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This, dear friends, is a chilling reminder of why I seldom attend parties.
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"Quando falta o bom-senso ao homem audaz e simultaneamente poderoso e hábil na palavra, ele torna-se um cidadão perigoso."
28
Com obras destas, fica difícil escolher um tragediógrafo de eleição. Os três grandes poetas gregos autores de tragédias (Ésquilo, Sófocles, Eurípides) competem belamente, não haja dúvida. Já quase desisto da insistência de que o primeiro deles é realmente o melhor... quase.
Agora a parte gira.
De três anos à boleia em Clássicas, o latim não resistiu lá muito bem, mas isto, curiosamente, ficou:
As Grandes Dionísias, celebravam-se no início da primavera e duravam vários dias durante os quais o público participava em sacrifícios, cerimónias cívicas (como homenagens fúnebres, militares etc.) e, claro, assistia à representação teatral.
Um dia estava reservado à comédia e três à tragédia (com a representação de 3 tragédias + 1 drama satírico).
E quem era este público?
Certamente homens (embora as mulheres, garantidamente, participassem nos primeiros dias do festival para as procissões e sacrifícios) e certamente aliados da Liga de Delos (uma das coligações entre cidades aliadas durante a guerra aos persas - a par da Liga do Peloponeso -, liderada por Atenas. Estas ligas representavam o expoente máximo da democracia grega - gorado pela guerra, claro, do Peloponeso.
De entre as representações que aí tomavam lugar, nas Dionísias, sabemos hoje, ironicamente, que muito poucas obedeciam à temática dionisíaca. Isto talvez se explique - entre várias outras razões de origem esotérica - pelo facto do dionisismo ser um culto flagrantemente feminino. Ora pois, a cultura helénica assentava fortemente na fórmula do patriarcado, logo, em valores misóginos.*
Em As Bacantes, Eurípides - frequente concorrente no festival - retoma a tragédia mítica e traz-nos um rei (Penteu) derrotado pela força do deus (Baco), e um traçado geral da forma como o homem soberano encara a postura, o papel e o "potencial" da mulher ateniense (diga-se desde já que, quando as mulheres são retratadas como Ménades - sacerdotisas bárbaras de Baco - a despedaçar homens e animais em êxtases orgiásticos, o suposto potencial não é propriamente simpático...).
À parte isso, não deixa de ser curiosa a escolha de Eurípides por várias outras razões, entre elas a forma como escolhe apresentar os deuses e os homens - neste caso, o deus e o homem:
Desde logo, porque, para um grego, existem três categorias de seres vivos:
Animais;
Humanos;
Mortais.
Estes últimos obedecem, por ordem, a estas qualidades:
Racional e mortal;
Racional e imortal.
Espantosamente, nem Penteu nem Baco parecem honrar o primeiro desses atributos. Falta a ambos, desde logo, aquilo a que um ateniense chamaria de aretê (virtude essencial para a formação de um herói, por exemplo) e que consistia no respeito pelos valores morais da civilização. Neste caso, e para Penteu, o respeito pelos deuses; para Baco, o respeito pelo inimigo.
Assim, e porque a ambos manca essa qualidade, o rei desrespeita o deus e o deus vinga-se no rei (e na família toda que isto é uma tragédia que se preza!)
Ficam os reis desde já avisados, e contra isto pouco há a dizer:
"Infinitas são as manifestações da vontade divina; infinitos os acontecimentos que os deuses desencadeiam contra o que tinhamos previsto. Os que esperamos, esses não se realizam, os que não esperamos, um deus lhes abre o caminho."
91
Esta peça fez Eurípides subir na minha consideração ao ponto de ficar envergonhada pelas vezes que já disse não gostar da sua Medeia.
É assim bom!
* sobre esta temática, e os desafios contemporâneos de interpretação e encenação, existem vários estudos muito interessantes, nomeadamente: "Rebel Women, Staging Ancient Greek Drama Today", editado por John Dillon and S. E.Wilmer
28
Com obras destas, fica difícil escolher um tragediógrafo de eleição. Os três grandes poetas gregos autores de tragédias (Ésquilo, Sófocles, Eurípides) competem belamente, não haja dúvida. Já quase desisto da insistência de que o primeiro deles é realmente o melhor... quase.
Agora a parte gira.
De três anos à boleia em Clássicas, o latim não resistiu lá muito bem, mas isto, curiosamente, ficou:
As Grandes Dionísias, celebravam-se no início da primavera e duravam vários dias durante os quais o público participava em sacrifícios, cerimónias cívicas (como homenagens fúnebres, militares etc.) e, claro, assistia à representação teatral.
Um dia estava reservado à comédia e três à tragédia (com a representação de 3 tragédias + 1 drama satírico).
E quem era este público?
Certamente homens (embora as mulheres, garantidamente, participassem nos primeiros dias do festival para as procissões e sacrifícios) e certamente aliados da Liga de Delos (uma das coligações entre cidades aliadas durante a guerra aos persas - a par da Liga do Peloponeso -, liderada por Atenas. Estas ligas representavam o expoente máximo da democracia grega - gorado pela guerra, claro, do Peloponeso.
De entre as representações que aí tomavam lugar, nas Dionísias, sabemos hoje, ironicamente, que muito poucas obedeciam à temática dionisíaca. Isto talvez se explique - entre várias outras razões de origem esotérica - pelo facto do dionisismo ser um culto flagrantemente feminino. Ora pois, a cultura helénica assentava fortemente na fórmula do patriarcado, logo, em valores misóginos.*
Em As Bacantes, Eurípides - frequente concorrente no festival - retoma a tragédia mítica e traz-nos um rei (Penteu) derrotado pela força do deus (Baco), e um traçado geral da forma como o homem soberano encara a postura, o papel e o "potencial" da mulher ateniense (diga-se desde já que, quando as mulheres são retratadas como Ménades - sacerdotisas bárbaras de Baco - a despedaçar homens e animais em êxtases orgiásticos, o suposto potencial não é propriamente simpático...).
À parte isso, não deixa de ser curiosa a escolha de Eurípides por várias outras razões, entre elas a forma como escolhe apresentar os deuses e os homens - neste caso, o deus e o homem:
Desde logo, porque, para um grego, existem três categorias de seres vivos:
Animais;
Humanos;
Mortais.
Estes últimos obedecem, por ordem, a estas qualidades:
Racional e mortal;
Racional e imortal.
Espantosamente, nem Penteu nem Baco parecem honrar o primeiro desses atributos. Falta a ambos, desde logo, aquilo a que um ateniense chamaria de aretê (virtude essencial para a formação de um herói, por exemplo) e que consistia no respeito pelos valores morais da civilização. Neste caso, e para Penteu, o respeito pelos deuses; para Baco, o respeito pelo inimigo.
Assim, e porque a ambos manca essa qualidade, o rei desrespeita o deus e o deus vinga-se no rei (e na família toda que isto é uma tragédia que se preza!)
Ficam os reis desde já avisados, e contra isto pouco há a dizer:
"Infinitas são as manifestações da vontade divina; infinitos os acontecimentos que os deuses desencadeiam contra o que tinhamos previsto. Os que esperamos, esses não se realizam, os que não esperamos, um deus lhes abre o caminho."
91
Esta peça fez Eurípides subir na minha consideração ao ponto de ficar envergonhada pelas vezes que já disse não gostar da sua Medeia.
É assim bom!
* sobre esta temática, e os desafios contemporâneos de interpretação e encenação, existem vários estudos muito interessantes, nomeadamente: "Rebel Women, Staging Ancient Greek Drama Today", editado por John Dillon and S. E.Wilmer
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Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of Greek tragedy. But when I attempt reviews, my tongue turns to ashes in my mouth. It’s not that they’re too old (I’ve reviewed older books), nor because they’re so foundational (I’ve reviewed equally fundamental books). It’s because I strongly suspect that I just don’t get it. It strikes me that the Greek tragedians were trying to accomplish something essentially different from what I’ve come to expect from literature.
Greek tragedy has not even the slightest element of suspense. When you read one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, you know that it will end badly for the protagonist (and at least a few other people)—otherwise it wouldn’t be a tragedy. But there always seems to be a glimmer of hope, a chance that it could’ve turned out differently. The tragic outcome hinges on the character of the tragic hero; the final result is tragic because of that tantalizing “what if?” which lingers in the air as the curtain falls.
t
But in the plays of the Greek tragedians, the story is a fait accompli. Everything happens because of the will of the gods, or the mysterious hand of fate. Every character inexorably fulfills their destiny. The only thing they can do, it seems, is to sing about how awful their situation is. Thus we get line after line of the chorus—interrupting the action like a song in a musical, telling the audience what they already know in sing-song verse.
t
This isn't the fault of the playwrights. Because hardly anybody can read Ancient Greek nowadays, we’re forced to read the plays in translation; and poetry is always sub par in translation. Also, these chorus interludes actually did have music when they were performed; so it’s a bit unfair to judge them merely as poetry. (Imagine if archaeologists dug up a book of Beatles lyrics 2,000 years from now. They would have no idea why the Beatles were such a hit.)
t
Nietzsche thought this aspect of Greek tragedy was the root of its power. In his first published work, The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche spills much ink in describing his love for the unbridled spirit of life in the music of the Greek tragic chorus. For Nietzsche, the very fact that the music wasn’t ‘realistic’—that it didn’t attempt to portray the facts of life—is what gave it its tremendous power. This is why Nietzsche thought that Euripides was decadent.
t
Euripides is distinguished from Aeschylus and Sophocles precisely for his realism. His plays actually do have that element of unpredictability we’ve come to expect from modern tragedy. We don’t feel that the action is foreordained; that the people are merely acting out the decree of Fate. When his characters give monologues, the poetry doesn’t seem stylized or wooden—like old song-lyrics do. Rather, Euripides seeks to portray the psychology of his protagonists as if they were real people; the final result is more like reading someone's thoughts than reading sing-song poetry.
This is not to say that he didn’t include mythological or fantastic elements. Take this play. For a completely illogical reason, the god Dionysus decides to wreak havoc in Thebes. He doesn’t do it for the sake of justice; nor to accomplish some goal. He does it, more or less, on a whim. This is what makes the action of the play so shocking. It’s as if the reader has been dropped in via helicopter down on some battlefield, and is forced to watch the senseless violence.
t
Nietzsche admired, almost worshiped, the Dionysian impulse—the mad impulse to riot, to dance, to sing, to live. He found in the character of Dionysus the solution to everything wrong with Christian morality and the scientific mentality. Nietzsche believed that the drive to divide up the world into good and evil, and to value the literal truth above figurative myth, destroys man’s ability to reach his highest potential. But Euripides sees something much darker and devious in the character of Dionysus. Euripides sees that, once morality and truth are abandoned, one is left only with naked power. And naked power can be used just as easily for wanton destruction as for beneficent creation.
t
So it’s hard for me to agree with Nietzsche and consider Euripides as a decadent playwright. Every one of his plays I’ve so far read has been a dramatic masterpiece; and when you think about them, there’s usually an intriguing lesson to be learned, a thought to be pondered. Aeschylus and Sophocles remain partially veiled in translation; their music, lost to time. But now, I can at least say I’ve found one Greek playwright I ‘get’.
Greek tragedy has not even the slightest element of suspense. When you read one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, you know that it will end badly for the protagonist (and at least a few other people)—otherwise it wouldn’t be a tragedy. But there always seems to be a glimmer of hope, a chance that it could’ve turned out differently. The tragic outcome hinges on the character of the tragic hero; the final result is tragic because of that tantalizing “what if?” which lingers in the air as the curtain falls.
t
But in the plays of the Greek tragedians, the story is a fait accompli. Everything happens because of the will of the gods, or the mysterious hand of fate. Every character inexorably fulfills their destiny. The only thing they can do, it seems, is to sing about how awful their situation is. Thus we get line after line of the chorus—interrupting the action like a song in a musical, telling the audience what they already know in sing-song verse.
t
This isn't the fault of the playwrights. Because hardly anybody can read Ancient Greek nowadays, we’re forced to read the plays in translation; and poetry is always sub par in translation. Also, these chorus interludes actually did have music when they were performed; so it’s a bit unfair to judge them merely as poetry. (Imagine if archaeologists dug up a book of Beatles lyrics 2,000 years from now. They would have no idea why the Beatles were such a hit.)
t
Nietzsche thought this aspect of Greek tragedy was the root of its power. In his first published work, The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche spills much ink in describing his love for the unbridled spirit of life in the music of the Greek tragic chorus. For Nietzsche, the very fact that the music wasn’t ‘realistic’—that it didn’t attempt to portray the facts of life—is what gave it its tremendous power. This is why Nietzsche thought that Euripides was decadent.
t
Euripides is distinguished from Aeschylus and Sophocles precisely for his realism. His plays actually do have that element of unpredictability we’ve come to expect from modern tragedy. We don’t feel that the action is foreordained; that the people are merely acting out the decree of Fate. When his characters give monologues, the poetry doesn’t seem stylized or wooden—like old song-lyrics do. Rather, Euripides seeks to portray the psychology of his protagonists as if they were real people; the final result is more like reading someone's thoughts than reading sing-song poetry.
This is not to say that he didn’t include mythological or fantastic elements. Take this play. For a completely illogical reason, the god Dionysus decides to wreak havoc in Thebes. He doesn’t do it for the sake of justice; nor to accomplish some goal. He does it, more or less, on a whim. This is what makes the action of the play so shocking. It’s as if the reader has been dropped in via helicopter down on some battlefield, and is forced to watch the senseless violence.
t
Nietzsche admired, almost worshiped, the Dionysian impulse—the mad impulse to riot, to dance, to sing, to live. He found in the character of Dionysus the solution to everything wrong with Christian morality and the scientific mentality. Nietzsche believed that the drive to divide up the world into good and evil, and to value the literal truth above figurative myth, destroys man’s ability to reach his highest potential. But Euripides sees something much darker and devious in the character of Dionysus. Euripides sees that, once morality and truth are abandoned, one is left only with naked power. And naked power can be used just as easily for wanton destruction as for beneficent creation.
t
So it’s hard for me to agree with Nietzsche and consider Euripides as a decadent playwright. Every one of his plays I’ve so far read has been a dramatic masterpiece; and when you think about them, there’s usually an intriguing lesson to be learned, a thought to be pondered. Aeschylus and Sophocles remain partially veiled in translation; their music, lost to time. But now, I can at least say I’ve found one Greek playwright I ‘get’.
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O que é a sabedoria? Ou que dádiva mais bela
dos deuses, aos olhos dos homens,
do que manter a mão segura
sobre a cabeça do inimigo?
... quando o inimigo é poderoso, sabedoria será "dançar com as Bacantes" para não se perder a cabeça. Como a perdeu Penteu, cuja tragédia é das mais terríveis da Mitologia Grega.
(Morte de Penteu - Fresco da Casa dos Vettii, em Pompeia)
Penteu, rei de Tebas e neto de Cadmo e Harmonia, quando Tirésias o avisa da chegada de um deus - que será a sua destruição caso não se submeta ao novo culto - escarnece do vidente. Penteu não aceita que o seu povo idolatre um rapaz efeminado que diz ser filho de Zeus. Todos o tentam chamar à razão, mas Penteu não cede e manda prender Diónisos. Iludido pelo deus, vai ao local de culto onde as Bacantes, enfeitiçadas, o despedaçam. É Agave, a mãe de Penteu, que lhe arranca a cabeça exibindo-a, triunfante, julgando tratar-se de um leão.
Se tivésseis sabido ter senso, o que não quisestes, poderíeis ser felizes, tendo por aliado o filho de Zeus.
dos deuses, aos olhos dos homens,
do que manter a mão segura
sobre a cabeça do inimigo?
... quando o inimigo é poderoso, sabedoria será "dançar com as Bacantes" para não se perder a cabeça. Como a perdeu Penteu, cuja tragédia é das mais terríveis da Mitologia Grega.
(Morte de Penteu - Fresco da Casa dos Vettii, em Pompeia)
Penteu, rei de Tebas e neto de Cadmo e Harmonia, quando Tirésias o avisa da chegada de um deus - que será a sua destruição caso não se submeta ao novo culto - escarnece do vidente. Penteu não aceita que o seu povo idolatre um rapaz efeminado que diz ser filho de Zeus. Todos o tentam chamar à razão, mas Penteu não cede e manda prender Diónisos. Iludido pelo deus, vai ao local de culto onde as Bacantes, enfeitiçadas, o despedaçam. É Agave, a mãe de Penteu, que lhe arranca a cabeça exibindo-a, triunfante, julgando tratar-se de um leão.
Se tivésseis sabido ter senso, o que não quisestes, poderíeis ser felizes, tendo por aliado o filho de Zeus.
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اساطیر و خدایان یونانی از جذابترین موضوعات برای منه. قهرمان کتاب کاهنههای باکوس دیونیزوس هست. دیونیزوس خدای شراب و انگور و شهوته و جوان ترین ایزد در بین خدایان یونان.
حاصل ازدواج کادموس و هارمونیا چهار دختر به نام های سمله، آگاوه، آتونوئه و اینو و یک پسر به نام پلیدروس بود. زئوس پادشاه خدایان، فرزند رئا و کرونوس، عاشق سمله میشه و حاصل این عشق دیونیزوس هست. آگاره که به این عشق باور نداشت، به سمله گفت از زئوس در خواست کند که خودش را به تمامی به او نشان دهد. زئوس که عهد کرده بود به تمام درخواستهای سمله پاسخ مثبت دهد، خود را به سمله نمایاند و سمله چنان سوخت که حتی پس از مرگش هم دود از آرامگاهش بلند بود. زئوس، دیونیزوس را در ران خود جا میدهد و تا زمان متولد شدن از او نگهداری میکند. پس از اعلام خدایی، پنتئون پسر آگاوه از پرستش دیونیزوس سر باز میزنه و میخواد با اون بجنگه اما گرفتار کینهی دیونیزوس میشه و این نمایشنامه شرح ماجرایی هست که در برخورد دیونیزوس و پنتئوس به وجود میاد. یک رویارویی همراه با شیدایی، جنون، نفرت و سنگدلی. دیونیزوس یک خدای بسیار انتقام گیرنده هست و سرنوشت دشمناش بسیار غمانگیزه. این نمایشنامه میتونه برای علاقهمندان به این ژانر جذاب و کمی سخت خوان باشه.ه
حاصل ازدواج کادموس و هارمونیا چهار دختر به نام های سمله، آگاوه، آتونوئه و اینو و یک پسر به نام پلیدروس بود. زئوس پادشاه خدایان، فرزند رئا و کرونوس، عاشق سمله میشه و حاصل این عشق دیونیزوس هست. آگاره که به این عشق باور نداشت، به سمله گفت از زئوس در خواست کند که خودش را به تمامی به او نشان دهد. زئوس که عهد کرده بود به تمام درخواستهای سمله پاسخ مثبت دهد، خود را به سمله نمایاند و سمله چنان سوخت که حتی پس از مرگش هم دود از آرامگاهش بلند بود. زئوس، دیونیزوس را در ران خود جا میدهد و تا زمان متولد شدن از او نگهداری میکند. پس از اعلام خدایی، پنتئون پسر آگاوه از پرستش دیونیزوس سر باز میزنه و میخواد با اون بجنگه اما گرفتار کینهی دیونیزوس میشه و این نمایشنامه شرح ماجرایی هست که در برخورد دیونیزوس و پنتئوس به وجود میاد. یک رویارویی همراه با شیدایی، جنون، نفرت و سنگدلی. دیونیزوس یک خدای بسیار انتقام گیرنده هست و سرنوشت دشمناش بسیار غمانگیزه. این نمایشنامه میتونه برای علاقهمندان به این ژانر جذاب و کمی سخت خوان باشه.ه
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bu kitabı klasik yunan tragedyası olduğunu varsayarak okumaya başlamayın çünkü bu bir inanç kitabı. üstelik klasik yunan tragedyalarında olduğu gibi sadece karşılıklı kısa diyaloglardan oluşmuyor, hikaye anlatımı da var.
Sabahattin Eyüboğlu kitabı iki farklı fransızca çevirisini karşılaştırarak çevirmekle birlikte Azra Erhat'a kontrol ettirmiş. Metni okurken üçüncü dilden okuyorsunuz gibi bir his hiç yok. O dönemin çevirmenlerindeki bu hassasiyet ve işini iyi yapma aşkına hayranım. Kitabın girişinde Mario Meunier'in Dionysos Dini başlıklı makalesini metinden önce okumakta fayda var, fakat makalenin aşırı akademik ve dipnotlarla bezeli olduğunu söylemeden geçemeyeceğim. Ben geçtiğimiz aylarda birkaç defa başlayıp karmaşık geldiği için bırakmıştım. Dionysos iki kere doğmasından başlayarak özünde ikilik barındıran ve bölgeye göre miti değişen bir tanrı. bu da okuduğunuzu anlamayı, kişileri ve tanrıları konumlandırmayı zorlaştırıyor.
Zeugma öncesi Mainadlarla tanışmam süper oldu, çingene kızını bambaşka bir gözle göreceğim şimdi.
Sabahattin Eyüboğlu kitabı iki farklı fransızca çevirisini karşılaştırarak çevirmekle birlikte Azra Erhat'a kontrol ettirmiş. Metni okurken üçüncü dilden okuyorsunuz gibi bir his hiç yok. O dönemin çevirmenlerindeki bu hassasiyet ve işini iyi yapma aşkına hayranım. Kitabın girişinde Mario Meunier'in Dionysos Dini başlıklı makalesini metinden önce okumakta fayda var, fakat makalenin aşırı akademik ve dipnotlarla bezeli olduğunu söylemeden geçemeyeceğim. Ben geçtiğimiz aylarda birkaç defa başlayıp karmaşık geldiği için bırakmıştım. Dionysos iki kere doğmasından başlayarak özünde ikilik barındıran ve bölgeye göre miti değişen bir tanrı. bu da okuduğunuzu anlamayı, kişileri ve tanrıları konumlandırmayı zorlaştırıyor.
Zeugma öncesi Mainadlarla tanışmam süper oldu, çingene kızını bambaşka bir gözle göreceğim şimdi.
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“Your name means grief you are suited for it”
Dionysus remains my favorite of the pantheon
Dionysus remains my favorite of the pantheon
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"Gods should not be like mortals in temper"
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113th book of 2021.
CADMUS
And whose head do you hold in your hands?
AGAVE (averting her eyes)
A lion's . . . The huntresses . . . They said . . .
CADMUS
Look at it properly. Just a quick glance.
AGAVE
What is it? What am I holding in my hands?
CADMUS
Look closely now. Be sure.
AGAVE
Ah! No! No! I see the greatest sorrow.
CADMUS
Does it still look like a lion?
AGAVE
No! No. It is . . . Oh gods! It is Pentheus's head I hold.
CADMUS
Now you see who I was mourning.
AGAVE
Who killed him? How did he come to be in my hands?
CADMUS
This is too hard, this truth. It took so long to come to this.
AGAVE
Tell me! Please! My heart beats with terror.
CADMUS
You killed him. You and yours sisters.
AGAVE
Where did it happen? Here, at home? Where?
CADMUS
On Cithaeron, where the dogs tore Actaeon apart.
AGAVE
Cithaeron? But why was Pentheus there?
CADMUS
He went to mock the gods, and your rituals.
AGAVE
But we - why were we there?
CADMUS
You were out of your wits.
The whole city was possessed by Bacchus.
AGAVE
I see. Dionysus has destroyed us all.
CADMUS
You enraged him. You denied him as a god.
AGAVE
And where, Father, is the rest of my poor son?
CADMUS (pointing to the stretcher)
Here. I found all I could.
AGAVE
Is he complete, and recently arranged?
But why should Pentheus suffer for my crime?
CADMUS
Like you, he refused the god.
And so the god ruined us all:
you, your sisters, and this boy.
This house is destroyed as well, and me with it.
I have no male heirs, and now I have lived to see
the fruit of your womb so shamefully destroyed.
(addressing the corpse) It was through you, my boy,
that this house regained its sight.
It was you, my daughter's son,
who held the palace together and the citizens in line.
It was you who would punish anyone who slighted me.
But now I shall be dishonoured,
an outcast from my own home.
I, Cadmus the great, who sowed the Theban race
and reaped that glorious harvest.
Dearest of men - for even in death
I count you as the man I love the best -
no more will you stroke my beard, child,
no more will you hug me, call me 'Grandfather' or say:
'Has anyone wronged you or shown you disrespect?
Has anyone disturbed or hurt you?
Tell me, Grandfather, and I will punish them.'
But now there is grief for me and a shroud for you,
and pity for your mother and her sisters.
If anyone still disputes the power of heaven,
let them look at this boy's death
and they will see that the gods live.
CADMUS
And whose head do you hold in your hands?
AGAVE (averting her eyes)
A lion's . . . The huntresses . . . They said . . .
CADMUS
Look at it properly. Just a quick glance.
AGAVE
What is it? What am I holding in my hands?
CADMUS
Look closely now. Be sure.
AGAVE
Ah! No! No! I see the greatest sorrow.
CADMUS
Does it still look like a lion?
AGAVE
No! No. It is . . . Oh gods! It is Pentheus's head I hold.
CADMUS
Now you see who I was mourning.
AGAVE
Who killed him? How did he come to be in my hands?
CADMUS
This is too hard, this truth. It took so long to come to this.
AGAVE
Tell me! Please! My heart beats with terror.
CADMUS
You killed him. You and yours sisters.
AGAVE
Where did it happen? Here, at home? Where?
CADMUS
On Cithaeron, where the dogs tore Actaeon apart.
AGAVE
Cithaeron? But why was Pentheus there?
CADMUS
He went to mock the gods, and your rituals.
AGAVE
But we - why were we there?
CADMUS
You were out of your wits.
The whole city was possessed by Bacchus.
AGAVE
I see. Dionysus has destroyed us all.
CADMUS
You enraged him. You denied him as a god.
AGAVE
And where, Father, is the rest of my poor son?
CADMUS (pointing to the stretcher)
Here. I found all I could.
AGAVE
Is he complete, and recently arranged?
But why should Pentheus suffer for my crime?
CADMUS
Like you, he refused the god.
And so the god ruined us all:
you, your sisters, and this boy.
This house is destroyed as well, and me with it.
I have no male heirs, and now I have lived to see
the fruit of your womb so shamefully destroyed.
(addressing the corpse) It was through you, my boy,
that this house regained its sight.
It was you, my daughter's son,
who held the palace together and the citizens in line.
It was you who would punish anyone who slighted me.
But now I shall be dishonoured,
an outcast from my own home.
I, Cadmus the great, who sowed the Theban race
and reaped that glorious harvest.
Dearest of men - for even in death
I count you as the man I love the best -
no more will you stroke my beard, child,
no more will you hug me, call me 'Grandfather' or say:
'Has anyone wronged you or shown you disrespect?
Has anyone disturbed or hurt you?
Tell me, Grandfather, and I will punish them.'
But now there is grief for me and a shroud for you,
and pity for your mother and her sisters.
If anyone still disputes the power of heaven,
let them look at this boy's death
and they will see that the gods live.
...
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Don't mess with Dionysus.
Again, the gods don't take slights well. To be fair, not having your mother acknowledged in her home town can irritate. Pentheus makes the classic mistake of discounting/refuting a god -- big mistake. So we have the hubris of the leader of Thebes leading to his ate (foolish act) resulting in nemesis, which to be fair is a kinda dark and disturbing. Not going to spoil it because it's too awesome, but if you have a familiarity with Orpheus you know where this is headed.
I guess the thing I found most fascinating were the parallels between Dionysus' evolving story line and later cults *cough* Christianity *cough*. Reading this has pushed forward my interest in digging into Orphism.
And don't mess with maenads.
Again, the gods don't take slights well. To be fair, not having your mother acknowledged in her home town can irritate. Pentheus makes the classic mistake of discounting/refuting a god -- big mistake. So we have the hubris of the leader of Thebes leading to his ate (foolish act) resulting in nemesis, which to be fair is a kinda dark and disturbing. Not going to spoil it because it's too awesome, but if you have a familiarity with Orpheus you know where this is headed.
I guess the thing I found most fascinating were the parallels between Dionysus' evolving story line and later cults *cough* Christianity *cough*. Reading this has pushed forward my interest in digging into Orphism.
And don't mess with maenads.
...
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Όσους κολακευτικούς χαρακτηρισμούς κι αν χρησιμοποιήσω,θα είναι λίγοι.Λίγα θεατρικά έργα με άγγιξαν όσο αυτό-διαβάστε το και θα με θυμηθείτε!
...
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Müthiş bir çeviri..
Ama o kadar..
Yunan tragedyası diye başlayıp şu kısacık kitabı zor bitirdim gerçekten..
Sanırım sevemiyorum bu Yunan Mitolojisini ya da o döneme ait eserleri..
Büyük bir heves ve istekle başlayıp da zorla biten bir kitap oldu maalesef..
Ama o kadar..
Yunan tragedyası diye başlayıp şu kısacık kitabı zor bitirdim gerçekten..
Sanırım sevemiyorum bu Yunan Mitolojisini ya da o döneme ait eserleri..
Büyük bir heves ve istekle başlayıp da zorla biten bir kitap oldu maalesef..
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