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Promotheus Bound. (Of course one cannot read an extract limited to ten minutes. . . that is the beauty of the exercise. One is enchanted, and compelled to read on, and on.)
War of the Gods
With auspicious serendipity - or perhaps the blessing of the gods on Mount Olympus - my first reach for a ten-minute dip into my books brought down Aeschylus, father of Greek tragedy.
So we start, accidentally, with A, and thus begin our exploration by meeting with the first truly great writer of Western literature.
I had forgotten - had never really appreciated - what a powerful writer Aeschylus is. And he reminded me that, in his world of ignorance, superstition and tribalism, how sophisticated, how competitive, how individualistic were the Ancient Greeks. The males strove to be Olympic athletes as well as orators; to excel as warriors as well as dramatists, seeking the triumph of lives in perfect balance. At least, that was the aim of their culture and essence of their philosophy.
Volume 8, in my hand, reminds us that Aeschylus was competing for the prize for dramatic tragedy at the age of 25, and finally won it 12 years later. He was a professional writer who fought at Marathon and in two other crucial battles. He lived till 69 and is said to have been killed by a tortoise. . . dropped on his head by an eagle. Hey, what a life! And what a way to go! Swiftly, at the hest of the symbol of slowness.
Hest is an archaic word used by Aeschylus's English translator.
Levin is another, though I cannot find it in the dictionary.
Adamantine is a powerful, diamond-hard adjective that he and one of his translators, Plumtree, offer back to us.
Here now are some reminders concerning the play: Promotheus Bound. (Of course one cannot read it in ten minutes. . . that is the beauty of the exercise. One is enchanted, and compelled to read on, and on.)
Prometheus stands with bronze bonds, one hammered through his chest, binding him to a rock ... Where thou shalt know nor voice nor face of man,
But scorching in the hot blaze of sun. Thou shalt long
For starry-mantled night to hide day's sheen,
For sun to melt the rime of early dawn;
And evermore the weight of present ill
Shall wear thee down.
But Prometheus, who angered Zeus by giving fire to mortals, and teaching them many things once exclusive to the gods, refuses - despite dire threats - to seek pardon. Instead - to the horror and apprehension of the Chorus - he rages in his shackles and prophesies that Zeus will be overthrown.
Chorus. Are not afraid to vent such words as these?
Prom: What can I fear whose fate is not to die?
Hermes, messenger of the gods, brings a pretty clear answer:
Hermes: With thunder and the levin's blazing flash
The Father this ravine of rocks shall crush,
And shall thy carcase hide, and stern embrace
Of stony arms shall keep thee in thy place.
And having traversed space of time full long,
Thou shalt come back to light, and then his hound,
The winged hound of Zeus, the ravening eagle,
Shall greedily make banquet of thy flesh,
Coming all day an uninvited guest,
And glut himself upon thy liver dark.
And of that anguish look not for the end,
Before some God shall come to bear thy woes,
And will pass to Hades - sunless realm,
And the dark cloudy depths of Tartaros.
As Prometheus has taken the side of mortals, Zeus hopes that this philanthropic god will surrender by becoming a mortal himself, and that he will accept death rather than everlasting torture.
More fascinating, however, is the background of a mythology which discerns "an inevitable law of retribution, working unseen independently even of the Gods to bring destruction upon the proud and haughty". Prometheus is accused of being too proud. . . but he believes it is Zeus who will be struck down by the immutable law.
How marvellously the Greek tragedians dealt with the essence and elementals of life and death; fire and water; light and darkness; the divine and the mortal. Translations of Aeschylus carry the rhythms of Shakespeare, and we must be grateful that the English translators of ancient Greek were first teethed on the Elizabethan poets.
Prometheus Bound is filled with morsels of knowledge as well as art. For instance, I always associated the maxim of 'Know Thyself' with Socrates. But even when Aeschylus wrote 'know thou thyself' 2,500 years ago, he was quoting an already familiar ancient proverb of the Greeks.
Nor is it generally appreciated, I imagine, that the Greeks knew much about middle Africa and were at home in places like
the great fall where from Bybline hills
The Neilos pours its pure and holy flood (i.e. the 2nd cataract of the Nile.)
And how's this for a description: . . . 'on to the fiery-hued and sun-tracked East. . .'
You just gotta follow the fiery-hued, suntracked road through the book of Aeschylus. |
