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    Hippolytus; The Bacchae
    Hippolytus; The Bacchae
    Hippolytus; The Bacchae
    Ebook168 pages1 hour

    Hippolytus; The Bacchae

    By Euripides

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    DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "Hippolytus; The Bacchae" by Euripides. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigiCat
    Release dateAug 15, 2022
    ISBN8596547179283
    Hippolytus; The Bacchae
    Author

    Euripides

    Euripides was a tragedian of classical Athens. He was born on Salamis Island around 480 BC to his mother, Cleito, and father, Mnesarchus, a retailer who lived in a village near Athens. He had two disastrous marriages, and both his wives—Melite and Choerine (the latter bearing him three sons)—were unfaithful. He became a recluse, making a home for himself in a cave on Salamis. Along with Aeschylus and Sophocles, he is one of the three ancient Greek tragedians for whom any plays have survived in full. He became, in the Hellenistic Age, a cornerstone of ancient literary education. The details of his death are uncertain.

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      Book preview

      Hippolytus; The Bacchae - Euripides

      Euripides

      Hippolytus; The Bacchae

      EAN 8596547179283

      DigiCat, 2022

      Contact: [email protected]

      Table of Contents

      THE BACCHAE

      OF EURIPIDES

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

      THE GODDESS APHRODITE

      THESEUS, King of Athens and Trozên PHAEDRA, daughter of Minos, King of Crete, wife to Theseus HIPPOLYTUS, bastard son of Theseus and the Amazon Hippolyte THE NURSE OF PHAEDRA

      A HENCHMAN OF HIPPOLYTUS

      THE GODDESS ARTEMIS

      AN OLD HUNTSMAN

      A CHORUS OF HUNTSMEN

      ATTENDANTS ON THE THREE ROYAL PERSONS

      A CHORUS OF TROZENIAN WOMEN, WITH THEIR LEADER

      The scene is laid in Trozên. The play was first acted when Epameinon was Archon, Olympiad 87, year 4 (B.C. 429). Euripides was first, Iophon second, Ion third.

      APHRODITE

      Great among men, and not unnamed am I,

      The Cyprian, in God's inmost halls on high.

      And wheresoe'er from Pontus to the far

      Red West men dwell, and see the glad day-star,

      And worship Me, the pious heart I bless,

      And wreck that life that lives in stubbornness.

      For that there is, even in a great God's mind,

      That hungereth for the praise of human kind.

      So runs my word; and soon the very deed

      Shall follow. For this Prince of Theseus' seed,

      Hippolytus, child of that dead Amazon,

      And reared by saintly Pittheus in his own

      Strait ways, hath dared, alone of all Trozên,

      To hold me least of spirits and most mean,

      And spurns my spell and seeks no woman's kiss,

      But great Apollo's sister, Artemis,

      He holds of all most high, gives love and praise,

      And through the wild dark woods for ever strays,

      He and the Maid together, with swift hounds

      To slay all angry beasts from out these bounds,

      To more than mortal friendship consecrate!

      I grudge it not. No grudge know I, nor hate;

      Yet, seeing he hath offended, I this day

      Shall smite Hippolytus. Long since my way

      Was opened, nor needs now much labour more.

      For once from Pittheus' castle to the shore

      Of Athens came Hippolytus over-seas

      Seeking the vision of the Mysteries.

      And Phaedra there, his father's Queen high-born;

      Saw him, and as she saw, her heart was torn

      With great love, by the working of my will.

      And for his sake, long since, on Pallas' hill,

      Deep in the rock, that Love no more might roam,

      She built a shrine, and named it Love-at-home :

      And the rock held it, but its face alway

      Seeks Trozên o'er the seas. Then came the day

      When Theseus, for the blood of kinsmen shed,

      Spake doom of exile on himself, and fled,

      Phaedra beside him, even to this Trozên.

      And here that grievous and amazed Queen,

      Wounded and wondering, with ne'er a word,

      Wastes slowly; and her secret none hath heard

      Nor dreamed.

      But never thus this love shall end!

      To Theseus' ear some whisper will I send,

      And all be bare! And that proud Prince, my foe,

      His sire shall slay with curses. Even so

      Endeth that boon the great Lord of the Main

      To Theseus gave, the Three Prayers not in vain.

      And she, not in dishonour, yet shall die.

      I would not rate this woman's pain so high

      As not to pay mine haters in full fee

      That vengeance that shall make all well with me.

      But soft, here comes he, striding from the chase,

      Our Prince Hippolytus!—I will go my ways.—

      And hunters at his heels: and a loud throng

      Glorying Artemis with praise and song!

      Little he knows that Hell's gates opened are,

      And this his last look on the great Day-star!

      [APHRODITE withdraws, unseen by HIPPOLYTUS

      and a band of huntsmen, who enter from the left, singing.

      They pass the Statue of APHRODITE without notice. ]

      HIPPOLYTUS

      Follow, O follow me,

      Singing on your ways

      Her in whose hand are we,

      Her whose own flock we be,

      The Zeus-Child, the Heavenly;

      To Artemis be praise!

      HUNTSMAN

      Hail to thee, Maiden blest,

      Proudest and holiest:

      God's Daughter, great in bliss,

      Leto-born, Artemis!

      Hail to thee, Maiden, far

      Fairest of all that are,

      Yea, and most high thine home,

      Child of the Father's hall;

      Hear, O most virginal,

      Hear, O most fair of all,

      In high God's golden dome.

      [ The huntsmen have gathered about the altar of ARTEMIS.

      HIPPOLYTUS now advances from them, and approaches the Statue

      with a wreath in his hand. ]

      HIPPOLYTUS

      To thee this wreathed garland, from a green

      And virgin meadow bear I, O my Queen,

      Where never shepherd leads his grazing ewes

      Nor scythe has touched. Only the river dews

      Gleam, and the spring bee sings, and in the glade

      Hath Solitude her mystic garden made.

      No evil hand may cull it: only he

      Whose heart hath known the heart of Purity,

      Unlearned of man, and true whate'er befall.

      Take therefore from pure hands this coronal,

      O mistress loved, thy golden hair to twine.

      For, sole of living men, this grace is mine,

      To dwell with thee, and speak, and hear replies

      Of voice divine, though none may see thine eyes.

      Oh, keep me to the end in this same road!

      [ An OLD HUNTSMAN, who has stood apart from

      the rest, here comes up to HIPPOLYTUS.]

      HUNTSMAN

      My Prince—for Master name I none but God—

      Gave I good counsel, wouldst thou welcome it?

      HIPPOLYTUS

      Right gladly, friend; else were I poor of wit.

      HUNTSMAN

      Knowest thou one law, that through the world has won?

      HIPPOLYTUS

      What wouldst thou? And how runs thy law? Say on.

      HUNTSMAN

      It hates that Pride that speaks not all men fair!

      HIPPOLYTUS

      And rightly. Pride breeds hatred everywhere.

      HUNTSMAN

      And good words love, and grace in all men's sight?

      HIPPOLYTUS

      Aye, and much gain withal, for trouble slight.

      HUNTSMAN

      How deem'st thou of the Gods? Are they the same?

      HIPPOLYTUS

      Surely: we are but fashioned on their frame.

      HUNTSMAN

      Why then wilt thou be proud, and worship not..

      HIPPOLYTUS

      Whom? If the name be speakable, speak out!

      HUNTSMAN

      She stands here at thy gate: the Cyprian Queen!

      HIPPOLYTUS

      I greet her from afar: my life is clean.

      HUNTSMAN

      Clean? Nay, proud, proud; a mark for all to scan!

      HIPPOLYTUS

      Each mind hath its own bent, for God or man.

      HUNTSMAN

      God grant thee happiness.. and wiser thought!

      HIPPOLYTUS

      These Spirits that reign in darkness like me not.

      HUNTSMAN

      What the Gods ask, O Son, that man must pay!

      HIPPOLYTUS ( turning from him to the others ).

      On, huntsmen, to the Castle! Make your way

      Straight to the feast room; 'tis a merry thing

      After the chase, a board of banqueting.

      And see the steeds be groomed, and in array

      The chariot dight. I drive them forth to-day

      [ He pauses, and makes a slight gesture of reverence to the Statue on

      the left. Then to the OLD HUNTSMAN.]

      That for thy Cyprian, friend, and nought beside!

      [HIPPOLYTUS follows the huntsmen, who stream by the central door in

      the Castle. The OLD HUNTSMAN remains]

      HUNTSMAN ( approaching the Statue and kneeling )

      O Cyprian—for a young man in his pride

      I will not follow!—here before thee, meek,

      In that one language that a slave may speak,

      I pray thee; Oh, if some wild heart in froth

      Of youth surges against thee, be not wroth

      For ever! Nay, be far and hear not then:

      Gods should be gentler and more wise than men!

      [ He rises and follows the others into the Castle.]

      The Orchestra is empty for a moment, then there enter from right and

      left several Trosenian women young and old. Their number eventually

      amounts to fifteen.

      CHORUS

      There riseth a rock-born river,

      Of Ocean's tribe, men say;

      The crags of it gleam and quiver,

      And pitchers dip in the spray:

      A woman was there with raiment white

      To bathe and spread in the warm sunlight,

      And she told a tale to me there by the river

      The tale of the Queen and her evil day:

      How, ailing beyond allayment,

      Within she hath bowed her head,

      And with shadow of silken raiment

      The bright brown hair bespread.

      For three long days she hath lain forlorn,

      Her lips untainted of flesh or

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