The Tragedies of Euripides, Volume I. by Euripides

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THE
TRAGEDIES
OF
EURIPIDES.

LITERALLY TRANSLATED OR REVISED,
WITH CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTES,

BY
THEODORE ALOIS BUCKLEY,
OF CHRIST CHURCH.

VOL. I.

HECUBA, ORESTES, PHOENISSAE, MEDEA, HIPPOLYTUS, ALCESTIS,
BACCHAE, HERACLIDAE, IPHIGENIA IN AULIDE,
AND IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.

NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.

1892.

* * * * * *

PREFACE.

The translations of the first six plays in the present volume were
published at Oxford some years since, and have been frequently reprinted.
They are now carefully revised according to Dindorf's text, and are
accompanied by a few additional notes adapted to the requirements of the
student.

The translations of the Bacchae, Heraclidae, and the two Iphigenias, are
based upon the same text, with certain exceptions, which are pointed out at
the foot of the page. The annotations on the Iphigenias are almost
exclusively critical, as it is presumed that a student who proceeds to the
reading of these somewhat difficult plays[1], will be sufficiently advanced
in his acquaintance with the Greek drama to dispense with more elementary
information.

T.A. BUCKLEY,
CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD.

[1] The reader will obtain some notion of the difficulties alluded to, and
the best mode of grappling with them, by consulting the recent Cambridge
edition, published with English notes (Iph. in Aulide, 1840, in Tauris,
1846), performances of great critical acumen, attributed to the present
Bishop of Gloucester.

* * * * * *

INTRODUCTION.

* * * *

Euripides, son of Mnesarchus, was born in the island of Salamis, on the day
of the celebrated victory (B.C. 480). His mother, Clito, had been sent
thither in company with the other Athenian women, when Attica was given up,
and the ships became at once the refuge of the male population, and the
national defense. Mr. Donaldson[1] well remarks, that the patronymic form
of his name, derived from the Euripus, which was the scene of the first
successful resistance offered to the Persian navy, shows that the attention
of his parents was fully excited by the stirring events of the time.

Notwithstanding the fact that his mother had been an herb-seller, it is
probable that his father was a man of some family. That he was at least
possessed of ample means, is evident from the care and expense bestowed
upon our poet's education. Under the tutorship of Anaxagoras, Prodicus, and
Protagoras, he had studied both natural philosophy and rhetoric in its
sophistical form. In gymnastic exercises he exhibited a successful prowess,
being twice victorious in the Eleusinian and Thesean games. Of his skill in
painting, some specimens were preserved at Megara.

His appearance as a dramatist was at an earlier age than that of his
predecessors, as he was only five and twenty years old when he produced the
"Peliades," his first tragedy. On this occasion, he gained the third prize
in the tragic contests, but the first, fourteen years after, and
subsequently, with the "Hippolytus," in 428 B.C. The peculiar tendency of
some of the ideas expressed in his plays, was the probable cause of the
retirement of Euripides to Macedonia, where he obtained the friendship of
King Archelaus. Perhaps, however, the unhappiness of his connubial state,
arising from the infidelity of his two wives, might have rendered Athens a
disagreeable place of abode for the woman-hating poet, especially when his
"domestic bliss" was continually seasoned by the sarcastic jokes and
allusions of his political enemy, Aristophanes. Moreover, his acquaintance
with the talking philosopher, Socrates, must have been unfavorable to the
continuance of his popularity.

The fate of Pentheus in our author's noble play, the "Bacchae," appears to
have given origin to the tradition that he himself was torn to pieces by
dogs. If we reflect that this play was probably the last of his works, the
mistake seems a plausible one. The death of Euripides, which probably
happened in the ordinary course of nature, has, like that of AEschylus, been
associated with the marvelous.

The Athenians vainly craved the honor of giving a resting-place to the
ashes of their philosopher-poet. He was buried at Pella, but a cenotaph at
Athens showed that his countrymen had not forgotten Euripides. His death
took place B.C. 406.

The inferiority of our author to the greater tragedians, prevents our
feeling much desire to enter upon the respective merits and demerits of his
several plays, especially as we are completely anticipated by Schlegel,
with whose masterly analysis every reader ought to be acquainted.
Nevertheless, a few general remarks may, perhaps, be not wholly
unprofitable.

It has been truly remarked, that tragedy, in no small degree, owed its
downfall to Euripides. Poetry was gradually superseded by rhetoric,
sublimity by earnestness, pathos by reasoning. Thus, Iphigenia and Macaria
give so many good reasons for dying, that the sacrifice appears very small,
and a modern wag in the upper regions of the theatre would, at the end of
the speech of the latter heroine, almost have exclaimed, "Then why don't
you die?"

It has been said, that our poet drew the characters of life as he found
them, but bad as his characters are, they exhibit only a vulgar wickedness.
Unable to portray a Clytaemnestra, he revels in the continual paltriness of
a Menelaus or Ulysses. As if he took a delight in the black side of
humanity, he loves to show the strength of false reasoning, of sophistry
antagonistic to truth, and of cold expediency in opposition to the natural
feelings of humanity. From a similar reason, his occasional attempts at
comedy degenerate into mere farce. We question whether the scene between
Death and Apollo in the "Alcestis," could be surpassed in vulgarity, even
by the modern school of English dramatists, while his exaggerations in the
minor characters are scarcely to be surpassed by the lowest writer of any
period.

Under Euripides, the stage began gradually to approximate more closely to
the ordinary and, at that time, debased character of Athenian society. A
contempt for the Lacedaemonians, a passionate taste for the babbling and
trickery of the forum, and an attempt to depreciate the social position and
influence of the weaker sex, form the most unamiable features of this
change. Yet we must allow, that if Euripides has reveled in the
amiabilities of a Melanippe or a Phaedra, in the gentle revenge of a Medea
or Hecuba, he has at the same time given us an Alcestis, the only real
example of genuine conjugal affection on the Greek stage.

Nor must we forget that Euripides is a greater admirer of nature, a more
complete delineator of her workings, than the two greater tragedians. He
has more of illustrative philosophy, more of regard to the objects of the
animated creation, the system of the universe, than his greater rivals
exhibit. He is, as Vitruvius has justly styled him, a "stage-philosopher."
Did we possess a larger acquaintance with the works of Parmenides,
Empedocles, and other early cosmogonists, we should perhaps think less of
his merits on this head: as it is, the possession of some such fragments of
our poet makes us deeply regret the loss of the plays themselves.

But his very love for the contemplation of nature has in no small degree
contributed to the mischievous skepticism promulgated by our poet. In early
times, when a rural theogony was the standard of belief, when each star had
its deity, each deity its undisputed, unquestioned prerogative and worship,
there was little inclination, less opportunity, for skepticism. Throughout
the poetry of Hesiod, we find this feeling ever predominant, a feeling
which Virgil and Tibullus well knew how to appreciate. Even Euripides
himself, perhaps taught by some dangerous lessons at home, has expressed
his belief that it is best "not to be too clever in matters regarding the
Gods."[2] A calm retreat in the wild, picturesque tracts of Macedonia,
might have had some share in reforming this spoiled pupil of the sophists.
But as we find that the too careful contemplation of nature degenerates
into superstition or rationalism in their various forms, so Euripides had
imbibed the taste for saying startling things,[3] rather than wise; for
reducing the principles of creation to materialism, the doctrines of right
and wrong to expediency, and immutable truths to a popular system of
question and answer. Like the generality of sophists, he took away a
received truth, and left nothing to supply its place; he reasoned falsehood
into probability, truth into nonentity.

At a period when the Prodico-Socratic style of disputing was in high
fashion, the popularity of Euripides must have been excessive. His familiar
appeals to the trifling matters of ordinary life, his characters all
philosophizing, from the prince to the dry-nurse, his excellent reasons for
doing right or wrong, as the case might be, must have been inestimably
delightful to the accommodating morals of the Athenians. The Court of
Charles the Second could hardly have derived more pleasure from the
writings of a Behn or a Hamilton, than these unworthy descendants of Codrus
must have experienced in hearing a bad cause so cleverly defended. Whether
the orators and dikasts followed the example of the stage in those days,
can scarcely be ascertained, but it is more than certain that they
practically illustrated its principles. At least, the Sicilians were so
fond of our author, that a few of the unfortunate survivors of the
Syracusan disaster, were enabled to pick up a living by quoting such
passages of our author as they had learned by heart. A compliment paid to
few living dramatists in our days!

In dramatic conduct, Euripides is at an even greater disadvantage with
AEschylus and Sophocles. The best characters of the piece are often the
least employed, as in the instance of Macaria in the "Heraclidae," while the
play is dwindled away with dull, heavy dirges, and the complaints of senile
childishness. The chorus, as Aristotle[4] has remarked, is most
unfortunately independent of the plot, although the finest poetry is
generally to be found in the lyric portions of our author's plays. In fact,
Euripides rather wanted management in employing his resources, than the
resources themselves. An ear well attuned to the harmony of verse, a
delicate perception of the graceful points of language, and a finished
subtilty in touching the more minute feelings and impulses of the mind,
were all thrown away either upon bad subjects or worse principles. There is
no true tragedy in Euripides, He is a melodramatist, but not according to
the modern acceptation. His plays might end either happily or the reverse.
A deity conveniently brought in, the arrival of a messenger, however
unexpectedly, together with a liberal allowance for a cowardly revenge upon
the vanquished--these are the Euripidean elements for giving a tragic end
to a play. Nay, so great is the prodigality of slaughter throughout his
dramas, that we can but imagine morbid cruelty to have formed a
considerable ingredient in the disposition of Euripides. Even his pathos is
somewhat tinctured with this taste for painful images. As we have beheld in
our own times a barbarian alternately glut his sight with executions, and
then shed floods of tears, and sink into idiot despondency; so the poetry
of Euripides in turn disgusts us with outrageous cruelty, and depresses us
with the most painful demands upon our compassion.

In the lyric portions of his dramas, our poet has been far more successful.
The description of the capture of Troy by night,[5] is a splendid specimen
of animation blended with true pathos. But taken as a whole. Euripides is a
most unequal author. We may commence a play with pleasure (but O for the
prologues!), we may proceed with satisfaction, but the feeling rarely lasts
to the end. If I may venture an opinion upon so uncertain a subject, I
should name the Hippolytus, Ion, Troades, Bacchae, and Iphigenia in Aulis as
his best plays, placing the Phoenissae, Alcestis, Medea, Hecuba, and Orestes
in a lower rank. The Helena is an amusing heap of absurdities, and reads
much better in the burlesque of Aristophanes; the Electra is utterly
beneath criticism; the Cyclops a weak, but humorous imitation of Homer. The
other plays appear to be neither bad nor good.

The style of Euripides is, generally speaking, easy; and I can mention no
author from whom a taste for elegant Greek and a facility in composition
can more easily be derived. Some of his plays have suffered severely from
the ravages of time, the ignorance of copyists, and the more dangerous
officiousness of grammarians. Some passages of the Bacchae, Rhesus, Troades,
and the two Iphigenias, despite the ingenuity and erudition of such
scholars as Porson, Elmsley, Monk, Burges, and a host of others, must still
remain mere matter for guessing. Hermann's Euripides is, as a whole, sadly
unworthy the abilities of the Humboldt of Greek literature.

The present volume contains the most popular of our author's works,
according to present usage. But the spirit which is gradually infusing
itself into the minds of those who are most actively engaged in the
educational system of England, fully warrants a hope that Porson's "four
plays" will shortly cease to be the boundaries of the student's
acquaintance with Euripides.

I need scarcely observe, that the study of Aristophanes is indissolubly
connected with that of our author. If the reader discover the painful fact
that the burlesque writer is greater than the tragedian, he will perhaps
also recollect that such a literary relation is, unfortunately, by no means
confined to the days of Aristophanes.

* * * *

Notes on the Introduction

[1] See Theatre of the Greeks, p. 92. sqq.

[2] Bacch. 200. This play was written during his sojourn with Archelaus.

[3] [Greek: toioutoni ti parakekindeumenon]. Aristoph. Ran. 99.

[4] Poet. Sec. xviii.

[5] Hec. 905 sqq.

* * * * * *

HECUBA.

* * * *

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

GHOST OF POLYDORE.
HECUBA.
CHORUS OF FEMALE CAPTIVES.
POLYXENA.
ULYSSES.
TALTHYBIUS.
FEMALE ATTENDANT.
AGAMEMNON.
POLYMESTOR AND HIS CHILDREN.

_The Scene lies before the Grecian tents, on the coast of the Thracian
Chersonese._

* * * * *

THE ARGUMENT.

* * * *

After the capture of Troy, the Greeks put into the Chersonese over against
Troas, But Achilles, having appeared by night, demanded one of the
daughters of Priam to be slain. The Greeks therefore, in honor to their
hero, tore Polyxena from Hecuba, and offered her up in sacrifice.
Polymestor moreover, the king of the Thracians, murdered Polydore, a son of
Priam's. Now Polymestor had received him from the hands of Priam as a
charge to take care of, together with some money. But when the city was
taken, wishing to seize upon his wealth, he determined to dispatch him, and
disregarded the ill-fated friendship that subsisted between them; but his
body being cast out into the sea, the wave threw him up on the shore before
the tents of the captive women. Hecuba, on seeing the corse, recognized it;
and having imparted her design to Agamemnon, sent for Polymestor to come to
her with his sons, concealing what had happened, under pretense that she
might discover to him some treasures hidden in Ilium. But on his arrival
she slew his sons, and put out his eyes; but pleading her cause before the
Greeks, she gained it over her accuser (Polymestor). For it was decided
that she did not begin the cruelty, but only avenged herself on him who did
begin it.

* * * * *

HECUBA.

* * * *

GHOST OF POLYDORE.

I am present, having left the secret dwellings of the dead and the gates of
darkness, where Pluto has his abode apart from the other Gods, Polydore the
son of Hecuba the daughter of Cisseus,[1] and Priam my sire, who when the
danger of falling by the spear of Greece was threatening the city of the
Phrygians, in fear, privately sent me from the Trojan land to the house of
Polymestor, his Thracian friend, who cultivates the most fruitful soil of
the Chersonese, ruling a warlike people with his spear.[2] But my father
sends privately with me a large quantity of gold, in order that, if at any
time the walls of Troy should fall, there might not be a lack of sustenance
for his surviving children. But I was the youngest of the sons of Priam; on
which account also he sent me privately from the land, for I was able
neither to bear arms nor the spear with my youthful arm. As long then
indeed as the landmarks of the country remained erect, and the towers of
Troy were unshaken, and Hector my brother prevailed with his spear, I
miserable increased vigorously as some young branch, by the nurture I
received at the hands of the Thracian, my father's friend. But after that
both Troy and the life of Hector were put an end to, and my father's
mansions razed to the ground, and himself falls at the altar built by the
God, slain by the blood-polluted son of Achilles, the friend of my father
slays me, wretched man, for the sake of my gold, and having slain me threw
me into the surf of the sea, that he might possess the gold himself in his
palace. But I am exposed on the shore, at another time on the ocean's
surge, borne about by many ebbings and flowings of the waves, unwept,
unburied; but at present I am hastening on my dear mother's account, having
left my body, borne aloft this day already the third,[3] for so long has my
wretched mother been present in this territory of the Chersonese from Troy.
But all the Grecians, holding their ships at anchor, are sitting quiet on
the shores of this land of Thrace. For Achilles the son of Peleus,
appearing above his tomb, stayed all the army of the Grecians as they were
directing homeward their sea dipped oars; and asks to receive my sister
Polyxena as a dear victim, and a tribute of honor to his tomb. And this he
will obtain, nor will he be without this gift from his friends; and fate
this day leads forth my sister to death. But my mother will see the two
corses of her two children, both mine and the unhappy virgin's; for I shall
appear on a breaker before the feet of a female slave, that I wretched may
obtain sepulture; for I have successfully entreated those who have power
beneath to find a tomb, and to fall into my mother's hands. As much then as
I wish to have shall be mine; but I will withdraw myself out of the way of
the aged Hecuba, for she is advancing her step beyond the tent of
Agamemnon, dreading my phantom. Alas! O my mother, who, from kingly
palaces, hast beheld the day of slavery, how unfortunate art thou now, in
the degree that thou wert once fortunate! but some one of the Gods
counterpoising your state, destroys you on account of your ancient
prosperity.

HECUBA. CHORUS.

HEC. Lead onward, ye Trojan dames, the old woman before the tent; lead
onward, raising up one now your fellow-slave, but once your queen; take me,
bear me, conduct me, support my body, holding my aged hand; and I, leaning
on the bending staff of my hand,[4] will hasten to put forward the slow
motion of my joints. O lightning of Jove! O thou gloomy night! why, I pray,
am I thus disquieted in the night with terrors, with phantoms? O thou
venerable Earth, the mother of black-winged dreams, I renounce the nightly
vision, which regarding my son who is preserved in Thrace, and regarding
Polyxena my dear daughter, in my dreams have I beheld, a fearful sight, I
have learned, I have understood. Gods of this land, preserve my son, who,
my only son, and, [as it were,] the anchor of my house, inhabits the snowy
Thrace under the protection of his father's friend. Some strange event will
take place, some strain will come mournful to the mournful. Never did my
mind so incessantly shudder and tremble. Where, I pray, ye Trojan dames,
can I behold the divine spirit of Helenus, or Cassandra, that they may
interpret my dreams? For I beheld a dappled hind torn by the blood-stained
fang of the wolf, forcibly dragged from my bosom, a miserable sight. And
dreadful this vision also; the spectre of Achilles came above the summit of
his tomb, and demanded as a tribute of honor one of the wretched Trojan
women. From my daughter then, from my daughter avert this fate, ye Gods, I
implore you.

CHOR. Hecuba, with haste to thee I flew, leaving the tents of our lords,
where I was allotted and ordained a slave, driven from the city of Troy,
led captive of the Greeks by the point of the spear, not to alleviate aught
of your sufferings, but bringing a heavy weight of tidings, and to thee, O
lady, a herald of woe. For it is said that it has been decreed in the full
council of the Greeks to make thy daughter a sacrifice to Achilles: for you
know how that having ascended o'er his tomb, he appeared in his golden arms
and restrained the fleet ships, as they were setting their sails with their
halliards, exclaiming in these words; "Where speed ye, Grecians, leaving my
tomb unhonored!" Then the waves of great contention clashed together, and a
divided opinion went forth through the army of the Greeks; to some it
appeared advisable to give a victim to his tomb, and to others it appeared
not. But Agamemnon was studious to advance your good, cherishing the love
of the infuriated prophetess. But the two sons of Theseus, scions of
Athens, were the proposers of different arguments, but in this one opinion
they coincided, to crown the tomb of Achilles with fresh blood; and
declared they would never prefer the bed of Cassandra before the spear of
Achilles. And the strength of the arguments urged on either side was in a
manner equal, till that subtle adviser, that babbling knave,[5] honeyed in
speech, pleasing to the populace, that son of Laertes, persuades the army,
not to reject the suit of the noblest of all the Greeks on account of a
captive victim, and not to put it in the power of any of the dead standing
near Proserpine to say that the Grecians departed from the plains of Troy
ungrateful to the heroes who died for the state of Greece. And Ulysses will
come only not now, to tear your child from your bosom, and to take her from
your aged arms. But go to the temples, speed to the altars, sit a suppliant
at the knees of Agamemnon, invoke the Gods, both those of heaven, and those
under the earth; for either thy prayers will prevent thy being deprived of
thy wretched daughter, or thou must behold the virgin falling before the
tomb, dyed in blood gushing forth in a dark stream from her neck adorned
with gold.[6]

HEC. Alas! wretched me! what shall I exclaim? what shriek shall I utter?
what lamentation? miserable through miserable age, and slavery not to be
endured, insupportable. Alas! who is there to defend me? what offspring,
what city! The old man is gone. My children are gone. Whither shall I turn
me? and whither shall I go? Where is any god or deity to succor me? O
Trojan dames, bearers of evil tidings, bearers of woe, you have destroyed
me utterly, you have destroyed me. Life in the light is no more desirable!
O wretched foot, lead, lead an aged woman to this tent! O child, daughter
of the most afflicted mother, come forth, come forth from the tent, hear
thy mother's voice, that thou mayest know what a report I hear that
concerns thy life.

HECUBA, POLYXENA, CHORUS.

POLYX. O mother, why dost thou call! proclaiming what new affliction hast
thou frighted me from the tent, as some bird from its nest, with this
alarm?

HEC. Alas! my child!

POLYX. Why address me in words of ill omen? This is an evil prelude.

HEC. Alas! for thy life.

POLYX. Speak, conceal it no longer from me. I fear, I fear, my mother; why
I pray dost thou groan?

HEC. O child, child of an unhappy mother!

POLYX. Why sayest thou this?

HEC. My child, the common decree of the Greeks unites to slay thee at the
tomb of the son of Peleus.

POLYX. Alas, my mother! how are you relating unenviable ills? Tell me, tell
me, my mother.

HEC. I declare, my child, the ill-omened report, they bring word that a
decree has passed by the vote of the Greeks regarding thy life.

POLYX. O thou that hast borne affliction! O thou wretched on every side! O
mother unhappy in your life, what most hated and most unutterable calamity
has some destiny again sent against thee! This child is no longer thine; no
longer indeed shall I miserable share slavery with miserable age. For as a
mountain whelp or heifer shalt thou wretched behold me wretched torn from
thine arms, and sent down beneath the darkness of the earth a victim to
Pluto, where I shall lie bound in misery with the dead. But it is for thee
indeed, my afflicted mother, that I lament in these mournful strains, but
for my life, my wrongs, my fate, I mourn not; but death, a better lot, has
befallen me.

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