NOTES TO THE AGAMEMNON
“High on the Atridan’s battlements.”
Dunbar, Sewell, and Connington plead strongly for translating ἄγκαθεν here as in Eumen. v. 80, thus—
“As I lie propped on my arm
Upon the Atridan housetop, like a dog.”
But this idea has always appeared to be more like the curious conceit of an ingenious philologist, than the natural conception of a great poet. Supposing the original reading to have been ἀνέκαθεν, the mere accidental lengthening of the leg of the ν by a hurried transcriber, would give the word the appearance of γ to a careless scrutinizer; and that this blunder was actually made the metre proves in Eumen. 361, in which passage, whatever Sew. may ingeniously force into it, the meaning from above is that which is most in harmony with the context. Besides, in such matters, I am conservative enough to have a certain respect for tradition.
“The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.”
“ἀνδρόβουλον seems to be used here ambiguously, and to be the first hint of lurking mischief. The gradual development of the coming evil from these casual hints is one of the chief dramatic beauties of the Agamemnon.”—Sew.
“. . . and lift high-voiced
The jubilant shout.”
I have strongly rendered the strong term, ἐπορθιάζειν, which would necessarily suggest to the Greek the high-keyed notes of the νόμος ὄρθιος mentioned by Herod I. 22, as sung by Arion to the sailors. I think, however, it is going beyond the mark to say, with Symmons, “With loud acclaim, and Orthian minstrelsy,” retaining the word ὄρθιος which is only suggested, not expressed in the text, and printing it with a capital letter, as if it were a sort of music as distinct as the Mysian and Maryandine wailing, mentioned in the Persians. Thus, ὀρθίον κωκυμάτων φωνή, Soph. Antigone, 1206, means nothing but the voice of shrill wails, or, as Donaldson well translates the whole passage,
“The voice of lamentation treble-toned,
Peals from the porch of that unhallowed cell.”
“Thrice six falls to me.”
That is, the highest throw in the dice. “The dice (tessera, κύβοι), in games of chance among the ancients, were numbered on all the six sides, like the dice now in use; and three were used in playing. Hence arose the proverb, ἤ τρὶς ἓξ ἤ τρεῖς κύβοι, either three sixes or three aces, all or none.”—Dr. Smith’s Antiq. Dict. voce tessera.
“Is laid a seal.”
Literally, a huge ox hath gone, an expression supposed to be derived from the figure of an ox, as the symbol of wealth, expressed on an old coin; in which case, to put the ox on a man’s tongue, would be equivalent to tipping it with silver, that is to say, giving money with injunction of secrecy. After the expression became proverbial, it might be used generally to express secrecy without any idea of bribery, which, as Con. remarks, is quite foreign to this place, and therefore Franz is wrong to translate “mir verschliesst ein golden Schloss den Mund.” I follow here, however, Humboldt and Sym. in not introducing the ox into the text, as it is apt to appear ludicrous; and, besides, the origin of the expression seems only conjectural.
“Sceptred kings by Jove’s high grace.”
Διόθεν. “ἐκ δε Διός βασιλῆες,” says the theogony. Homer also considers the kingly office as having a divine sanction, and Agamemnon on Earth represents Jupiter in Heaven.—Iliad I. 279; II. 197. And there can be no doubt that the highest authority in a commonwealth, whether regal or democratic, has a divine sanction, so long as it is exercised within its own bounds, and according to the laws of natural justice.
“O’er the lone paths fitful-wheeling.”
I have endeavoured to combine both the meanings of ἐκπατιόις which have any poetical value; that of Sym. lonely, and that of Klausen, wandering, and therefore excessive, which Con. well gives “with a wandering grief.” The same beautiful image is used by Shelley in his Adonais.
“. . . The late-chastising Fury.”
That the divine vengeance for evil deeds comes not immediately, but slowly, at a predestined season, is a doctrine as true in Christian theology as it is familiar to the Heathen dramatists. Therefore, Tiresias, in the Antigone, prophesies to Creon that “the avenging spirits of Hades and of Heaven, storing up mischief for a future day (ὑστεροφθόροι), would punish him for his crimes. But when the sword of Olympian justice is once drawn, then the execution of the divine judgment comes swiftly and by a short way, and no mortal can stay it.” As the same Sophocles says—
συντέμνουσι γὰρ
θεῶν ποδώκεις τὸυς κακὸφρονας βλάβαι.
Antig. V. 1104.
“. . . Jove, the high protector
Of the hospitable laws.”
As he is the supreme ruler of the physical, so Jove has a providential supervision of the moral world, and in this capacity is the special punisher of those who sin (where human laws are weak to reach), by treachery or ingratitude, as was the case with Paris. This function of the Hellenic Supreme Deity is often piously recognized by Homer, as in Odys. XIV. 283—
“But he feared the wrath of Jove, lord of the hospitable board,
Jove who looks from Heaven in anger on the evil deeds of men.”
“The powers whose altars know no fire.”
ἀπύρων ἱερῶν, “fireless holy things.” By “tireless” is here meant, so far as I can see, not to be propitiated by fire, persons to whom all sacrificial appeals are vain. Whether the Fates or the Furies are meant there are no means of ascertaining; for both agree with the tone of feeling, and with the context; and as they are, in fact, fundamentally the same, as powers that always act in unison (Eumen. 165 and 949), the reader need not much care. It is possible, however, that the whole passage may bear the translation of “powers wroth for tireless altars,” i.e. neglected sacrifices.—So Humb. and Fr. Nor are we bound to explain what sacrifices, or by whom neglected; for omission of religious rites, known or unknown, was a cause, always at hand, with the ancients, to explain any outpouring of divine wrath. Buckley, following Bamberger and Dindorf, considers that the sacrifice of Iphigenia is alluded to; which is also probable enough. No commentary can make clear what the poet has purposely left dark.
“The oil that knows no malice.”
We see in this passage the religious significancy, as it were, of the oil used in their sacred rites by the ancients; and we may further remark, with Sew., that “the oil used in religious rites was of great value. Compare the directions given in the Scriptures for making that which was used in the service of the Tabernacle,” and, generally—see Leviticus c. ii. for a description of the various kinds of sacred cakes made of fine flour and oil used in the sacrificial offerings of the Jews.
“I’ll voice the strain.”
I have carefully read all that has been written on this difficult passage, and conclude that it is better to rest contented with the natural reference of ἀιὼν to the old age of the singer, indicated by ἐτι, and the previous tone of the Anapests, than to venture with Fr., Hum., and Linwood, on a reference which I cannot but think is more far-fetched. The line ἀλκὰν σύμφυτος ἀιων is corrupt, and no rigid rendering of it ought to be attempted. Buckley in a note almost disclaims his own version.
“The diverse-minded kings.”
δυό λήμασι δισσούς. Surely this expression is too distinct and prominent to be slurred over lightly, as Con. seems inclined to do. I follow my own feeling of a passage so strongly marked by a peculiar phraseology, and Linwood. It will be observed that, in the Iliad, while Agamemnon behaves in a high and haughty style to Achilles, Menelaus conducts himself everywhere, and especially in the case of Antilochus (xxiii. 612), with mildness and moderation, so as justly to allow himself the boast,
“ὠς ἐμὸς ὀύποτε θυμὸς ῦπερφιάλος κὰι ἀπηνής.”
“Winged hounds.”
“This is one of those extravagances of expression in which the wild fancy of Æschylus often indulged, and for which he is rallied by Aristophanes.”—Harford. I cannot allow this to pass without remark. No expression could be more appropriate to picture that singular combination of the celerity of the bird nature, with the ferocity of the quadruped, which is described here, and in the Prometheus, in the speech of Mercury. Besides, in the present case the prophetic style would well excuse the boldness of the phrase, were any excuse required. Harford has put the tame expression, “Eagles,” into his text; but Shelley in his “Prometheus Unbound,” had not the least hesitation to adopt the Greek phrase.
“The fair goddess.”
ἁ καλὰ, “the beauteous one,”—Sew. An epithet which Con. was surely wrong to omit, for it is characteristic. To this Müller has called attention in his Prolegomena zu einer wissensch; Mythologie (p. 75; edit. 1825) noting the expressions of Sappho, ἀρίστη καὶ καλλίστη, the best and the fairest, as applied to Artemis, according to the testimony of Pausanias, I. 29. The prominence given by Æschylus here to that function of Artemis, by which, as the goddess of beauty, she is protectress of the wild beasts of the forest, is quite Homeric; as we may see from these three lines of the Odyssey:—
“Even as Artemis, dart-rejoicing, o’er the mountains walks sublime,
O’er the lofty ridge of Taygetus, o’er the Erymanthian steep,
And with gladsome heart beholds the wild boar and the nimble stag.”
VI. 102.
According to the elemental origin of mythology, this superintendence naturally arose from the fact, that Artemis was the Moon, and that the wild beasts go abroad to seek for prey in the night time.
“I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send.”
In the original Ιήἴον παιᾶνα, a well-known epithet of Apollo, as in the opening chorus of the Œdipus Tyrannos, Ιήϊέ Δάλιε παιάν, containing an invocation of the Delphic god, quoted by Peile. From the practice of frequently invoking the name of the gods in the public hymns, as in the modern Litanies, the name of the divine person passed over to the song that voiced his praises—(Iliad I. 473)—and thence became the appellation—as in the modern word pæan—for a hymn generally—(Proclus Chrestom. Gaisford. Hephaest., p. 419)—or at least a hymn of jubilee, sadness and sorrow of every kind being naturally abhorrent from the worship of the beneficent sun god ([p. 72], above).
“Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath.”
This passage is obscure in the original, and, no doubt, purposely so, as became the prophetic style. I do not, therefore, think we are bound, with Sym., to give the
Child-avenging wrath
a special and distinctly pronounced reference to Clytemnestra, displeased with Agamemnon for allowing the sacrifice of Iphigenia—
“Homeward returning see her go,
And sit alone in sullen woe;
While child-avenging anger waits
Guileful and horrid at the palace gates.”
Though I have no doubt she is alluded to among other Furies that haunt the house of Atreus; and the poet very wisely supplies here a motive. So Well., and Lin.; and my version, though free, I hope does nothing more than express this idea of a retributive wrath brooding through long years over a doomed family, and ever and anon, when apparently laid, breaking out with new manifestations—an idea, however, so expressed in the present passage that, as Dr. Peile says, “No translation can adequately set it forth.”
“Jove, or what other name.”
After the above sublime introduction follows the Invocation of Jove, as the supreme over-ruling Deity, who alone, by his infinite power and wisdom, is able to lead the believing worshipper through the intricacies of a seemingly perplexed Providence. The passage is one of the finest in ancient poetry, and deserves to be specially considered by theological students. The reader will note carefully the reverential awe with which the Chorus names the god invoked—a feeling quite akin to that anxiety which takes possession of inexperienced people when they are called on to address written or spoken words to persons of high rank. Many instances of this kind are quoted from the ancients by Victorius, in Stanley’s notes, by Sym., and by Peile. The most familiar instance to which I can refer the general reader is in the second chapter of Livy’s first book:—
“Situs est Æneas, quemcumque eum dici jus fasque est, super Numicium flumen. Jovem indigetem appellant.”
If in so obvious a matter a profound mythologist like Welcker—(Tril., p. 104)—should have found in this language of deepest reverence signs of free-thinking and irony, we have only another instance of the tyrannous power of a favourite idea to draw facts from their natural cohesion, that they may circle round the nucleus of an artificial crystallization. Sewell has also taken up the same idea with regard to the scepticism of this passage; and in him, no less, must we attribute this notion to the influence of a general theory with regard to the religious opinions of Æschylus, rather than to any criticism which the present passage could possibly warrant.
“With all-defiant valour brimming o’er.”
A very literal rendering of the short, but significant, original παμμαχῳ θρὰσει βρύων, on which Sym. remarks that “it presents the magnificent and, to us, incongruous image of a giant all-steeled for battle, and bearing his boldness like a tree bearing its blossoms.” But there is no reason that I know for confining βρύω here to its special use in Iliad XVII. 56 (Βρύει ἂυθ(ε)ι λευκῳ) and other such passages. It rather suggests generally, as Sew. says, “ideas of violence, exuberance, and uproar,” like βρυάζων in Suppl. 856. He has accordingly given
“With all-defying spirit, like a boiling torrent roaring,”
from which I have borrowed one word, with a slight alteration, but consider myself safer in not tying down the general word βρύων, to the special case of a torrent any more than of a tree. The recent Germans—“Im Gefühle stolzer Kraft” (Fr.), and “allbewährteu Trotzes hehr”—are miserably tame after Humboldt’s admirable “strotzend kampfbegierig frech.” As to the meaning of the passage, the three celestial dynasties of Uranus, Saturn, and Jove are plainly indicated, though who first threw this light on a passage certainly obscure, I cannot say. So far as I can see, it was Schutz. The Scholiast (A in Butler) talks of the Titans and Typhon, which is, at all events, on the right scent. Neither Abresch nor Stan. seem to have understood the passage; and Potter, disdaining to take a hint from the old Scholiast, generalises away about humanity.
“Our hearts with gracious force.”
The βιαίως certainly refers to the χάρις, and not to the ημένων, with the diluted sense of pollenter given it by Well.; and in this view I have no objection, with Blomfield and Con., to read βίαιος. I am not, however, so sure as Con. that the common reading is wrong. βιαίως may be an abrupt imperfectly enunciated expression (and there are not a few such in Æschylus) for exercising or using compulsion. Poets are not always the most accurate of grammarians.
“In Aulis tides hoarse refluent.”
The harbour of Aulis, opposite Euboea the district still called Ulike—(Wordsworth’s Athens and Attica, c. I.). In narrow passages of the sea, as at Corryvreckan, on the west coast of Scotland, there are apt to be strong eddies and currents; and this is specially noted of the channel between Aulis and Chalcis, by Livy (XXVIII. 6. haud facile alia infestior classi statio est) and other passages adduced by But. in Peile.
“Is the gods’ right. So be it.”
I am unable to see how the translation of this passage, given by Sym. agrees with the context and with the spirit of Agamemnon’s conduct, and the view of it taken by the poet. Sym. says—
“They’re not her parents; they may call aloud
For the dire rite to smoothe the stormy flood
All fierce and thirsty for a virgin’s blood.”
And Droysen, though more literally, says the same thing—“Dass sie das windstillende Sühnopfer, das jungfraüliche Blut heischen und schreien, ist es denn recht? Nein, sieg das Gute!” and Fr. also takes θέμις out of Agamemnon’s mouth, and gives it to the Greeks. “Finden sie recht. Zum Heil sey’s!” Perhaps the reason for preferring this version with the Germans lies in giving too great a force and prominence to the μετέγνω in the following strophe. But this may refer only to the change of a father’s instinctive feelings (expressed by silence only in this ode) to the open resolution of making common cause with the diviner and the chieftain.
“. . . Unblissful blew the gale
That turned the father’s heart.”
These words include both the τροπαίαν and the μετέγνω of the original. I join βρότους or βρότοις with the following clause, the sense being the same according to either reading. The verb θρασύνει, according to Con.’s very just reasoning, seems grammatically to require βρότους, though Fr. says, with a reference to Bernhardy, that βρότοις may be defended. Sym. has given a translation altogether different; though he admits that the sense given in my version, and in all the modern versions, is the most obvious one. His objection to connecting βρότους with the following sentence I do not understand.
“. . . consecrate
His ships for Troy.”
προτέλεια ναῶν, First fruits, literally, as Sew. has it, will scarcely do here; “first piation of the wind-bound fleet” of Sym. is very good. Humb., Droy., and Fr. all use Weihe in different combinations; a word which seems to suit the present passage very well, and I have accordingly adopted the corresponding English term.
“Where prone and spent she lies.”
παντὶ θυμῷ προνωπῆ, literally “prone with her whole soul;” “body and soul,” as Con. has it. The words are so arranged that it is impossible to determine to what παντὶ θυμῳ refers, whether to the general action λαβεῖν, or to the special position προνωπῆ. Sewell’s remark that “there is far more intensity of thought in applying παντὶ θυμῷ to λαβεῖν,” may be turned the other way. The phrase certainly must give additional intensity to whichever word it is joined with. The act itself is sufficiently cruel, without adding any needless traits of ferocity.
“. . . her saffron robe
Sweeping the ground.”
κρόκου βαφὰς εις πέδον χέουσα; “dropping her saffron veil,” says Sym.; perhaps rightly, but I see no ground for certainty. The application of κρόκου βαφὰς to the drops of blood seems a modern idea, which has proceeded from some critic who had not poetry enough to understand the application of χέουσα to anything but a liquid. Except in peculiar circumstances, the word κρόκος, as Con. justly observes (see [note 73] below), cannot be applied to the blood; and, in the present passage, it is plain the final work of the knife is left purposely undescribed.
“The virgin strain they heard.”
I cannot sufficiently express my astonishment that Humb., Droy., and Fr., as if it were a point of Germanism, have all conspired to wrench the ἐτίμα out of its natural connection in this beautiful passage, and to apply the whole concluding clause to the self-devotion of Iphigenia at the altar, rather than to her dutiful obedience at the festal scene just described. The fine poetical feeling of Sym. protested against this piece of tastelessness. “These commentators,” says he, “seem to have been ignorant of the poet’s intention, who raises interest, pity, and honor to the height, by presenting Iphigenia at the altar, and unveiling herself preparatory to her barbarous execution, on which point of the picture he dwells, contrasting her present situation with her former happiness, her cheerfulness, her songs, and the festivities in her father’s house.” It is strange that the Germans do not see that ἔυποτμον ἀιῶνα is the most unfortunate of all terms to apply to the condition of Agamemnon, as a sacrificer; while it is most pertinent to his previous fortunes, before his evil destiny began to be revealed in the sacrifice of his beloved daughter.
“. . . What boots
To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing.”
It is both mortifying and consoling to think that all the learning which has been expended on this corrupt passage from Δίκα down to ἀυγαῖς, brings out nothing more than what already lies in the old Scholiast. As to the details of the text, I wish I could say, with the same confidence as Con., that Well. and Her.’s σύνορθρον ἀυγαῖς is a bit more certain than Fr.’s σύναρθρον ἀταις, which, however, I am inclined to prefer, from its agreeing better with the general sombre hue of the ode.
“Ever swift
Though wingless, Fame.”
ἄπτερος is an epithet by negation after a fashion not at all uncommon in the Greek drama; the meaning being, though fame is not a bird, and has no wings, yet it flies as fast as if it had. The idea that ἄπτερος is the same as πτερωτὸς I agree with Con. is the mere expedient of despair. I have not the slightest doubt that Rumour is called a wingless messenger, just as Dust is called a voiceless messenger in the Seven against Thebes. Sym. is too subtle in explaining ἄπτερος after the analogy of the beautiful simile in Virgil, Æneid V. 215, so swift as not to appear to move its wings.
“. . . He from Ida shot the spark.”
The geographical mountain points in the following famous descriptive passages are as follows: (1) Mount Ida, near Troy; (2) the Island of Lemnos, in the Ægean, half-way between Asia and Europe, due West; (3) Mount Athos, the South point of the most Easterly of the three peninsulas that form the South part of Macedonia; (4) a station somewhere betwixt Athos and Bœotia, which the poet has characterised only by the name of the Watchman Macistus; (5) the Messapian Mount, West of Anthedon in the North of Bœotia; (6) Mount Cithæron, in the South of Bœotia; (7) Mount Aegiplanctus, between Megara and Corinth; (8) Mount Arachne, in Argolis, between Tiryns and Epidaurus, not far from Argos.
“. . . the forward strength
Of the far-travelling lamp strode gallantly.”
I have not had the courage with Sym. to reject the πρὸς ἡδονὴν and supply a verb. The phrase is not colloquial, as he says, but occurs, as Well. points out, in Prom. 492. Medwyn has “crossing the breast of ocean with a speed plumed by its joy.” That there is some blunder in the passage the want of a verb seems to indicate, but, with our present means, it appears wise to let it alone; not, like Fr., from a mere conjecture, to introduce ἰχθῦς for ἰσχύς, and translate—
“Und fern hin dass der Wanderflamme heller Schein,
In lust die Fische auf des Meeres Rücken trieb.”
Are we never to see an end of these extremely ingenious, but very useless conjectures?
“Weaving the chain unbroken.”
μη κατιζεσθαι—Heath. The true reading not to be discovered.
“. . . a mighty beard of flame.”
The Hindoos in their description of the primeval male who, with a thousand heads and a thousand faces, issued from the mundane egg, use the same image—“the hairs of his body are trees and plants, of his head the clouds, of his beard, lightning, and his nails are rocks.”—Colonel Vans Kennedy, Ch. VIII. Our translators generally (except Sew. and Con.) have eschewed transplanting this image literally into English; and even the Germans have stumbled, Fr. giving Feuersaüle most unhappily. Droy., when he says “Schweife,” gives the true idea, but I am not afraid to let the original stand.
“. . . the headlands that look down
On the Saronic gulf.”
I see no proof that πρῶν ever means anything but a promontory, and so cannot follow Con. in reading κάτοπτρον.
“Each from the other fired with happy news,” etc.
An allusion to the famous λαμπαδηφορία, or torch race, practised by the Greeks at the Parthenon and other festivals. In this race a burning torch was passed from hand to hand, so that, notwithstanding the extreme celerity of the movement, the flame might not go out. See the article by Liddell in the Dict. Antiq. where difficulties in the detail are explained.
“To their hearts’ content.”
The reading of Well. and the MS. ὡς δυσδαίμονες will never do, though Med. certainly has shown genius by striking out of it
“Soundly as mariners when the danger’s past
They sleep.”
The connection decidedly requires ῶς (ε)υδαιμονες, neither more nor less than “to their hearts’ content,” as I have rendered it. But one would almost be reconciled to the sad state of the text of Æschylus, if every difficulty were cleared with such a masterly bound as Med. here displays. The Germans, Fr. and Dr., incapable, or not liking such capers, adhere to the simple (ε)υδαίμονες. Humb., according to his general practice, follows the captainship of Hermann, and gives “Götterngleich (ὡς δε δαίμονες).”
“. . . Happy if the native gods
They reverence.”
This sober fear of the evil consequences of excess in the hour of triumph, so characteristic a trait of ancient poetry, and purposely introduced here by Clytemnestra to serve her own purpose, finds an apt illustration in the conduct of Camillus at the siege of Veii, as reported by Livy (V. 21)—
“Ad prædam miles permissu dictatoris discurrit. Quæ quum ante oculos ejus aliquantum spe atque opinione major majorisque pretii rerum ferretur, dicitur, manus ad cœlum tollens precatus esse, ut si cui deorum hominumque nimia sua fortuna populique Romani videretur, ut eam invidiam lenire quam minimo suo privato incommodo, publicoque populo Romano liceret.”
“Having turned the goal.”
The reader is aware that in the ancient racecourse there was a meta, or goal, at each end of the course, round which the racers turned round (metaque fervidis evitata rotis.—Hor. Carm. I. 1; and Æneid V. 129).
“If they have sinned.”
ἀμπλακητος. In defence of this reading, which, with Well., I prefer, Con. has a very excellent note, to which I refer the critical reader. Fr., following Ahrens (as he often does), makes a bold transposition of the lines, but the sense remains pretty much the same. As to the guilt incurred by the Greeks, spoken of here and in the previous lines, the poet has put it, as some palliation of her own contemplated deed, into the mouth of Clytemnestra, but in perfect conformity also with the Homeric theology, which supposes that suffering must always imply guilt. Thus in the Odyss. III. 130-135, old Nestor explains to Telemachus:—
“But when Priam’s high-perched city by the Greeks was captured, then
In their swift ships homeward sailing, they were scattered by a god;
To the Greeks great Jove had purposed in his heart a black return,
For not all had understanding, and not all observant lived
Of Justice.”
“The gods are blind.”
I cannot here forbear recalling to the reader’s recollection a similar passage in Milton:—
“Just are the ways of God
And justifiable to men;
Unless there be who think not God at all.
If any be, they walk obscure:
For of such doctrine never was there school,
But the heart of the fool,
And no man therein doctor but himself.”
—Samson Agonistes.
“Self-will fell Até’s daughter.”
I have here paraphrased a little the two lines—
βιᾶται δ᾽ἁ τάλαινα πειθὼ
προβουλόπαις ἄφερτος Ἄτας—
in which two evil powers are personified—Ate, destruction, and Peitho, persuasion, which here must be understood of that evil self-persuasion, by which, in the pride of self-will and vain confidence, a man justifies his worst deeds to himself, and is driven recklessly on to destruction. The case of Napoleon, in his Russian expedition, is in point. What follows shows that Paris is meant. As to the strange, truly Æschylean compound, προβουλόπαις, Con. says well, that the simple πρόβουλος means “one who joins in a preliminary vote,” and, of course, the compound is, as Lin. has it, a “forecounselling child.”
“Even as a boy in wanton sport.”
There is a great upheaping of incongruous images in this passage for which, perhaps, the poet may be blamed; as the one prevents the other from coming with a vivid and distinct impression on the mind. This image of the boy chasing the butterfly is, however, the one which places the inconsiderate love of Paris and Helen most distinctly before us; and it comes, therefore, with peculiar propriety, preceded by the more general and vague images, and immediately before the mention of the offender.
“The prophets of the house loud wailing.”
δόμων προφῆται. I have retained the original word here, because it appears most appropriate to the passage; but the reader must be warned, by a reference to the familiar example in Epist. Tit. I. 12, that with the ancients the characters of poet and prophet were confounded in a way that belongs not at all to our modern usage of the same words. Epimenides of Crete, in fact, to whom the Apostle Paul alludes, was not only a prophet, but also a physician, like Apollo (ἱατρόμαντις, Eumen. v. 62). In the same way the Hebrew word Nabah, prophetess, is applied to Miriam, Exod. xv. 20; and it may well be, that Æschylus, in the true spirit of these old times, and also following the deep religious inspiration of his Muse, alludes here to a character more sacred than the Homeric ἀοιδὸς, Minstrel or Bard, and this distinction should, of course, be preserved in the translation. Sew. with great happiness, in my opinion, has given “the bards of fate;” but it were useless to press any such nice matter in this passage, especially when we call to mind the high estimation in which the Homeric ἀοιδὸς stands in the Odyss., and the remarkable passage, III. 267, where a minstrel is represented as appointed by Agamemnon to counsel and control Clytemnestra in his absence, pretty much as a family confessor would do in a modern Roman Catholic family.
“He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath.”
Here commences one of the most difficult, and at the same time one of the most beautiful passages in the Agamemnon. The words,
πάρεστι σιγᾶς᾽, ἄτιμος, ἀλόιδορος
ἅδιστος ἀφἐμένων ἰδεῖν,
are so corrupt, that a translator is quite justified in striking that sense out of them which is most fit on grounds of taste, and in this view I have little hesitation in adopting Hermann’s reading,
πάρεστι σιγὰς (σιγηλος) ἄτιμος ἀλόιδορος
ἄληστος ἀφεμένων ἰδεῖν;
modified thus by Orelli—
ἄπιστος ἀφεμέναν ἰδεῖν—(See Wellauer).
With a reference to Menelaus and not to Helen. In doing so, I am not at all moved by any merely philological consideration; but I may observe that the remark made by Well., Peile, and Con., that the words cannot refer to Menelaus, because he has not yet been mentioned, can have little weight in the present chorus, in the first antistrophe of which Paris is first alluded to, by dim indications, and afterwards distinctly by name. This method of merely hinting at a person, before naming him, is common in all poetry, but peculiarly characteristic of Æschylus. Besides, it is impossible to deny that the πόθος in the next line refers to Menelaus, and can refer to no other. Con., who refers the words to Helen, translates thus—
“She stands in silence, scorned, yet unrebuking,
Most sweetly sorrowfully looking
Of brides that have from wedlock fled;”
to which I have this further objection, that it is contrary to the poet’s intention and to the moral tone of the piece, to paint the fair fugitive with such an engaging look of reluctance to leave her husband; on the contrary, he blames her in the strongest language, ἄτλητα τλᾶσα, and represents her as leaving Argos with all the hurry of a common elopement, where both parties are equally willing for the amorous flight, ῎Βέβακε ρίμφα διὰ πυλᾶν. After which our fancy has nothing to do but imagine her giving her sails to the wind as swiftly as possible, and bounding gaily over the broad back of ocean with her gay paramour. In this connection, to say “she stands,” appears quite out of place. In my view of this “very difficult and all but desperate passage” (Peile) I am supported by Sym. in an able note, which every student ought to read, by Med. and Sew., Buck., Humb., and Droys. Neither is Fr. against me, because, though following a new reading of Hermann,
πάρεστι σιγὰς ἀτίμους ἀλοιδόρους
᾽αισχρῶς ἀφειμενων ιδειν,
he avoids all special allusions to Menelaus, it is evident that the picture of solitary desolation given in his translation can have no reference but to the palace of the king of Sparta—
“Ein Schweigen, sieh! voll von Schmach, nicht gebrochen church
Vorwurf, beherrscht die Einsamkeit.”
“The bolt from on high shall blast his eye.”
“Peile greatly admires Klausen’s interpretation”—
“Jacitur oculis a Jove fulmen,”
but the passages which the latter adduce are not to the point. The Greeks do not attribute any governing virtue to the eyes of the gods, further than this, that the immortal beings who are supposed to govern human affairs must see, and take cognizance of them. Jupiter’s eye may glare like lightning, but the real lightning is always hurled from his hand. Compare Soph. Antiq. 157. The words βάλλεται ὄσσοις Λιόθεν can bear no other sense naturally than “is flashed in the eyes from Jove.”—Con.
“Where women wield the spear.”
The spear (δόρυ) is with the Greeks the regular emblem of war, as the sword is with us; so a famous warrior in Homer is δουρικλυτὸς, a famous spearman, and a warrior generally ἀιχμητὴς. Further, as in the heroic or semi-civilized age, authority presents itself, not under the form of law and peaceful order, so much as under that of force and war, the spear comes to be a general emblem of authority; so in the present passage. St. Paul’s language, Rom. xiii. 4, the magistrate weareth not the sword (μάχαιραν) in vain, gives the modern counterpart of the Æschylean phraseology.
“. . . our healer from much harm.”
παιώνιος. I have no hesitation whatever in leaving Well. here, much as I generally admire his judicious caution. “Ἀγώνίους in the next line,” says Con., “at once convicts the old reading of tautology, and accounts for its introduction.” When a clear cause for a corrupt reading is shown by a natural wandering of the eye, I see no wisdom in obstinately adhering to a less appropriate reading. The emendation originated, according to Peile, with a writer in the Classical Journal; and was thence adopted by Scholefield, Peile, Con., and Franz, who names Ahrens as its author. Linw. also calls it “very probable.”
“. . . ye sun-fronting gods.”
δαίμονες ἀντήλιοι. Med. has given the words a special application—
“Ye images of our gods that stand
Before the eastern gate.”
But I suppose the reference may be only to the general custom of placing the statues of the gods in open public places, and in positions where they might front the sun.—See Hesychius and Tertullian, quoted by Stan.
“His pledge is forfeited.”
I agree with Con. that the juridical language used in the previous line fixes down the meaning of ρυσίου here beyond dispute; which meaning, indeed—ἐνέχυρον, a pledge or gage, is that given by the Scholiast on Iliad XI. 674. Stan. enounces this clearly in his Notes; only there is no need of supposing, with him, that the gage means Helen, or any one else. ’Tis merely a juridical way of saying that Paris was worsted in battle—he has forfeited his caution-money.
“These spoils, a shining grace, there to remain
An heritage for ever.”
The word ἀρχαῖον in this version seems most naturally to have a prospective reference, to express which a paraphrase seems necessary in English; but a similar use of Vetustas is common in Latin.—Cic. Attic. XIV. 9, pro-Mil. 35. Virgil’s Æneid X. 792. Sew. takes it retrospectively; thus
“Unto their ancient homes in Hellas land
A pride and joy.”
“No more than dyer’s art can tincture brass.”
χαλκοῦ βαφὰς. One cannot dye a hard impenetrable substance, like copper or brass, by the mere process of steeping, as may be done with a soft substance like cloth. Clytemnestra seems to say that her ears are impenetrable in the same way. So Sym., Con., Sew.; and I have little doubt as to this being the true meaning—but should we not read χαλκὸς more than the brass knows dyeing?
“Far from the honors of the blissful gods.”
χωρὶς ἡ τιμὴ θεῶν. I translate so, simply because this rendering seems to lie most naturally in the words, when interpreted by the immediately preceding context. The other translation which I originally had here,
“To every god his separate hour belongs
Of rightful honor,”
seems to spring from the contrast of the “pæan to the Furies” mentioned below, with the hymns of joyful thanksgivings to the gods that suit the present occasion. But when the term “gods” is used generally on a joyful occasion, it seems more agreeable to Greek feeling to interpret it as excluding than as including the Furies. The hymns in the Eumenides show that they were considered as a dreadful power in the background, rather than prominent figures in the foreground of Hellenic polytheism. But, however this be, the more obvious key to such a doubtful passage is surely that of the train of thought which immediately precedes.
“Fire and the sea, sworn enemies of old,” etc.
This passage, in the original, boils with a series of high-sounding words, δυσκύμαντα, κεροτοπούμεναι, ὀμβροκτύπῳ, extremely characteristic both of the general genius of the poet and the special subject of poetic description. I have endeavoured, according to the best of my ability, not to lose a single line of this powerful painting; but, as it is more than likely I may have missed some point, or brought it feebly out, I would refer the reader to the able versions of Sym. and Med., which are very good in this place. About the κακὸς ποιμὴν, whether it refer to the whole tempest, as Sym. makes it, or to a part of it (στρόβος) as in my version, there can be no doubt, I think, that here ποιμὴν can mean nothing but “pilot,” as in the Persian ποιμάνωρ means a commander. There can be no objection to retaining the word “shepherd,” but I do not like Con.’s “demon-swain” at all. It seems to me to bring in a foreign, and somewhat of a Gothic idea.
“That ocean hell.”
ἅδην πόντιον, I took this from Med. and give him a thousand thanks for supplying me with so literal, and yet so admirable a translation. Sym. is also excellent here, though, as usual, too fine—
“O how the day looked lovely, when ashore
We crawled, escaped from the watery jaws
Of a sea death.”
“Far-labouring o’er the loosely-driving main.”
There is a fine word in the original here, σποδουμένου, easily and admirably rendered by Fr.—zerstaübt—but to express which I have found myself forced to have recourse to a cognate idea. The main idea is dispersion and diffusion, to drive about like dust, or, perhaps, the meaning may be, to rub down to dust.—See Passow. In the present passage the context makes the former meaning preferable.
“By Jove’s devising.”
The reader will note here the supreme controlling power of Jove, forming, as it were, a sort of monotheistic keystone to the many-stoned arch of Hellenic Polytheism. Μηχαναῖς Διὸς here is just equivalent to our phrase by Divine interposition, or, by the interposition of Divine Providence, or the supreme moral superintendence of Jove.
“Helen the taker!”
There is an etymological allusion in the original here, concerning which see the [Notes] to the Prometheus Bound, v. 85. The first syllable of Helen’s name in Greek means to take, from ἁιρέω 2 aor (ἑ)ιλον. “No one who understands the deep philosophy of Æschylus and his oriental turn of thought will suspect the play upon the name of Helen to be a frigid exercise of wit,” says Sew., who has transmuted the pun into English in no bad fashion thus—
“Helen, since as suited well
Hell of nations, heroes’ hell,
Hell of cities, from the tissued
Harem-chamber veils she issued.”
“. . . giant Zephyr.”
I see no reason why so many translators, from Stan. downward, should have been so fond to render γίγαντος “earth-born” here, as if there were any proof that any such genealogical idea was hovering before the mind of the poet when he used the word. I entirely agree with Con. that the notion of strength may have been all that was intended (as, indeed, we find in Homer the Zephyr always the strongest wind), and, therefore, I retain the original word. Sym. Anglicising, after his fashion, says, not inaptly—
“Fanned by Zephyr’s buxom gales;”
and Con. changes giant into Titan, perhaps wisely, to avoid certain ludicrous associations.
“Kin but not kind.”
Another etymological allusion; κῆδος meaning both kin and care. Sew. has turned it differently—
“And a marriage truly hight,
A marjoy,” etc.
Harf. does not relish this “absurd punning” at all, and misses it out in this place; so also Potter; but I agree altogether with Sew. that “there is nothing more fatal to any poet than to generalize his particularities.” Shakespere also puts puns into his most serious passages; a peculiarity which we must even tolerate like an affected way of walking or talking in a beautiful woman; though, for the reason stated in the note to the Prometheus, above referred to, the ancient, when he puns upon proper names, is by no means to be considered as an offender against the laws of good taste, in the same way as the modern.
“A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin.”
Até the goddess of destruction, already mentioned ([p. 53]), and whose name has been naturalized in English by the authority of Shakespere. In Homer ατη appears (1) as an infatuation of mind leading to perdition; (2) as that perdition effected; (3) as an allegorical personage, eldest born of Jove, the cause of that infatuation of mind and consequent perdition (Il. XIX. v. 91). In the tragedians, Ἄτη is more habitually clothed with a distinct and prominent personality.
“A haughty heart.”
In a passage hopelessly corrupt, and where no two editors agree in the reading, I have necessarily been reduced to the expedient of translating with a certain degree of looseness from the text of the MSS. as given by Well. Through this text, broken and disjointed as it is, the meaning glimmers with a light sufficient to guide the reader, who wishes only to arrive at the idea, without aspiring at the reconstitution of the lost grammatical form of the text; and it is a satisfaction to think that all the translators, from Pot. to Con., however they may vary in single phrases, give substantially the same idea, and in a great measure the same phrase. This idea, a most important one in the Greek system of morals, is well expressed by Sym. in his note on this place—“The Chorus here moralizes and dwells on the consequences to succeeding generations of the crimes of their predecessors. He traces, as it were, a moral succession, handed down from father to son, where one transgression begets another as its inevitable result. The first parent stock was ‘ὕβρις’ a spirit of insolence or insubordination, breaking out into acts of outrage, the forerunner of every calamity in a Grecian republic, against which the philosophers and tragedians largely declaimed. They denounced it as well from a principle of policy as a sentiment of religion. In short, the poet treats here of the moral concatenation of cause and effect, the consequence to the descendants of their progenitors’ misconduct, operating either by the force of example or of hereditary disposition, which in the mind of the Chorus produces the effect of an irresistible fatality.”—I may mention that I have retained the original word δάιμων in its English form “demon,” this being, according to my feeling, one of the few places where the one can be used for the other without substituting a modern, and, therefore, a false idea.
“Fawn with watery love.”
ῦδαρεῖ σάινειν φιλότητι. This is one of those bold dramatic touches which mark the hand of a Shakespere, or an Æschylus, and, by transmuting or diluting which, the translator, in my opinion, commits a capital sin. Harf., with his squeamish sensibility, has slurred over the whole passage, and even Fr., like all Germans, an advocate for close translation, gives the rapid generality of “trügend;” Med., from carelessness, I hope, and not from principle, has sinned in the same way, and Kennedy likewise; but I am happy in having both Con. and Sym. for my companions, when I retain a simile which is as characteristic of my author as a crooked beak is of an eagle. This note may serve for not a few similar cases, where the nice critic will do well to consult the Greek author before he blames the English translator.
“He might have boasted of a triple coil.”
I consider it quite legitimate in a translator, where critical doctors differ, and where decision is difficult or impossible, to embody in his version the ideas of both parties, where that can be done naturally, and without forcing, as in the present instance. It seems to me on the one hand that την κάτω γὰρ ὀυ λέγω has more pregnancy of expression when applied to the dead Geryon, than when interpreted of the earth; and, on the other hand, I cannot think with Sym. that the expression τρίμοιρον χλαῖναν, when applied to the earth, is “rank nonsense.” There are many phrases in Æschylus that, if translated literally, sound very like nonsense in English. The parenthetic clause “of him below I speak not,” is added from a superstitious feeling, to avoid the bad omen of speaking of a living person as dead. So Well. and Sym., and this appears the most natural qualification in the circumstances.
“Thy Phocian spear-guest.”
Speaking of the era of the great Doric migration with regard to Megara, Bishop Thirlwall (Hist. Greece, c. VII.) writes as follows:—“Megara itself was, at this time, only one, though probably the principal, among five little townships which were independent of each other, and were not unfrequently engaged in hostilities, which, however, were so mitigated and regulated by local usage as to present rather the image than the reality of war. They were never allowed to interrupt the labours of the husbandman. The captive taken in these feuds was entertained as a guest in his enemy’s house, and when his ransom was fixed, was dismissed before it was paid. If he discharged his debt of honour he became, under a peculiar name (δορύξενος), the friend of his host; a breach of the compact dishonoured him for life both among the strangers and his neighbours—a picture of society which we could scarcely believe to have been drawn from life, if it did not agree with other institutions which we find described upon the best authority as prevailing at the same period in other parts of Greece.”
“Come, boy, unbind these sandals.”
This passage will at once suggest to the Christian reader the well-known passage in Exod. iii. 5., “take off thy shoes from thy feet, for the ground where thou standest is holy ground,” which Ken. aptly adduces, and compares it with Lev. xxx. 19, and Juvenal Sat. VI. 159—
“Observant ubi festa mero pede Sabbata reges,”
and other passages. In the same way the hand held up in attestation before a bench of grave judges, according to our modern usage, must be ungloved.
“Jove, Jove the perfecter! perfect thou my vow.”
Ζεῦ τέλειε. I see no reason in the connection of this passage to give the epithet of τέλειος a special allusion to Jove, as along with Juno, the patron of marriage. Blom., Peile, and among the translators, Med. and Ken. take this view. But Pot., Sym., Con., Fr., Voss., and Droys. content themselves with the more obvious and general meaning. It is not contended, I presume, by any one that the epithet τέλειος, when applied to Jove, necessarily refers to marriage, independently of the context, as for instance in Eumen. 28. The origin of the epithet may be seen in Homer, Il. IV. 160-168, etc.
“. . . unbidden and unhired.”
“Poor Louis! With them it is a hollow phantasmagoria, where, like mimes, they mope and mow, and utter false sounds for hire, but with thee it is frightful earnest.”—Carlyle’s French Revolution; the ancient and the modern, with equal felicity, alluding to the custom prevalent in ancient times of hiring women to mourn for the dead. We must also note, however, that there is an example here of that spontaneous prophecy of the heart by god-given presentiment, which is so often mentioned in Homer. The ancients, indeed, were the furthest possible removed from that narrow conception of a certain modern theology, which confines the higher influences of inspiration to a privileged sacerdotal order. In St. Paul’s writings, the whole Church prophesies; and so in Homer the fair Helen, who had no pretensions to the character of a professional soothsayer, prefaces her interpretation of an omen by saying,
“Hear my word; as in my heart the immortal gods suggest the thought,
I will read the omen rightly, as the sure event shall show.”
Odys. XV. 172.
The words used by Homer to express this action of the divine on the human mind are βάλλειν ὑποτίθεσθαι, and such like, to throw into, and to put under, or suggest.
“Unloosed their cables from the shore.”
I have not been curious in rendering this passage, as the word παρήβησεν is hopelessly corrupt; but the general notion of my translation is taken from Sym.’s note.
“. . . Were link with link
In the chain of things not bound together.”
ἐι δὲ μὴ τεταγμένα μοῖρα κ. τ. λ. In my opinion, Sym., Con., and Peile, are wrong in giving a different meaning to μοῖραν from that which they assign to μοῖρα immediately preceding. In such phrases as “truditur dies die” (Horace) and “Day uttereth speech unto day,” the reader naturally attaches the same idea to the same word immediately repeated. The literal translation of this passage, “if by the ordinance of the gods ordered Fate did not hinder Fate,” seems merely to express the concatenation of things by divine decree as given in my version. Sym.’s version is—
“I pause. Some Fate from Heaven forbids
The Fate within to utter more,
Else had my heart outrun my tongue,
And poured the torrent o’er.”
Med. gives three lines substantially identical with mine—
“Nor would I counteract the laws of Heaven;
My heart would chain my tongue, e’en were it given
To drag the secret of the Fates to the day.”
“. . . the household altar.”
κτησίου βωμοῦ. Literally, the altar of our family wealth or possession. In the same way, Jove, the supreme disposer of all human wealth, is called Ζεὺς κτήσιος, possessory Jove. See the [Suppliants, v. 440]—my translation.
“My way-god, my leader Apollo!”
“Agyieus (from ἀγυιὰ, a way), a surname of Apollo, describing him as the protector of the streets and public places. As such he was worshipped at Acharnæ, Mycenæ, and Tegea.”—Dr. Schmitz, in the Mythol. Dict. In the same way, by ενοδιον θεὰν (Soph. Antig. 1200), or “the way goddess,” is understood Hecate. The Hindoos make their god Pollear perform a similar function, placing his image in all temples, streets, highways, and, in the country, at the foot of some tree, that travellers may make their adorations and offerings to him before they pursue their journey.—Sonnerat in notes to the Curse of Kehama, Canto V.
“Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?”
In this Antistrophe, and the preceding Strophe, there is one of those plays on the name of the god addressed, which appear inappropriate to us, but were meant earnestly enough by the ancients, accustomed to deal with an original language from which the significancy of proper names had not been rubbed away.—See [note] on Prometheus, v. 85. Besides this, there was naturally a peculiar significancy attached to the names of the gods.—See [note 18], [p. 338], above. In the present passage the first pun is on the name Απόλλων, Apollo, and the verb ἀπόλλυμι, which signifies to destroy) so the Hebrew Abaddon from Abad, he perished.—Apoc. ix. 11), a function of the Sun god familiar enough to the Greek mind, from the description of the pestilence in the opening scene of the Iliad. The second pun is on the title ἀγυιεὺς, leader, or way-god, concerning which see previous note. I have here, as in the case of Helen and Prometheus (v. 85), taken the simple plan of explaining the epithet in the text. The translator who will not do this must either, like Con. and Sym., leave the play on the words altogether imperceptible to the English reader, or, like Sew., be driven to the necessity of inventing a new pun, which may not always be happy English, and is certainly not Greek, thus—
“Apollo! Apollo!
Leader! appaller mine!
Yea! for the second time thou hast with ease
Appalled me, and destroyed me.”
“The blithe blood, that crimson ran
In my veins, runs pale and wan.”
With this Sym. aptly compares a passage from the speech of Theodosius in Massinger’s Emperor of the East—
“What an earthquake I feel in me!
And on the sudden my whole fabric totters;
My blood within me turns, and through my veins
Parting with natural redness, I discern it
Changed to a fatal yellow.”
Even more strongly expressed than in our Greek poet, perhaps a little too strongly, the words, I discern it, certainly not improving the passage. Harf., as is his fashion, fears to follow the boldness of his author, and translates—
“The ruddy drop is curdling at my heart.”
And in the same spirit Fr. gives dunkelroth.
“As when in the mortal anguish.”
Sym. takes his stand too confidently on a corrupt text, when he says, “Pot. has entirely omitted the fallen warrior bleeding drop by drop, which is, as it were, introduced into the background by the poet to aggravate the gloom of the picture.” I read καιρία with Dind., Con., Linw., and Fr., with which single word the fallen warrior disappears, who comes in, even in Sym.’s version, rather abruptly.
“. . . she seizes him
By the strong black horn.”
Harf. finds this rough Homeric trait too strong for him. Med. has—
“With her black horn she buts him.
What is that wrapt round his head?”
But, though there is some colour for this translation in the old Scholiast, I think the reader will scarcely judge very favourably of it, after considering what Peile and Con. have judiciously said on the point. As for authority, all the translators, except Med. and Humb., from Pot. downwards, English and German, are with me. It is scarcely necessary to remark against Harford’s squeamishness, that the bull in ancient symbolical language (see poets and coins, passim) was an animal in every respect as noble and kingly as the lion and the eagle still remain.
“Crieth Itys! Itys! aye.”
Procne and Philomele, according to one of the most familiar of old Greek legends, were daughters of Pandion, king of Athens; and one of them having been given in marriage to Tereus, a king of the Thracians, in Daulis, who, after the marriage, offered violence to her sister—the result was, that the wife, in a fit of mad revenge, murdered her own son Itys, and gave his flesh to her husband to eat; and, being afterwards changed into a nightingale, was supposed in her melodious wail continually to repeat the name of this her luckless offspring.
“The thick blossoms of its woe.”
ἀμφιθαλῆ κακοῖς βίον. I hope this expression will not be considered too strong by those who consider as well the general style of our poet, as the ὁρῶμεν ἀνθουν πέλαγος Ἀιγᾶιον νεκρ(ο)ις, v. 645 of this play (see my translation, supra, [p. 61]), and the μανίας δεινόν ὰποστάζει ἀνθηρόν τε μένος of Sophocles.—Antig. v. 960.
“Soon my reeking heart shall cast.”
If the reader thinks this a bold phrase, he must bear in mind that it is Cassandra who speaks, and Æschylus who writes. The translation, indeed, is not literal, but the word “θερμόνους,” as Con. says, “has all the marks of genuineness,” and I was more afraid of weakening it in translation than of exaggerating it. Other translations are—
“And I my warm blood soon on earth shall pour.”—Sym.
“But I shall soon press my hot heart to Earth.”—Con.
“Ich aber stúrze bald zur Erd im heissen Kampf.”—Fr.
“Ich aber sinke bald im heissen Todeskampf.”—Droys.
“Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face.”
“The beauty of this image can only be properly appreciated by those who have observed the extraordinary way in which the waves of the sea appear to rush towards the rising sun.”—English Prose Tr. Oxon.
“. . . though I should wedge them
As stark as ice?”
I read πῆγμα with Well. and the majority of editors and translators. Sym., who is sometimes a little too imperative in his style, calls this to “obtrude an unnecessary piece of frigidity or fustian on Æschylus.” The reader, of course, will judge for himself; but there are many things in our poet more worthy of the term “fustian” than the word πῆγμα, applied to ὁρκος.
“Implacable breath of curses on her kin.”
Well. forgets his usual caution, when he receives ἄρην into his text, and rejects ἀρὰν, the reading of the MS. It is paltry to object to the phrase ἄσπονδον ἀρὰν in an author like Æschylus. Franz receives the emendation of Lobeck, modified into Ἄρη.
“Bravely thou praisest; but the happy hear not
Such commendations.”
I have here, in opposition to Fr., Sym., Med., and even the cautious Well., reverted to the original order of this and the next line, as they appear in the MSS., being chiefly moved by what is said by Con. “The words ὰλλ ἐυκλεῶς τοι κατθαν(ε)ιν χάρις βροτῷ could never have been put by Æschylus into the mouth of Cassandra, who is as far as possible from cherishing the common view of a glorious death, and, indeed, shows in her next speech very plainly what feelings such a thought suggests to her.”
“Not with vain screaming, like a fluttering bird.”
“Fearing a wild beast about its nest,” says the Scholiast; fearing the fowler with “its limed wings,” says Med. The original is short and obscure; but there is no need of being definite; nothing is more common than to see a bird fruitlessly fluttering about a bush, and uttering piteous cries. A fit image of vain lamentation without purpose or result.
“. . . From bad to worse
Our changes run, and with the worst we end.”
This translation is free, because it did not occur to me that the laconism of the Greek, if literally translated, would be sufficiently intelligible. I have no doubt as to the correctness of this version of a passage which is certainly not a little puzzling at first sight. Two phases of human life are spoken of in the previous lines; one is the change from prosperity to adversity, the other, from adversity down to utter ruin and death. The preference expressed in the line καὶ ταῦτ ἒκέινων κ.τ.λ. can refer to nothing but these two. So Peile and Con.; and there is a terrible darkness of despair about Cassandra’s whole tone and manner, which renders this account of human life peculiarly natural in her parting words.
“Who of mortals will not pray.”
The line τίς ἀν ἔυξαιτο βροτῶν ἀσιν(ε)ι, being deficient in metre, one may either supply ὄυκ, with Canter., which gives the meaning expressed in the text, or, retaining the affirmative form, read βροτός, ὤν, with Both. and Fr., which gives an equally good sense thus—
“Who of mortals then may hope
To live an unharmed life, when he
Fell from such height of honor?”
so Pot., Med., Humb., Droys., Fr., and Voss.
“Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.”
I follow Müller here in dividing the Chorus among twelve, not fifteen speakers. The internal evidence plainly points to this; and for any external evidence of scholiasts and others in such matters, even if it were uncontradicted, I must confess that I think it is worth very little.
“So wisely spoken.”
Most lame and impotent conclusion!—so the reader has no doubt been all the while exclaiming. Our great poet has here contrived to make one of the most tragic moments of the play consummately ridiculous; and it is in vain to defend him. No doubt, old men are apt enough to be irresolute, and to deliberate, while the decisive moment for action slips through their fingers. So far in character. But why does the poet bring this vacillation so laboriously forward, that it necessarily appears ludicrous? This formal argumentation turns the character of the Chorus into caricature. Nor will it do to say with Con. that this impotent scene was “forced on Æschylus, by the fact of the existence of a Chorus, and the nature of the work he had to do.” A short lyrical ode might have covered worthily that irresolution, which a formal argumentation only exposes. No one blames the Chorus for doing nothing; that is all right enough; but every one must blame the poet for making them talk with such a show of solemn gravity and earnest loyalty about doing nothing.
“Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand
Upon the finished deed.”
The natural attitude of decision. So when Brutus administered the famous oath to the Roman people, “neminem Romæ regnare passuros,” he and his colleagues are described by Dionysius (V. 1) as σταντες ἐπι των τομίων.
“Thou hast cast off: thou hast cut off
Thine own husband.”
I have endeavoured to express the repetition of the off three times as in the original; but the Greek is far more emphatic, the repetition taking place in the same line, ἀπέδικες, ἀπέταμες ἀπόπολις δ ἕσῃ.
“But mark my words.”
There is much difficulty in settling the reading and the construction of the Greek here; but having compared all the translations, I find that, from Pot. down to Med. and Fr., substantially the same sentiment is educed. Sym. who praises Blom.’s arrangement, gives—
“Threaten away, for I too am prepared
In the like manner. Rule me if thou canst,
Get by thy hand the mastery—rule me then.
But if,” etc.
Well. whom I follow, and who objects to Blom.’s construction, gives—
“Jubeo antem te, quum et ego ad similes minas paratas sim, victoria vi reportata, mihi imperare; sin minus, et si contraria Dii perfecerint, damno edoctus sero sapere disces.”
“And thine eyes with fatness swell.”
I do not know whether I may not have gone too far in retaining the original force of λίπος in this passage. I perceive that few of the translators, not even Sew., so curious in etymological translation, keep me in countenance. However, I am always very loath to smooth down a strong phrase in Æschylus, merely because the modern ear may think it gross. In this case, I am glad to find that I am supported by Droys.
“Ueber dem Auge glänzt fett Dir das Tropfenblüt,”
though my rendering is a little more free.
Strophe i. In the arrangement of the following lyric dialogue, I have followed But., Blom., and Peile, in opposition to that given by Herm., Well., and Fr., not for any metrical reasons sufficiently strong to influence me either one way or other in constituting the text; but because I find the sense complete and continuous after νῦν δε τελειάν, and this alone is a sufficient reason why I, in my subordinate function of a translator, should not suppose anything to have fallen out of the text in this place. How much, however, we are all in the dark about the matter appears from this, that in the place where Blom. and Peile suppose an immense lacuna, the sense in the mouth of Clytemnestra νῦν δ᾽ ὤρθωσας runs on with a continuous allusion to the preceding words of the Chorus. For which reason I have not hinted the existence of an omission, nor is it at all likely that the reader has lost much. These are matters which belonged to the ancient symmetrical arrangement of the Chorus before the eyes and ears of the spectators, and which I much fear it it impossible for us, readers of a dry MS., to revive at this time of day.
“O god that o’er the doomed Atridan halls.”
I am afraid I stand alone, among the translators, in translating δαῖμον in this and similar places, by the English word god; but persuaded as I am that the English words Fiend and Demon are steeped in modern partly Gothic, partly Christian associations of a character essentially opposed to the character and genius of the Greek theology, I choose rather to offend the taste than to confound the judgment of my reader in so important a matter. The Greeks habitually attributed to their gods actions and sentiments, which we attribute only to devils and demons. Such beings (in the English sense) were, in fact, altogether unknown to the Greeks. Their gods, as occasion required, performed all the functions of our Devil; so that, to use a familiar illustration, instead of the phrase, what the devil are you about? so familiar to a genuine English ear, the Athenians would have said, what the god are you about? Hence the use of δαιμόνιε in Homer.
“The unrelenting old Alastor.”
Along with Sym. and Con. I retain the Greek word here, partly from the reason given in the previous note with regard to δαίμων, partly because the word is familiar to many poetical ears from Shelley’s poetry, partly, also, because I take care so to explain it in the context, that it cannot be misunderstood by the English reader. The Greek word ἀλάστωρ means an evil genius. Clement of Alexandria, in a passage quoted by Sym. (Protrept c. II.) classes the Alastors of the ancient tragedy with the Furies and other terrible ministers of heaven’s avenging justice. About the etymology of the word the lexicographers and critics are not agreed. Would there be any harm in connecting it with ἀλαστέω (Il. XII. 163), and ἐπαλαστέω (Odys. I. 252), so that it should signify an angry or wrathful spirit.
“Falling he fell, and dying died.”
I have here taken advantage of a Hebraism familiar, through the pages of the Bible, to the English ear, in order to give somewhat of the force of the fine alliteration in the original κάππεσε, κάτθανε. καὶ καταθάψομεν. In the next three lines I have filled up a blank in the text, by what must obviously have been the import of the lost lines, if, indeed, Paley, Klausen, and Con. are not rather right in not insisting on an exact response of stanza to stanza in the anapæstic systems of the musical dialogue.
“While great Jove lives.”
μίμνοντος ὲν χρόνῳΔιὸς. “The meaning is sufficiently plain, if we do not disturb it by any philosophical notions about the difference between time and eternity.”—Con. The reader will note here the grand idea of retributive justice pursuing a devoted family from generation to generation, and, as it were, entailing misery upon them, concerning which see Sewell’s remarks above, [p. 349]. Sophocles strikes the same keynote in the choric chaunt of the Antigone, ἀρχαῖα τα Δαβδακιδᾶν ὄικων ὁρῶμαι.
“. . . in a separate dish concealed
Were legs and arms, and the fingers’ pointed tips.”
Editors have a great difficulty in settling the text here; but there is enough of the meaning visible—especially when the passage is compared with Herod. I. 119, referred to by Schütz—to enable the translator to proceed on the assumption of a text substantially the same as that given by Fr., where the second line is supplied—
Τὰ μὲν ποδήρη και χ(ε)ρων ἄκρους κτένας
[Ἔθετο κάτωθεν πὰντα συγκρύψας τὰ δ ἀυ]
Ἔθρυπτ ἄνωθεν ὰνδρακὰς καθημένοις
Ἄσήμ᾽· ὁ δ ἄυτῶν ἀυτικ᾽ αγνόιᾳ λαβὼν.
The reader will observe that in these and such like passages, where, after all the labours of the learned, an uncertainty hangs over the text, I think myself safer in giving only the general undoubted meaning that shines through the passage, without venturing on the slippery ground of translating words of which the proper connection may be lost, or which, perhaps, were not written at all by the poet.
“. . . while with his heel he spurned
The supper.”
I quite agree with Con. that there is not the slightest reason for rejecting the natural meaning of λακτίσμα δείπνου in this passage. Such expressions are quite Æschylean in their character, and the analogy of the feast of Tereus in Ovid, Met. VI. 661,
“Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellit,”
adduced by Con. is very happy. To push the table away, whether with hand or heel, or with both, in such a case, is the most natural action in the world.
“And no diviner vends more potent balms
To drug a doting wit.”
I have here expanded the text a little, to express the whole force of the Greek word Ἱατρομάντεις, concerning which see Note to the Eumen. v. 62, below.
“Ho! my gallant co-mates, rouse ye!”
These two lines in the mouth of the Chorus make a good consecutive sense; but the symmetrical response of line to line, so characteristic of Greek tragedy, has led Herm., Well., and the other editors of note, to suppose that a line from Ægisthus has fallen out between these lines of the Chorus. Blanks of this kind, however, the translator will wisely overlook, so long as they do not seriously disturb the sense.