The Eumenides E-Book

Aeschylus

• Herausgeber: Phoemixx Classics Ebooks
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 49

Beschreibung

The Eumenides Aeschylus - Orestes, Apollo, and the Erinyes go before Athena and eleven other judges chosen by her from the Athenian citizenry at the Areopagus (Rock of Ares, a flat rocky hill by the Athenian agora where the homicide court of Athens later held its sessions), to decide whether Orestes's killing of his mother, Clytemnestra, makes him guilty of the crime of murder.

Leseprobe

Aeschylus

The Eumenides

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Eumenides

Dramatis Personae

The Pythian Priestess

Apollo

Orestes

The Ghost of Clytemnestra

Chorus of the Furies

Athena

Attendants of Athena

Twelve Athenian Citizens

Drama

The Scene of the Drama is the Temple of Apollo, at Delphi: afterwards the Temple of Athena, on the Acropolis of Athens, and the adjoining Areopagus.The Temple at DelphiThe Pythian Priestess:First, in this prayer, of all the gods I nameThe prophet mother Earth; and Themis next,Second who sat--for so with truth is said--On this her mother's shrine oracular.Then by her grace, who unconstrained allowed,There sat thereon another child of Earth--Titanian Phoebe. She, in after time,Gave o'er the throne, as birthgift to a god,Phoebus, who in his own bears Phoebe's name.He from the lake and ridge of Delos' isleSteered to the port of Pallas' Attic shores,The home of ships; and thence he passed and cameUnto this land and to Parnassus' shrine.And at his side, with awe revering him,There went the children of Hephaestus' seed,The hewers of the sacred way, who tameThe stubborn tract that erst was wilderness.And all this folk, and Delphos, chieftain-kingOf this their land, with honour gave him home;And in his breast Zeus set a prophet's soul,And gave to him this throne, whereon he sits,Fourth prophet of the shrine, and, Loxias hight,Gives voice to that which Zeus his sire decrees.Such gods I name in my preluding prayer,And after them, I call with honour dueOn Pallas, wardress of the fane, and NymphsWho dwell around the rock Corycian,Where in the hollow cave, the wild birds' haunt,Wander the feet of lesser gods; and there,Right well I know it, Bromian Bacchus dwells,Since he in godship led his Maenad host,Devising death for Pentheus, whom they rentPiecemeal, as hare among the hounds. And last,I call on Pleistus' springs, Poseidon's might,And Zeus most high, the great Accomplisher.Then as a seeress to the sacred chairI pass and sit; and may the powers divineMake this mine entrance fruitful in responseBeyond each former advent, triply blest.And if there stand without, from Hellas bound,Men seeking oracles, let each pass inIn order of the lot, as use allows;For the god guides whate'er my tongue proclaims.She goes into the interior of the temple; after a short interval, she returns in great fear.Things fell to speak of, fell for eyes to see,Have sped me forth again from Loxias' shrine,With strength unstrung, moving erect no more,But aiding with my hands my failing feet,Unnerved by fear. A beldame's force is naught--Is as a child's, when age and fear combine.For as I pace towards the inmost faneBay-filleted by many a suppliant's hand,Lo, at the central altar I descryOne crouching as for refuge--yea, a manAbhorredd of heaven; and from his hands, whereinA sword new-drawn he holds, blood reeked and fell:A wand he bears, the olive's topmost bough,Twined as of purpose with a deep close tuftOf whitest wool. This, that I plainly saw,Plainly I tell.But lo, in front of him,Crouched on the altar-steps, a grisly bandOf women slumbers--not like women they,But Gorgons rather; nay, that word is weak,Nor may I match the Gorgons' shape with theirs!Such have I seen in painted semblance erst--Winged Harpies, snatching food from Phineus' board,--But these are wingless, black, and all their shapeThe eye's abomination to behold.Fell is the breath--let none draw nigh to it--Wherewith they snort in slumber; from their eyesExude the damned drops of poisonous ire:And such their garb as none should dare to bringTo statues of the gods or homes of men.I wot not of the tribe wherefrom can comeSo fell a legion, nor in what land EarthCould rear, unharmed, such creatures, nor avowThat she had travailed and brought forth death.But, for the rest, be all these things a careUnto the mighty Loxias, the lordOf this our shrine: healer and prophet he,Discerner he of portents, and the cleanserOf other homes--behold, his own to cleanse!Exit.The scene opens, disclosing the interior of the temple: Orestes clings to the central altar; theFuries lie slumbering at a little distance; Apollo and Hermes appear from the innermost shrine.Apollo:Lo, I desert thee never: to the end,Hard at thy side as now, or sundered far,I am thy guard, and to thine enemiesImplacably oppose me: look on them,These greedy fiends, beneath my craft subdued!See, they are fallen on sleep, these beldames oid,Unto whose grim and wizened maidenhoodNor god nor man nor beast can e'er draw near.Yea, evil were they born, for evil's doom,Evil the dark abyss of TartarusWherein they dwell, and they themselves the hateOf men on earth, and of Olympian gods.But thou, flee far and with unfaltering speed;For they shall hunt thee through the mainland wideWhere'er throughout the tract of travelled earthThy foot may roam, and o'er and o'er the seasAnd island homes of men. Faint not nor fail,Too soon and timidly within thy breastShepherding thoughts forlorn of this thy toil;But unto Pallas' city go, and thereCrouch at her shrine, and in thine arms enfoldHer ancient image: there we well shall findMeet judges for this cause and suasive pleas,Skilled to contrive for thee deliveranceFrom all this woe.Be such my pledge to thee,For by my hest thou didst thy mother slay.Orestes:O king Apollo, since right well thou know'stWhat justice bids, have heed, fulfil the same,--Thy strength is all-sufficient to achieve.Apollo: