William Arrowsmith was the pioneer of idiomatic translations into American English. The first choral ode of Bacchae (64-169) probably comes from an ancient liturgy of Dionysus worship. Here is Arrowsmith, bringing the liturgical element front and center, with strong intimations of Christianity (the long dashes are meant to divide the lines among members of the chorus):
- Blessed, blessed are those who know the mysteries of god.
- Blessed is he who hallows his life in the worship of god,
He whom the spirit of god possesseth, who is one with those who belong to the holy body of god.
- Blessed are the dancers and those who are purified,
Who dance on the hill in the holy dance of god.
- Blessed are they who keep the rite of Cybele the Mother.
- Blessed are the thyrsus-bearers, those who wield in their hands
The holy wand of god.
- Blessed are those who wear the crown of the ivy of god.
- Blessed, blessed are they: Dionysus is their god!
(72-87; Arrowsmith in Grene and Lattimore 1959, 4: 546)
Here is Gilbert Murray’s version for comparison, written in a less liturgical style:
All the maidens:
Oh, blessed he in all wise,
Who hath drunk the Living Fountain,
Whose life no folly staineth,
And his soul is near to God;
Whose sins are lifted, pall-wise,
As he worships on the Mountain,
And where Cybele ordaineth,
Our Mother, he has trod.
His head with ivy laden
And his thyrsus tossing high,
For our God he lifts his cry...
(Murray 1904, 10-11)
Unlike Arrowsmith, he has seen no reason to repeat the word ‘‘Blessed,’’ the original of which occurs only once in the Greek. Murray becomes more biblical, however, in translating the hymn to reverence (370-85), which comes later in the same play:
Some maidens:
Thou Immaculate on high;
Thou Recording Purity;
Thou that stoopest, Golden Wing,
Earthward, manward, pitying.
Hearest thou this angry King?
Hearest thou the rage and scorn ’Gainst the Lord of Many Voices,
Him of mortal mother born,
Him in whom man’s heart rejoices,
Girt with garlands and with glee,
First in Heaven’s sovranty?
For his kingdom, it is there,
In the dancing and the prayer,
In the music and the laughter,
In the vanishing of care,
And of all before and after;
In the Gods’ high banquet, when
Gleams the grape-blood, flashed to heaven; Yea, and in the feasts of men Comes his crowne;d slumber; then Pain is dead and hate forgiven.
(Murray 1904, 22-23)
While Arrowsmith chooses a plainer style for this hymn:
Holiness, queen of heaven,
Holiness on golden wing
Who hover over earth,
Do you hear what Pentheus says?
Do you hear his blasphemy against the prince of the blessed, the god of garlands and banquets,
Bromius, Semele’s son?
These blessings he gave:
Laughter to the flute
And the loosing of cares
When the shining wine is spilled
At the feast of the gods,
And the wine-bowl casts its sleep
On feasters crowned with ivy.
(Arrowsmith in Grene and Lattimore 1959, 4: 557-58)
The magnificent opening choral ode of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon contains some of the most challenging Greek for a translator. I have chosen to look at the passage containing the famous words pathei mathos, ‘‘learning by suffering’’ (160-83), in the work of two poet-translators, Robert Fagles and Richmond Lattimore.
Here is Fagles, who achieves a powerful effect from rhythm and repetition:
Zeus, great nameless all in all, if that name will gain his favor,
I will call him Zeus.
I have no words to do him justice, weighing all in the balance, all I have is Zeus, Zeus - cast this weight, this torment from my spirit, cast it once for all.
He who was so mighty once, storming for the wars of heaven, he has had his day.
And then his son who came to power met his match in the third fall and he is gone. Zeus, Zeus - raise your songs and call him Zeus the Victor!
You will reach the truth:
Zeus has led us on to know, the Helmsman lays it down as law that we must suffer, suffer into truth.
We cannot sleep, and drop by drop at the heart the pain of pain remembered comes again, and we resist, but ripeness comes as well.
From the gods enthroned on the awesome rowing-bench there comes a violent love.
(Fagles 1975, 98)
And Lattimore, in chiseled monumental lines:
Zeus: whatever he may be, if this name pleases him in invocation, thus I call upon him.
I have pondered everything yet I cannot find a way,
Only Zeus, to cast this dead weight of ignorance finally from out my brain.
He who in time long ago was great, throbbing with gigantic strength, shall be as if he never were, unspoken.
He who followed him has found his master, and is gone.
Cry aloud without fear the victory of Zeus, you will not have failed the truth:
Zeus who guided men to think, who has laid it down that wisdom comes alone through suffering.
Still there drips in sleep against the heart
Grief of memory; against
Our pleasure we are temperate.
From the gods who sit in grandeur grace comes somehow violent.
(Lattimore in Grene and Lattimore 1959, 1: 39-40)
How should the Greekless reader respond to such broad differences in translation? Is it torment or ignorance that the speakers pray to cast off in the chorus of Agamemnon? Is the gods’ gift to be violent love or violent grace? Must we suffer into truth? Or does Zeus allow those who do not suffer to continue in undamaged ignorance? The translators have seen the evidence and made their choices. Readers must learn Greek if they wish to make their own choices. Otherwise, they may read a variety of versions, if they have a good tolerance for being bewildered. For most readers, the best course is to find, and to trust, a gifted translator.
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