of worse.
Let
us too, echoing his uncertain tale,
cry
Sorrow, Sorrow, yet let good prevail!
Let
good prevail!
So
be it! Yet what is good? And who
is
God? How name him, and speak
true?
If
he accept the name that men
give
him, Zeus I name him then.
I,
still perplexed in mind,
for
long have searched and weighed
every
hope of comfort or of aid:
still
I can find
no
creed to lift this heaviness,
this
fear that haunts without excuse,
no
name inviting faith, no wistful guess,
save
only Zeus.
Zeus,
whose will has marked for man
the
sole way where wisdom lies;
ordered
one eternal plan:
Man
must suffer to be wise.
Head-winds
heavy with past ill
stray
his course and cloud his heart:
sorrow
takes the blind soul's part,
man
grows wise against his will.
For
powers who rule from thrones above
by
ruthlessness commend their love.
The
scale of Justice falls in equity:
The
killer will be killed.
But
now, farewell foreboding!
Time
may show, but cannot alter, what shall be.
What
help, then, to bewail troubles before they fall?
Events
will take their way
even
as the prophet's words foreshadowed all.
For
what is next at hand,
let
good prevail!
The Chorus has doubts but a herald arrives to
confirm the message. The herald
speaks of the horrors of the war and of how much the men missed their
homeland. Clytemnestra enters. She tells the herald to go tell
Agamemnon how much she missed him and that she has been true to him.
Agamemnon enters in a chariot with Cassandra,
the daughter of Priam beside him.
Clytemnestra enters and pledges her love to Agamemnon before
everyone. She orders her
handmaidens to lay rich purple cloth before Agamemnon's feet (an honour likely to
lead him into hubris / pride).
Agamemnon refuses to walk on it, saying that he is merely a man, not a
god. Clytemnestra convinces him to
walk into his house on the cloth, but he takes his sandals off first. Agamemnon and Clytemnestra enter the
house.
Cassandra stays behind in the chariot. Clytemnestra comes back out of the
house and tells Cassandra to come inside.
Cassandra does not respond, and Clytemnestra goes back inside. Cassandra cries out to Apollo, laments
her capture and prophesies her own death together with Agamemnon at the hands
of Clytemnestra. Cassandra tells
the chorus of how Apollo granted her the gift of prophesy, but when she refused
his advances, he ordained that nobody would ever believe her. Cassandra enters
the house.
The Chorus hears Agamemnon cry out inside the
house. They debate whether to rush in or wait for reinforcements. The doors open to reveal Clytemnestra
standing over the bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra. Clytemnestra explains that the killing of Agamemnon was
revenge for his sacrifice of their daughter at the start of the war.
Clytemnestra:
Now
hear what is just ‑ my oath!
I
swear by the goddess, Judgement, that I accomplished this for my daughter ‑
And
also by Ate and Erinys for whom I slit his throat.
Thus
could I hope to enter, without fear, that dwelling
Until
Aegisthus makes the fire on my hearth:
He
who has previously been well‑disposed toward me.
For,
there, is that not insignificant shield who gave us courage
There
lies he who dishonoured this woman,
He
who while near Ilion was the delight of those like the daughter of Chryseis
And
she whom he won by his spear ‑ that observer of omens
With
whom he had intercourse, that prophetess who loyally slept with him
Even
when his ship was under sail at sea!
And
such conduct was not without dishonour!
For
thus things are: he was laid out here while she,
As
is the custom with swans, wailed her last call for her loved one
While
she died, serving me additional dish ‑
Sensuous
and spicy ‑ because they had been lovers!
Chorus:
If
only something, neither excessively painful
Nor
which makes me bed‑ridden ‑ some fate ‑ would swiftly arrive
To
convey me to that everlasting endless sleep,
Since
he, our protector, well‑disposed toward us, has been tamed
Having
endured much from a woman
And
having that woman end his life.
Helen
‑ you who went beyond what is proper ‑
Because
of you alone that multitude, that great multitude,
Lost
their lives near Troy!
Now
you have crowned that long‑to‑be‑recalled achievement
By
this blood you cannot wash away ‑
For
you were in that dwelling,
You,
Strife ‑ who by an affliction vigorously tamed a man!
Clytemnestra:
Because
of these grievous things, no one should invoke a fatal curse upon
Nor
turn their wrath toward, Helen
As
if she was some man‑killer who alone destroyed
The
lives of those many Danean men
By
having wrought such a festering wound!
Chorus:
You
‑ daimon ‑ who has befallen that family
And
those two descendants of Tantalus:
Your
strength is in those women whose natures are the same ‑
So
strong, you gnaw at my heart!
And,
as is customary among hostile ravens, you stand
Upon
that body, calling your invoking unnatural call!
Clytemnestra
:
What
you spoke of knowing is now put right
By
you calling upon the thrice‑fed daimon of this family:
For
there was in him a lust to feed on fresh food by sucking new blood
Before
this most ancient affliction was over.
Chorus:
What
you praise in indeed for that family
a
mighty and wrathful daimon ‑
But
it is an ill‑omened praising of a still unsatisfied, injurious misfortune.
It
is Zeus who causes everything, who cultivates all things ‑
For
what can mortals achieve without Zeus?
What
of this has been done without some god?
My
Chief ‑ how may I make lament for you?
What
can I say so that others can judge our friendship?
But
you are there ‑ within what that spider wove,
Having
breathed out your life: killed, with no respect shown,
By
that ignoble embrace ‑
Tamed
by death through a cunning hand
With
a double‑edged weapon
Clytemnestra:
So
you affirm that it was me who did that work?
But
do not add to those words that it was me who was the mistress of Agamemnon
Since
the wife of this corpse presents herself here
As
that most ancient fierce Avenger.
It
is Atreus, he is of that cruel feast,
Who,
in payment for that, has added to his young victims
This
adult one.
Chorus:
Is
there anyone who will bear witness
That
you are blameless in this killing?
But
‑ how can that be? Perhaps, because of that one's father,
The
Avenger might have helped you ‑
Dark
Ares compelled
By
the blood flowing from those sharing the same seed
To
go to where he will give satisfaction
For
those stains left behind after those boys
Had
been made into food.
My
Chief ‑ how may I make lament for you?
What
can I say so that others can judge our friendship?
But
you are there ‑ within what that spider wove,
Having
breathed out your life: killed, with no respect shown,
By
that ignoble embrace ‑
Tamed
by death through a cunning hand
With
a double‑edged weapon.
Clytemnestra:
But
do not suppose that his killing was ignoble
For
did he not by his cunning set Misfortune upon this family?
Since
he to that young shoot which I raised ‑
My
lphigenia, of the many laments ‑
Did
what merited him suffering what he did,
Then
he cannot, before Hades, make great boasts,
Having
been killed by a sword‑wound to pay for what he began!
Chorus:
I
lack a plan ‑ robbed of reasons,
I
am divided about the right means:
What
to do now this family has fallen?
I
fear blood thundering‑down during a storm
Which
will shake this settlement!
The
drizzle has ceased ‑ and for another deed of injury,
Fate
sharpens another sword for the goddess, Judgement.
Gaia!
‑ Would that you had consumed me
Before
I was shown him laid low while in his silver‑walled bath!
Who
will bury him? Who will give his eulogy?
Will
you ‑ having killed your own man ‑ dare
To
make lament for his life, unfairly granting him
Such
a thankless favour for his mighty deeds?
Who
over his cairn will utter the praises
Of
he who, descended from a god, was a hero?
Who,
through such a labour, will reveal his heart?
Clytemnestra:
It
is not fitting for you to trouble yourself with such concerns.
It
was by me that he fell, that he died ‑
And
so I shall bury him, with no family lamenting him,
Although
his daughter, lphigenia ‑ as she ought to ‑
Will
welcome her father
After
he is ferried over the swift‑flowing Acheron,
Embracing
him with a kiss.
Chorus:
This
rebuke has arisen because of the other rebukes:
And
it is difficult to choose which side to fight on.
He
who carried things away, is carried away ‑ having killed, he has paid;
For
this remains, while the aeon of Zeus remains:
There
is adversity in deeds, for that is his law.
Who
in that family can expel the seed of that curse?
For
Misfortune has fastened herself onto that brood.
Aegisthus enters with his bodyguard. He is happy to see Agamemnon's body,
explaining that it was justice for what Agamemnon's father (Atreus) had done to
his father (Thyestes). (Thyestes
had challenged Atreus for the throne.
Thyestes was driven from the city.
When he returned, Atreus held a feast for him and served Thyestes'
children to him for dinner.)
Aegisthus admits to conceiving of the plot to
kill Agamemnon and to having slept with Clytemnestra while Agamemnon was away
at war. The Chorus calls him a
coward. He tells them that he
plans to become king then threatens the Chorus, who draw their swords, ready to
fight. Clytemnestra begs Aegisthus
not to shed anymore blood.
The Chorus tells him that he will be sorry when
Agamemnon's son Orestes returns.
Aegisthus tells them they will be sorry for their insolence. Aegisthus and Clytemnestra enter the
house together.
Coephori (The
Libation Bearers)
Agamemnon's son Orestes arrives home with his
friend Pylades. They visit
Agamemnon's grave. Orestes lays a
lock of his hair on the grave.
They hide when they see Agamemnon's daughter Electra arriving at the
gravesite with the chorus. Electra
asks how she should grieve. The chorus responds by telling her to pray for the
health of herself and Orestes and for the death of those who killed her
father. She does. The chorus prays that a strong man will
come to avenge Agamemnon's death.
Electra sees the hair and remarks that it is just like hers. She and the chorus decide it must be
Orestes'. She also notices
footprints that look much like hers.
Orestes reveals himself. Electra doesn't recognize him at first,
but when she does, they speak.
Orestes tells how Apollo's oracle told him that he must avenge his
father's death or die. Orestes,
Electra and the chorus lament, then turn to thoughts of revenge.
Electra
Hear me, O
father, once again hear me.
Lo! at thy
tomb, two fledglings of thy brood‑
A man‑child and
a maid; hold them in ruth,
Nor wipe
them out, the last of Pelops' line.
For while
they live, thou livest from the dead;
Children are
memory's voices, and preserve
The dead
from wholly dying: as a net
Is ever by
the buoyant corks upheld,
Which save
the flax‑mesh, in the depth submerged.
Listen, this
wail of ours doth rise for thee,
And as thou
heedest it thyself art saved.
Chorus
In sooth, a
blameless prayer ye spake at length‑
The tomb's
requital for its dirge denied:
Now, for the
rest, as thou art fixed to do,
Take fortune
by the hand and work thy will.
Orestes
The doom is
set; and yet I fain would ask‑
Not swerving
from the course of my resolve,‑
Wherefore
she sent these offerings, and why
She softens
all too late her cureless deed?
An idle boon
it was, to send them here
Unto the dead
who recks not of such gifts.
I cannot
guess her thought, but well I reckon
Such gifts
are useless to atone such crime.
Be blood
once spilled, an idle strife he strives
Who seeks
with other wealth or wine outpoured
To atone the
deed. So stands the word, nor fails.
Yet would I
know her thought; speak, if thou knowest.
Chorus
I know it,
son; for at her side I stood.
'Twas the
night‑wandering terror of a dream
That flung
her shivering from her couch, and bade her‑
Her, the
accursed of God‑these offerings send.
Orestes
Heard ye the
dream, to tell it forth aright?
Chorus
Yea, from
herself; her womb a serpent bare.
Orestes
What then
the sum and issue of the tale?
Chorus
Even as a
swaddled child, she lulled the thing.
Orestes
What
suckling craved the creature, born full‑fanged?
Chorus
Yet in her
dreams she proffered it the breast.
Orestes
How? did the
hateful thing not bite her teat?
Chorus
Yea, and
sucked forth a blood‑gout in the milk.
Orestes
Not vain
this dream‑it bodes a man's revenge.
Chorus
Then out of
sleep she started with a cry,
And through
the palace for their mistress' aid
Full many
lamps, that erst lay blind with night,
Flared into
light; then, even as mourners use,
She sends
these offerings, in hope to win
A cure to
cleave and sunder sin from doom.
Orestes
Earth and my
father's grave, to you I call‑
Give this
her dream fulfillment, and through' me.
I read it in
each part coincident
With what
shall be; for mark, that serpent sprang
From the
same womb as I, in swaddling bands
By the same
hands was swathed, lipped the same breast,
And sucking
forth the same sweet mother's‑milk
Infused a
clot of blood; and in alarm
She cried
upon her wound the cry of pain.
The sense is
clear: the thing of dread she nursed,
The death of
blood she dies; and I, 'tis I,
In semblance
of a serpent, that must slay her.
Thou art my
seer, and thus I read the dream.
Orestes and Pylades arrive at the city gates and
cry to be let in as friendly visitors bearing important news. Clytemnestra asks for details. Orestes says that he has news of
Orestes' death. She lets them in.
Orestes' old nurse, Cilissa, enters in tears. She tells the Chorus that Clytemnestra told her the news and
asked her to summon Aegisthus so that he might hear it directly from the
travellers. Cilissa says that
Clytemnestra feigned grief, but she could tell that she was truly happy at the
prospect of Orestes' death.
Cilissa tells the Chorus that she is to tell Aegisthus to bring his
bodyguards with him. They tell her
not to mention this, and hint that Orestes may still be alive. Cilissa exits. The Chorus pleads with Zeus to protect
Orestes.
Aegisthus enters and asks the Chorus if it knows
of the report of Orestes' death.
They suggest that he should hear it directly from the traveller. Aegisthus exits. A cry is heard from inside the
house. A servant enters,
announcing that Aegisthus has been killed. Clytemnestra enters and is told that Orestes lives and has
killed Aegisthus. She calls for an
ax.
Orestes
and Pylades enter with swords drawn.
Clytemnestra
Woe, woe!
Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain!
Orestes
What, lovest
the man? then in his grave lie down,
Be his in
death, desert him nevermore!
Clytemnestra
Stay, child,
and fear to strike. O son, this breast
Pillowed
thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep,
Thy
toothless mouth drew mother's milk from me.
Orestes
Can I my
mother spare? speak, Pylades.
Pylades
Where then
would fall the order Apollo gave
At Delphi,
where the solemn compact sworn?
Choose thou
the hate of all men, not of gods.
Orestes
Thou dost
prevail; I hold thy counsel good.
Follow; I
will slay thee at his side.
With him
whom in his life thou loved'st more
Than
Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meed
For hate
where love, and love where hate was due!
Clytemnestra
I nursed
thee young; must I forego mine old age?
Orestes
Thou slew'st
my father; shalt thou dwell with me?
Clytemnestra
Fate bore a
share in these things, O my child
Orestes
Fate also
doth provide this doom for thee.
Orestes and Pylades take her inside. The doors
of the house open to reveal Orestes and Pylades standing over the bodies of
Clytemnestra and Aegisthus.
Orestes says that he feels compelled to leave. The chorus begs him to stay. Orestes leaves.
The chorus wishes him well.
Eumenides (The Kind Ones)
The play opens in Delphi before the sanctuary of
Apollo. The Pythia (priestess of
Apollo) enters. She enters the
temple and comes back out almost immediately. She tells of a terrible vision of a man holding a bloody
sword and standing before a group of sleeping hideous monsters of unknown
origin. The doors of the temple
open to show Orestes surrounded by the sleeping Furies (the Eumenides), Apollo
and Hermes beside him.
Apollo tells Orestes that he must travel to the
temple of Athena in Athens, and that there he will be judged. Until then the Furies will relentlessly
pursue him. Apollo promises to
protect him (as he has now by putting the Furies to sleep) since it was Apollo
who made Orestes kill his mother.
Apollo asks Hermes (the god who guides) to watch over Orestes on his
journey. Apollo leaves, then
Orestes, guided by Hermes.
The ghost of Clytemnestra enters. She wakes the Furies (who also serve as
the chorus). They curse Apollo for
helping Orestes to get away. The
scene moves to Athens before the temple of Athena. Orestes enters, announcing that he has come to be judged. The Furies enter and see Orestes. Orestes calls on Athena to set him
free. Athena enters in full armour.
The chorus presents its case.
Orestes presents his.
Athena says that the case is too serious for her to try. She will assemble a jury of her finest
citizens to judge the case.
Athena re‑enters, guiding the citizens chosen as
jurors. Apollo enters, announcing that he has come to testify. Orestes admits to killing his mother at
the instruction of Apollo (though he does not blame Apollo). Orestes asks
Apollo to defend him. Apollo says
that Orestes' actions were Zeus' will.
Athena announces that in the case of a tie, her vote will decide the
issue, and that she votes for Orestes.
The votes come out equal, so Orestes wins. Orestes thanks Apollo and Athena and vows that as long as he
lives, and to the extent he can after death, he will ensure that his people are
always on the side of the Athenians.
Orestes and Apollo exit.
The Furies, upset at begin overruled by the
younger gods, vows to cause suffering throughout the land. Athena says that she will grant them a
home under the city. The Furies
ask about the place she would give them.
Athena agrees to give them the power that no house will be prosperous
without their will. The Furies
accept the offer of a home at Athena's side and the play ends in a Hymn of
Blessing:
With
loyalty we lead you; proudly go,
Night's
childless children, to your home below!
O citizens,
awhile from words forbear!
To darkness'
deep primeval lair,
Far in
Earth's bosom, downward fare,
Adored with
prayer and sacrifice.
O citizens,
forbear your cries!
Pass this
way, ye powers of Dread,
With all
your former wrath allayed,
Into the
heart of this loved land;
With joy
unto your temple wend,
The while
upon your steps attend
The flames
that feed upon the brand‑
Now, now
ring out your chant, your joy's acclaim!
Behind them,
as they downward fare,
Let holy
hands libations bear,
And torches'
sacred flame.
All‑seeing
Zeus and Fate come down
To battle
fair for Pallas' town!
Ring out
your chant, ring out your joy's acclaim!
Prometheus Bound
The strange, isolated play about Prometheus is
one of the greatest works of literature that exist. The unbowed dignity of the Titan Prometheus, bound to a rock
and tormented by Zeus, is equalled by some of the cries of Job in the Old
Testament. Our sympathy for
Prometheus is required by his role of benefactor, it is he who has given fire
to men.
At the start of the play Hephaestus binds the
silent Prometheus to a rock in the Scythian wilderness for having defied Zeus
and given fire and hope to men, after helping Zeus overthrow his father Cronos.
He speaks alone before the arrival of the Chorus composed of the Oceanides,
daughters of the Titan Oceanus.
Prometheus
O divine air
Breezes on swift bird‑wings,
Ye river
fountains, and of ocean‑waves
The
multitudinous laughter Mother Earth!
And thou all‑seeing
circle of the sun,
Behold what
I, a God, from Gods endure!
Look down
upon my shame,
The cruel
wrong that racks my frame,
The grinding
anguish that shall waste my strength,
Till time's
ten thousand years have measured out their length!
He hath
devised these chains,
The new
throned potentate who reigns,
Chief of the
chieftains of the Blest. Ah me!
The woe which
is and that which yet shall be
I wail; and
question make of these wide skies
When shall
the star of my deliverance rise.
And yet‑and
yet‑exactly I foresee
All that
shall come to pass; no sharp surprise
Of pain shall overtake
me; what's determined
Bear, as I
can, I must, knowing the might
Of strong
Necessity is unconquerable.
But touching
my fate silence and speech alike
Are
insupportable. For boons bestowed
On mortal
men I am straitened in these bonds.
I sought the
fount of fire in hollow reed
Hid privily,
a measureless resource
For man, and
mighty teacher of all arts.
This is the
crime that I must expiate
Hung here in
chains, nailed 'neath the open sky. Ha! Ha!
What echo,
what odour floats by with no sound?
God‑wafted
or mortal or mingled its strain?
Comes there
one to this world's end, this mountain‑girt ground,
To have
sight of my torment? Or of what is he fain?
A God ye
behold in bondage and pain,
The foe of
Zeus and one at feud with all
The deities
that find
Submissive entry
to the tyrant's hall;
His fault,
too great a love of humankind.
Ah me! Ah
me! what wafting wings
As of great
birds of prey, is this I hear?
The bright
air fanned
Whistles and
shrills with rapid beat of wings.
There cometh
nought but to my spirit brings
Horror and
fear.
The
Chorus enters, Prometheus tells of
Zeus' anger.
Prometheus
I took from
man expectancy of death.
Chorus
What
medicine found'st thou for this malady?
Prometheus
I planted
blind hope in the heart of him.
Chorus
A mighty
boon thou gavest there to man.
Prometheus
Moreover, I
conferred the gift of fire.
Chorus
And have frail
mortals now the flame‑bright fire?
Prometheus
Yea, and
shall master many arts thereby.
Chorus
And Zeus
with such misfeasance charging thee‑
Prometheus
Torments me
with extremity of woe.
Oceanus
himself comes, and tries to convince Prometheus that he should submit to Zeus.
He refuses, then tells the Chorus how he brought civilization to humanity:
Prometheus
In the
beginning, seeing they saw amiss,
And hearing
heard not, but, like phantoms huddled
In dreams,
the perplexed story of their days
Confounded;
knowing neither timber‑work
Nor brick‑built
dwellings basking in the light,
But dug for
themselves holes, wherein like ants,
That hardly
may contend against a breath,
They dwelt
in burrows of their unsunned caves.
Neither of
winter's cold had they fixed sign,
Nor of the
spring when she comes decked with flowers,
Nor yet of
summer's heat with melting fruits
Sure token:
but utterly without knowledge
Moiled,
until I the rising of the stars
Showed them,
and when they set, though much obscure.
Moreover,
number, the most excellent
Of all inventions,
I for them devised,
And gave
them writing that retaineth all,
The
serviceable mother of the Muse.
I was the
first that yoked unmanaged beasts,
To serve as
slaves with collar and with pack,
And take
upon themselves, to man's relief,
The heaviest
labour of his hands: and
Tamed to the
rein and drove in wheeled cars
The horse,
of sumptuous pride the ornament.
And those
sea‑wanderers with the wings of cloth,
The
shipman's waggons, none but I contrived.
These
manifold inventions for mankind
I perfected,
who, out upon't, have none‑
No, not one
shift‑to rid me of this shame.
Chorus
Thy sufferings have been
shameful, and thy mind
Strays at a
loss: like to a bad physician
Fallen sick,
thou art out of heart: nor canst prescribe
For thine
own case the draught to make thee sound.
Prometheus
But hear the
sequel and the more admire
What arts,
what aids I cleverly evolved.
The chiefest
that, if any man fell sick,
There was no
help for him, comestible,
Lotion or
potion; but for lack of drugs
They
dwindled quite away; until I taught them
To compound
draughts and healing mixtures
Wherewith
they now are armed against disease.
I staked the
winding path of divination
And was the
first distinguisher of dreams,
The true
from false; and voices ominous
Of meaning
dark interpreted; and tokens
Seen when
men take the road; and augury
By flight of
all the greater crook‑clawed birds
With nice
discrimination I defined;
These by
their nature fair and favourable,
Those,
flattered with fair name. And of each sort
The habits I
described; their mutual feuds
And
friendships and the assemblages they hold.
And of the
plumpness of the inward parts
What colour
is acceptable to the Gods,
The well‑streaked
liver‑lobe and gall‑bladder.
Also by
roasting limbs well wrapped in fat
And the long
chine, I led men on the road
Of dark and
riddling knowledge; and I purged
The glancing
eye of fire, dim before,
And made its
meaning plain. These are my works.
Then, things
beneath the earth, aids hid from man,
Brass, iron,
silver, gold, who dares to say
He was
before me in discovering?
None, I know
well, unless he loves to babble.
And in a
single word to sum the whole‑
All manner
of arts men from Prometheus learned.
Chorus
Shoot not
beyond the mark in succouring man
While thou
thyself art comfortless: for
Am of good
hope that from these bonds escaped
Thou shalt
one day be mightier than Zeus.
Prometheus
Fate, that
brinks all things to an end, not thus
Apportioneth
my lot: ten thousand pangs
Must bow,
ten thousand miseries afflict me
Ere from
these bonds I freedom find, for Art
Is by much
weaker than Necessity.
Prometheus knows the secret of a threat to Zeus,
but refuses to reveal it, although Zeus will set him free if he does. Io
enters, pursued by flies and ghosts, transformed into a cow by Hera's jealousy
for having been loved by Zeus. Prometheus tells her of her future destiny, of
long journeys and immense suffering; at the same time he hints at the secret he
knows, that if Zeus marries the wrong person, the child of that marriage will
overthrow him. Io pursues her journey,
maddened. Hermes comes to demand Prometheus's submission, in vain. He
warns of Zeus's increased punishment but Prometheus remains adamant:
Prometheus
These are
stale tidings I foreknew;
Therefore,
since suffering is the due
A foe must
pay his foes,
Let curled
lightnings clasp and clash
And close
upon my limbs: loud crash
The thunder,
and fierce throes
Of savage
winds convulse calm air:
The
embowelled blast earth's roots uptear
And toss
beyond its bars,
The rough
surge, till the roaring deep
In one
devouring deluge sweep
The pathway
of the stars
Finally, let
him fling my form
Down
whirling gulfs, the central storm
Of being;
let me lie
Plunged in
the black Tartarean gloom;
Yet‑yet‑his
sentence shall not doom
This
deathless self to die!
As the play ends, he sinks into the ground to
endure the punishment ordained, together with the Oceanides. It seems that in
the lost later plays of the trilogy he was free and had told Zeus how to avoid
the danger threatening him, but no story tells how his punishment was brought
to an end.
Sophocles
Born in 496, died in 406, Sophocles wrote some
120 plays, won the first prize 18 times, 7 of his plays survive:
"Antigone", "Oedipus", "Electra",
"Ajax", "Trachiniae" (The Death of Heracles), "Philoc¡©tetes",
and "Oedipus at Colonus".
While Aeschylus is deeply religious, Sophocles shows a human individual
at the centre, choosing to act, then assuming the consequences of that
choice. The role of the Chorus is
less developed than in Aeschylus, while the dialogue in Sophocles is more
'realistic' and 'psychological' than in Aeschylus; the plays offer more
detailed psychology, although always of a heroic kind. Antigone and Electra are noble female
figures, gentle and full of courage.
Sophocles' dramas have great simplicity, all is reduced to its noblest
human essence. He was much admired
by Racine, by Lessing; Shelley drowned with a book of his works in his
pocket. He is the most frequently
acted of the three in modern times.
Oedipus the King (c. 427 B.C.)
The play opens in front of the palace of Oedipus
at Thebes. Oedipus asks a priest
and his supplicants what they want.
The priest thanks him for saving them from the Sphinx, but tells him
that the city needs saving again from a plague that has descended. Oedipus says that he has sent a
messenger to Apollo's shrine to find out what he must do to save the city. The messenger arrives and says that
Apollo told him that the man who murdered former King Laius must be discovered
and driven from the land. Oedipus
vows to do so.
Oedipus asks anyone knowing the identity of the
murderer to step forward without fear of harm. He curses those who have knowledge and do not step
forth. The chorus says he should
ask the prophet Teiresias.
Teiresias enters. He says
he knows something but refuses to speak.
Oedipus accuses Teiresias of having a part in the murder. Teiresias accuses Oedipus of being the
murderer. Oedipus concludes that
former king Creon must have put Teiresias up to making the accusations. Teiresias tells Oedipus that his
downfall will come when he learns the secret of his marriage, and asks him if
he knows who his parents are.
Oedipus orders him out of the house. Teiresias tells him that the murderer will be proved both
father and brother to his children.
Teiresias and Oedipus leave separately. The Chorus sings:
Chorus
Sore
perplexed am I by the words of the master seer.
Are
they true, are they false? I know not and bridle my tongue for fear,
Fluttered
with vague surmise; nor present nor future is clear.
Quarrel
of ancient date or in days still near know I none
Twixt
the Labdacidan house and our ruler, Polybus' son.
Proof
is there none: how then can I challenge our King's good name,
How
in a blood‑feud join for an untracked deed of shame?
All
wise are Zeus and Apollo, and nothing is hid from their ken;
They
are gods; and in wits a man may surpass his fellow men;
But
that a mortal seer knows more than I know‑‑where
Hath
this been proven? Or how without sign assured, can I blame
Him
who saved our State when the winged songstress came,
Tested
and tried in the light of us all, like gold assayed?
How
can I now assent when a crime is on Oedipus laid?
Creon enters, denying the allegations that he
has heard Oedipus made. Oedipus enters
and accuses Creon of being the murderer and trying to take the throne. Creon denies this. Oedipus proposes to kill Creon. Oedipus' wife, Jocasta, enters. Everyone, including Jocasta, begs
Oedipus to spare Creon on the strength of Creon's oath that he is
innocent. Oedipus consents, but
pledges to forever hate Creon.
Creon exits.
Oedipus tells Jocasta that Creon had sent the
prophet to accuse him of the murder.
Jocasta
Then
thou mayest ease thy conscience on that score.
Listen
and I'll convince thee that no man
Hath
scot or lot in the prophetic art.
Here
is the proof in brief. An oracle
Once
came to Laius (I will not say
'Twas
from the Delphic god himself, but from
His
ministers) declaring he was doomed
To
perish by the hand of his own son,
A
child that should be born to him by me.
Now
Laius‑‑so at least report affirmed‑‑
Was
murdered on a day by highwaymen,
No
natives, at a spot where three roads meet.
As
for the child, it was but three days old,
When
Laius, its ankles pierced and pinned
Together,
gave it to be cast away
By
others on the trackless mountain side.
So
then Apollo brought it not to pass
The
child should be his father's murderer,
Or
the dread terror find accomplishment,
And
Laius be slain by his own son.
Such
was the prophet's horoscope. O king,
Regard
it not. Whate'er the god deems fit
To
search, himself unaided will reveal.
Oedipus
What
memories, what wild tumult of the soul
Came
o'er me, lady, as I heard thee speak!
Jocasta
What
mean'st thou? What has shocked and startled thee?
Oedipus
Methought
I heard thee say that Laius
Was
murdered at the meeting of three roads.
Jocasta
So
ran the story that is current still.
Oedipus
Where
did this happen? Dost thou know the place?
Jocasta
Phocis
the land is called; the spot is where
Branch
roads from Delphi and from Daulis meet.
Oedipus
And
how long is it since these things befell?
Jocasta
'Twas
but a brief while were thou wast proclaimed
Our
country's ruler that the news was brought.
Oedipus
O
Zeus, what hast thou willed to do with me!
Jocasta
What
is it, Oedipus, that moves thee so?
Oedipus
Ask
me not yet; tell me the build and height
Of
Laius? Was he still in manhood's prime?
Jocasta
Tall
was he, and his hair was lightly strewn
With
silver; and not unlike thee in form.
Oedipus
O
woe is me! Mehtinks unwittingly
I
laid but now a dread curse on myself.
Jocasta
What
say'st thou? When I look upon thee, my king,
I
tremble.
Oedipus
'Tis
a dread presentiment
That
in the end the seer will prove not blind.
One
further question to resolve my doubt.
Jocasta
I
quail; but ask, and I will answer all.
Oedipus
Had
he but few attendants or a train
Of
armed retainers with him, like a prince?
Jocasta
They
were but five in all, and one of them
A
herald; Laius in a mule‑car rode.
Oedipus
Alas!
'tis clear as noonday now. But say,
Lady,
who carried this report to Thebes?
Jocasta
A
serf, the sole survivor who returned.
Oedipus
Haply
he is at hand or in the house?
Jocasta
No,
for as soon as he returned and found
Thee
reigning in the stead of Laius slain,
He
clasped my hand and supplicated me
To
send him to the alps and pastures, where
He
might be farthest from the sight of Thebes.
And
so I sent him. 'Twas an honest slave
And
well deserved some better recompense.
Oedipus
Fetch
him at once. I want to see the man.
Jocasta
He
shall be brought; but wherefore summon him?
Oedipus
Lady,
I fear my tongue has overrun
Discretion;
therefore I would question him.
Jocasta
Well,
he shall come, but may not I too claim
To
share the burden of thy heart, my king?
Oedipus
And
thou shalt not be frustrate of thy wish.
Now
my imaginings have gone so far.
Who
has a higher claim that thou to hear
My
tale of dire adventures? Listen then.
My
sire was Polybus of Corinth, and
My
mother Merope, a Dorian;
And
I was held the foremost citizen,
Till
a strange thing befell me, strange indeed,
Yet
scarce deserving all the heat it stirred.
A
roisterer at some banquet, flown with wine,
Shouted
"Thou art not true son of thy sire."
It
irked me, but I stomached for then
The
insult; on the morrow I sought out
My
mother and my sire and questioned them.
They
were indignant at the random slur
Cast
on my parentage and did their best
To
comfort me, but still the venomed barb
Rankled,
for still the scandal spread and grew.
So
privily without their leave I went
To
Delphi, and Apollo sent me back
Baulked
of the knowledge that I came to seek.
But
other grievous things he prophesied,
Woes,
lamentations, mourning, portents dire;
To
wit I should defile my mother's bed
And
raise up seed too loathsome to behold,
And
slay the father from whose loins I sprang.
Then,
lady,‑‑thou shalt hear the very truth‑‑
As
I drew near the triple‑branching roads,
A
herald met me and a man who sat
In
a car drawn by colts‑‑as in thy tale‑‑
The
man in front and the old man himself
Threatened
to thrust me rudely from the path,
Then
jostled by the charioteer in wrath
I
struck him, and the old man, seeing this,
Watched
till I passed and from his car brought down
Full
on my head the double‑pointed goad.
Yet
was I quits with him and more; one stroke
Of
my good staff sufficed to fling him clean
Out
of the chariot seat and laid him prone.
And
so I slew them every one. But if
Betwixt
this stranger there was aught in common
With
Laius, who more miserable than I,
What
mortal could you find more god‑abhorred?
Wretch
whom no sojourner, no citizen
May
harbor or address, whom all are bound
To
harry from their homes. And this same curse
Was
laid on me, and laid by none but me.
Yea
with these hands all gory I pollute
The
bed of him I slew. Say, am I vile?
Am
I not utterly unclean, a wretch
Doomed
to be banished, and in banishment
Forgo
the sight of all my dearest ones,
And
never tread again my native earth;
Or
else to wed my mother and slay my sire,
Polybus,
who begat me and upreared?
If
one should say, this is the handiwork
Of
some inhuman power, who could blame
His
judgment? But, ye pure and awful gods,
Forbid,
forbid that I should see that day!
May
I be blotted out from living men
Ere
such a plague spot set on me its brand!
Chorus
We
too, O king, are troubled; but till thou
Hast
questioned the survivor, still hope on.
Oedipus
My
hope is faint, but still enough survives
To
bid me bide the coming of this herd.
Jocasta
Suppose
him here, what wouldst thou learn of him?
Oedipus
I'll
tell thee, lady; if his tale agrees
With
thine, I shall have 'escaped calamity.
Jocasta
And
what of special import did I say?
Oedipus
In
thy report of what the herdsman said
Laius
was slain by robbers; now if he
Still
speaks of robbers, not a robber, I
Slew
him not; "one" with "many" cannot square.
But
if he says one lonely wayfarer,
The
last link wanting to my guilt is forged.
Jocasta
Well,
rest assured, his tale ran thus at first,
Nor
can he now retract what then he said;
Not
I alone but all our townsfolk heard it.
Even
should he vary somewhat in his story,
He
cannot make the death of Laius
In
any wise jump with the oracle.
For
Loxias said expressly he was doomed
To
die by my child's hand, but he, poor babe,
He
shed no blood, but perished first himself.
So
much for divination. Henceforth I
Will
look for signs neither to right nor left.
Oedipus
Thou
reasonest well. Still I would have thee send
And
fetch the bondsman hither. See to it.
A
messenger arrives and tells Jocasta that Oedipus' father Polybus has died and
the Corinthians want Oedipus as their king now. Jocasta sends for Oedipus and tells him the good news ‑‑ his
father is dead, and it is not at Oedipus' hand. Oedipus is comforted, but he is still afraid that he is
fated to sleep with Polybus' wife.
He tells the messenger his fear.
The messenger tells him not to worry, that he has no blood-tie with his
'parents'. The messenger had
received Oedipus from a shepherd as an abandoned baby and had given him to
them. The chorus believes the messenger is referring to the shepherd that
Oedipus wanted to see. Jocasta
begs Oedipus not to seek the truth.
Oedipus sends for the shepherd.
Jocasta exits.
The old shepherd enters. The messenger asks if
he remembers giving him a child.
The shepherd remembers, but doesn't want to tell the tale. Oedipus has his men twist the
shepherd's arm and threatens him with death if he does not tell all. He tells of how Laius' wife gave him
the child to do away with. Oedipus
cries out that he is cursed. All
exit but the chorus.
Chorus
Races of
mortal man
Whose life
is but a span,
I count ye but
the shadow of a shade!
For he who
most doth know
Of bliss,
hath but the show;
A moment,
and the visions pale and fade.
Thy fall, O
Oedipus, thy piteous fall
Warns me
none born of women blest to call.
For he of
marksmen best,
O Zeus,
outshot the rest,
And won the
prize supreme of wealth and power.
By him the
vulture maid
Was quelled,
her witchery laid;
He rose our savior
and the land's strong tower.
We hailed
thee king and from that day adored
Of mighty
Thebes the universal lord.
O heavy hand
of fate!
Who now more
desolate,
Whose tale
more sad than thine, whose lot more dire?
O Oedipus,
discrowned head,
Thy cradle
was thy marriage bed;
One
harborage sufficed for son and sire.
How could
the soil thy father eared so long
Endure to
bear in silence such a wrong?
All‑seeing
Time hath caught
Guilt, and
to justice brought
The son and
sire commingled in one bed.
O child of
Laius' ill‑starred race
Would I had
never beheld thy face;
I raise for
thee a dirge as o'er the dead.
Yet, sooth
to say, through thee I drew new breath,
And now
through thee I feel a second death.
A second messenger enters and announces that
Jocasta has hanged herself. When
Oedipus came upon the body, he tore her brooches off and gouged them into his
own eyes, crying that they will never see the crime he has committed. The messenger says that Oedipus wants
to show himself to the people of Thebes, and then leave the city forever. The doors open, and blind Oedipus
enters. The chorus expresses their
pity. Oedipus cries out about his
evil deeds and asks the chorus to lead him away from the city or kill him.
Creon enters. Oedipus asks Creon to drive him from the city. Creon wants to wait for the gods to
tell him what to do. Oedipus tells
Creon to bury his wife, to let him live on the mountain where he was left as a
child, and to take care of Oedipus' daughters. Oedipus' two daughters enter. Oedipus laments the difficult life they will lead now that
their ancestry is revealed.
Oedipus says that the gods hate him. Creon and Oedipus leave together.
Chorus
Look ye,
countrymen and Thebans, this is Oedipus the great,
He who knew
the Sphinx's riddle and was mightiest in our state.
Who of all
our townsmen gazed not on his fame with envious eyes?
Now, in what
a sea of troubles sunk and overwhelmed he lies!
Therefore
wait to see life's ending ere thou count one mortal blest;
Wait till
free from pain and sorrow he has gained his final rest.
Antigone (c. 441 B.C.)
The play opens in Thebes, before the royal
palace. Antigone and her sister
Ismene, the daughters of Oedipus, enter.
They are distraught over the recent death in battle of their brothers at
each other's hands. Antigone tells
Ismene that king Creon has decreed that their brother Eteocles will be buried
and honoured in death, while their brother Polyneices will be left unburied. Antigone tries to convince Ismene to
help her bury Polyneices against Creon's orders. Ismene refuses to break the law, but says that she won't
tell.
Creon announces to the people his plans for the
brothers. He explains that
Eteocles died defending the city, while Polyneices died attempting to destroy
it. He commands the Chorus not to
take sides with any who may disobey his order. The Chorus agrees that it would be foolish to do so. A very human guard enters and tells
Creon that someone has managed to bury the body of Polyneices. Creon sends him
to uncover the body. Soon after, the guard returns, having caught Antigone
re-burying the corpse.
Antigone says that she was
following the law of the gods, not Creon's law. Creon calls for Ismene because he believes she helped plan
the crime. Guards bring Ismene
out. She says she is guilty if
Antigone says she is. Antigone
says Ismene had no part.
Creon's son Haemon (who was to marry Antigone)
tells his father that he supports him.
Creon explains that he must kill Antigone to set an example for others
who might disobey his laws. Haemon
tells Creon that the feeling among the citizens is that the girl was wrongly
condemned. He asks Creon to
reconsider his decree. The two
then quarrel about the justness of the decree. Creon calls to bring her out so that he may kill her in
front of Haemon. Haemon leaves
before she is brought out. Creon
tells the chorus that he plans to leave Antigone in a cave and let her starve
to death.
Antigone is led away to her death. Teiresias the
blind prophet enters and tells Creon that as a result of Creon's decision,
sacrificial fires will not burn, and rites cannot be performed. Creon holds to his decision. Teiresias
tells him that he will be cursed by the gods for his acts and that his son will
die as a result. Teiresias
leaves. Creon is torn. He knows that Teiresias is always
accurate in his prophesies. The
chorus convinces Creon to change his mind. Creon hurries off to free Antigone.
A messenger enters and tells the chorus that
Creon's son Haemon has killed himself and that it is Creon's fault. Creon's wife Eurydice enters from the
palace. She has overheard the
news. The messenger tells of how
Creon and his party discovered that Haemon had come before them to the cave and
that he was crying over the lifeless body of Antigone, who had hanged
herself. Haemon then spat in
Creon's face and leaned on his own sword to kill himself. Eurydice goes back inside in
silence. Creon and his men enter,
carrying Haemon's body. Creon
laments that he has learned justice too late.
The messenger re‑enters and announces that
Eurydice has taken her own
life. Creon cries for his servants
to take him away. He wishes for
his own death. Creon and his men
enter the palace. The chorus
comments that the gods control our destiny, that we can only be happy through
wisdom, and that men of pride must often suffer greatly to earn wisdom.
Euripides
Born in Salamis in 480 (perhaps on the day of
the victory), died in Macedonia in 406, Euripides was controversial in his
time. He wrote some 90 plays, of
which 18 survive: "Alcestis", "Medea", "Hippolytus",
"The Trojan Women", "Helen", "Orestes",
"Iphigenia at Aulis", "The Bacchae",
"Andromache", "The Children of Heracles",
"Hecuba", "The Suppliants", "Electra", "The
Madness of Heracles", "Iphigenia in Tauris", "Ion", "Phoenis¡©sae"...
In almost all these plays the characters are
shown in situations of great stress and conflict, torn by passions and
affection. Euripides challenges
traditional ideas about gods and morality. Heroism and beauty are admired; many
of his finest characters are women.
His plots favour surprise revelations, the Chorus has little contact with
the action. He is the dramatist
who comes closest to the emotions of "ordinary life" and for Milton,
he is the messenger of human liberty.
Greek
Comedy
Three or five comedies were performed at
the Dionysia each time, but we have no plays other than those of Aristophanes
from the Old Comedy (before 400).
The New Comedy, which influenced Plautus and Terence
in Italy, is mainly represented by Menander, whose works do not survive,
except in fragments.
Aristophanes
Born about 457, and dying around 385,
Aristophanes wrote over thirty plays, of which eleven survive. Their titles are usually mysterious,
designed to puzzle ("Birds", "Wasps", "Clouds"),
or else they indicate the identity of the speakers in the chorus
("Babylonians", "Acharnians"). The Chorus plays a major role in the comedies, speaking
directly to the audience.
Some of the best-known of the plays, still often
acted, are:
The Birds, where the birds are
persuaded to build a city, Cloud-cuckoo¡©land, between earth and Olympus,
robbing the gods of their sacrifices.
Messengers come from earth and the gods and the result is a fantasy in
which the gods are the losers.
Lysistrata, produced in 411 at a
time of great difficulty for Athens in the war with Sparta. The women of both sides decide to force
the men to make peace by refusing to sleep with them until peace is
restored. They seize the
Parthenon, beating off an attack by the chorus of old men with buckets of
water. At last the men give in,
make peace, and all go off happy.
The Frogs, produced in 405, is
about the merits of the three tragedians.
All are now dead and Dionysus goes down to Hades to bring one back. He finds Euripides and Aeschylus
competing for the throne of Tragedy, Aeschylus wins because his words weigh
more. The "frogs" sing
as Charon is ferrying Dionysus over into Hades.
The Clouds, of 423, is a satire
aimed at Socrates. It was not
successful, but Plato suggests that it prepared the public hostility towards
Socrates leading to his condemnation later.
The humour of Aristophanes is satiric, aimed at
aspects of contem¡©porary Athens at first, made more general in the later
plays. Nothing is sacred, powerful
people, popular attitudes, even the gods, are made to look foolish. The sympathy goes to the "ordinary
man" who wants a quiet life, the old pleasures. The plots are usually based on a single absurd idea, which
offers a framework for various unrelated scenes. It is Menander and the New Comedy that introduce
"situation-comedy".
Greek drama continued to be written in the years
following the death of the great founders. The old classics were revived and
thou¡©sands of new tragedies were written by those who wished to be "Hel¡©lenized",
for the new culture, centered in Egyptian Alexandria rather than in Greece, was not one into which people were
born, it was one people came to learn, from all over the world. Others imitated the New Comedy of
Athens, which is mostly lost to us.
Men¡©ander (343-292) is the most famous name here. His most famous line is "He whom
the gods love, dies young".
A century later, in Rome and writing in Latin,
Plautus (220-180?) and Terence (190-159) adapted the New Comedy, with
its social comedy of manners, for their world. Their plays are usually about a
young man needing the help of a clever servant to gain the girl-friend's hand
against the father's unwillingness and the villainies of brothel-keepers etc. Often the girl is found to be the
unrecognized daughter of a high-class person, kidnapped or lost in
childhood. These two writers were
studied and acted in the Renais¡©sance, they inspired Shakespeare and Jonson, as
well as Moliere, and English Restoration comedy.
Greek
Lyric Poetry
Archilochus
c. 650 wrote iambic, elegiac verse.
Stesichorus
c.600 Lyric poet, heroic ballads
Sappho
b.612 First great lyric poet(ess)
Anacreon
580 - 495 Light lyric poetry
Aesop
d.564 Fables
Hipponax
c.540 Satiric iambic poet
Pindar
522 - 440 Odes
Archilochus
One
of the first named Greek lyric poets, Archilochus is said to have lived in
great poverty. He wrote poems
exploiting the iambic meter, which sounds close to natural speech. He was
reputed for his sharp wit, and composed satires as well as elegies.
On Friends Lost at Sea
Blaming
the bitterness of the sorrow, Pericles, no man
in
all our city can take pleasure in festivities:
Such
were the men the surf of the roaring sea washed under,
all
of us go with hearts aching against our ribs
for
misery. Yet against such grief that is past recovery
the
gods, dear friend, have given us strong endurance to be
our
medicine. Such sorrows are variable. They beat now
against
ourselves, and we take the hurt of the bleeding sore.
Tomorrow
it will be others who grieve, not we. From now on
act
like a man, and put away these feminine tears.
Eclipse of the Sun
Nothing
will surprise me any more, nor be too wonderful
for
belief, now that the lord on Olympus, father Zeus,
has
dimmed the daylight and made darkness come upon us in the noon
and
the sunshine. So limp terror has descended on mankind.
After
this, men can believe anything. They can expect
anything.
Be not astonished any more, although you see
beasts
of the dry land exchange with dolphins, and assume their place
in
the watery pastures of the sea, and beasts who loved the hills
find
the ocean's crashing waters sweeter than the bulk of land.
Sappho
One of the great Greek lyrists and few known
female poets of the ancient world, Sappho was born some time between 630 and
612 BC. She was an aristocrat who married a prosperous merchant, and she had a
daughter named Cleis. Her wealth afforded her with the opportunity to live her
life as she chose, and she chose to spend it studying the arts on the isle of
Lesbos.
In the seventh century BC, Lesbos was a cultural
center. Sappho spent most her time on the island, though she also traveled
widely throughout Greece. She was exiled for a time because of political
activities in her family, and she spent this time in Sicily. By this time she
was known as a poet, and the residents of Syracuse were so honored by her visit
that they erected a statue to her.
Sappho was called a lyrist because, as was the
custom of the time, she wrote her poems to be performed with the accompaniment
of a lyre. Sappho composed her own music and refined the prevailing lyric meter
to a point that it is now known as sapphic meter. She innovated lyric
poetry both in technique and style, becoming part of a new wave of Greek
lyrists who moved from writing poetry from the point of view of gods and muses
to the personal vantage point of the individual. She was one of the first poets
to write from the first person, describing love and loss as it affected her
personally.
Her style was sensual and melodic; primarily
songs of love, yearning, and reflection. Most commonly the target of her
affections was female, often one of the many women sent to her for education in
the arts. She nurtured these women, wrote poems of love and adoration to them,
and when they eventually left the island to be married, she composed their
wedding songs. While she still lived, coins of Lesbos were minted with her image.
Plato elevated her from the status of great lyric poet to one of the muses.
Upon hearing one of her songs, Solon, an Athenian ruler, lawyer, and a poet
himself, asked to be taught the song, "Because I want to learn it and
die."
Given the fame that her work has enjoyed, it is
somewhat surprising that only one of Sappho's poems is available in its
entirety‑‑all of the rest exist as fragments. At one time, there were perhaps
nine complete volumes of her poetry, but over the centuries her work was lost.
I have not had one word from her
Frankly
I wish I were dead
When
she left, she wept
a
great deal; she said to me, "This parting must be
endured,
Sappho. I go unwillingly."
I
said, "Go, and be happy
but
remember (you know
well)
whom you leave shackled by love
"If
you forget me, think
of
our gifts to Aphrodite
and
all the loveliness that we shared
"all
the violet tiaras,
braided
rosebuds, dill and
crocus
twined around your young neck
"myrrh
poured on your head
and
on soft mats girls with
all
that they most wished for beside them
"while
no voices chanted
choruses
without ours,
no
woodlot bloomed in spring without song..."
(Translated by Mary Barnard)
Anacreon
Anacreon
(580 - 495) wrote light verse in elegant meter, celebrating the delights of
love and the pleasures of wine. Little of his work survives but he had many
imitators, both in the Classical period and in more recent times. Such verse is
sometimes known as 'Anacreontic'.
An Ode
of Anacreon
My
Hairs are hoary, wrinkled is my Face,
I
lose my Strength, and all my Manly Grace;
My
Eyes grow dim, my Teeth are broke or gone,
And
the best part of all my Life is done;
I'm
drowned in Cares, and often sigh and weep;
My
Spirits fail me, broken is my Sleep;
Thoughts
of the gaping Grave distract my Head;
For
in its Paths 'wake or asleep we tread;
None
can from it, by Art their Feet restrain;
Nor
back, tho' wide its Gates, can come again.
Then
since these Ills attend the Life of Man,
Let's
make their Burden easy as we can.
Cares are no Cares, but whilst on
them we think,
To clear our Minds of such dull
Thoughts, let's drink.
(Translated
by Philip Ayres, 1687)
Ode 51
Flee
not thus my brow of snow,
Lovely
wanton! fly not so.
Though
the wane of age is mine,
And
the brilliant flush is thine,
Still
I'm doomed to sigh for thee,
Blest,
if thou could'st sigh for me!
See
‑ in yonder flowery braid,
Culled
for thee, my blushing maid,
How
the rose, of orient glow,
Mingles
with the lily's snow;
Mark,
how sweet their tints agree,
Just,
my girl, like thee and me!
(Translated
by Thomas Moore, 1800)
Pindar
Pindar (522 - 440) was born near Thebes, and
lived in Athens, where he knew Aeschylus. He was very highly admired. Of all
Pindar's writings, only the four books of "Epinicians" (poems written
to commemorate athletic victories at the greatest contests in the Greek world)
have survived intact. Our perception of Pindar as a poet thus necessarily overemphasizes
this category of poetry, distorting in some measure our view of his work.
Nevertheless, epinician poetry seems to have been immensely popular at the
time, and the victories celebrated in these poems should not be seen as objects
of ephemeral interest. Pindar tried to elevate his odes by introducing many
mythical elements; some of these he may have invented himself.
Pindar's poetry was aimed at an international
audience, but this audience
consisted of a small elite. Pindar's work is openly complex and difficult to appreciate. He
challenges his listeners to follow his meaning, for the ability to appreciate
Pindar was itself a sign that one belonged to the Greek elite.
From The First Nemean Ode of Pindar
6
How early has young Chromius begun
The Race of Virtue, and how swiftly run,
And born the noble Prize away,
Whilst other youths yet at the Barriere
stay?
None but Alcides ere set earlier forth
than He;
The God, his Father's, Blood nought
could restrain,
'Twas ripe at first, and did disdain
The slow advance of dull Humanity,
The big‑limbed Babe in his huge Cradle
lay,
Too weighty to be rocked by Nurse's
hands,
Wrapped in purple swaddling‑bands.
When, lo, by jealous Juno's fierce
commands,
Two dreadful Serpents come
Rolling and hissing loud into the room.
To the bold Babe, they trace their
bidden way,
Forth from their flaming eyes dread
Lightnings went,
Their gaping Mouths did forked Tongues
like Thunderbolts present.
7
Some of th'amazed Women dropped down
dead
With fear, some wildly fled
About the room, some into corners crept,
Where silently they shook and wept.
All naked from her bed the passionate
Mother leapt
To save or perish with her Child,
She trembled, and she cried, the mighty
Infant smiled.
The mighty Infant seemed well pleased
At his gay gilded foes,
And as their spotted necks up to the
Cradle rose,
With his young warlike hands on both he
seized;
In vain they raged, in vain they hissed,
In vain their armed Tails they twist,
And angry Circles cast about,
Black Blood, and fiery Breath, and
poisonous Soul he squeezes out.
8
With their drawn Swords
In ran Amphitryo, and the Theban Lords,
With doubting wonder, and with troubled
joy
They saw the conquering Boy
Laugh, and point downwards to his prey,
Where in death's pangs, and their own
gore they folding lay.
When wise Tauruses this beginning knew,
He told with ease the things t'ensue,
From what Monsters he should free
The Earth, the Air, and Sea,
What mighty Tyrants he should slay,
Greater Monsters far than They.
How much at Phlegra's field the
distressed Gods should owe
To their great Offspring here below,
And how his Club should there outdo
Apollo's silver Bow, and his own Father's
Thunder too.
(Translated
by Abraham Cowley, 1656)