Euripides, was one of the greatest greek tragedian playwriters of his time. According
to resources, "The writer of some 90 plays, Euripides was also famous for posing
awkward questions, unsettling his auidence with a thought-provoking treatmemt of
common themes, and spicing up the story with thoroughtly immortal characters." This
lead him to win a few festival competitions, unlike Aeschylus and Sopholes. He was
well known for his problematic plays during his lifetime which was around f400-500
BCE. According to resources he was "born in
Fun Fact about Greek Tragedy: "Greek tragedy was a popular and influential form of drama performed in theatres across ancient Greece from the late 6th century BCE. The most famous playwrights of the genre were Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides and many of their works were still performed centuries after their initial premiere. Greek Tragedy led to Greek comedy and, together, these genres formed the foundation upon which all modern theatre is based." The three great Tragedians, wrote plays in order to compete in festivals but as the years went by their work was copied into scripts to be re-perform. This goes to show how the legacy continues on no matter how much time has passed. We will never truly understand what inspired them to write these plays but reserachers provides us with minimal information to figure it out on our own. Source: “Greek Tragedy.” Ancient History Encyclopedia. Accessed May 4, 2018. https://www.ancient.eu/Greek_Tragedy/.
After reading the short summary provided in the previous file, please keep in mind that it is essential to read the actual play of Heracles in order to understand the Greek version of this hero. You will find that certain characters and place names differ from the Roman version of Heracles.
Aha! my breath returns
My aged friends, shall I approach the scene of my sorrow?
Yes, and let me go with thee, nor desert thee in thy trouble.
Father, why dost thou weep and veil thy eyes, standing aloof from thy beloved son?
My child!
Why, what is there so sad in my case that thou dost weep?
That which might make any of the gods weep, were he to suffer so.
A bold assertion that, but thou art not yet explaining what has happened.
Thine own eyes see that, if by this time thou art restored to thy senses.
Fill in thy sketch if any change awaits my life.
I will explain, if thou art no longer mad as a fiend of hell.
God help us! what suspicions these dark hints of thine again excite!
I am still doubtful whether thou art in thy sober senses.
I never remember being mad.
Am I to loose my son, old friends, or what?
Loose and say who bound me; for I feel shame at this.
Rest content with what thou knowest of thy woes; the rest forego.
Enough! I have no wish to probe thy silence
O Zeus, dost thou behold these deeds proceeding from the throne of Hera?
What! have I suffered something from her enmity?
A truce to the goddess! attend to your own troubles.
I am undone; what mischance wilt thou unfold?
See here the corpses of thy children.
O horror! what hideous sight is here? ah me!
My son, against thy children hast thou waged unnatural war.
War! what meanst thou? who killed these?
Thou and thy bow and some god, whoso he be that is to blame.
What sayst thou? what have I done? Speak, father, thou messenger of evil!
Thou wert distraught; 'tis a sad explanation thou art asking.
Was it I that slew my wife also?
Thy own unaided arm hath done all this.
Ah, woe is me! a cloud of sorrow wraps me round.
The reason this that I lament thy fate.
Did I dash my house to pieces or incite others thereto?
Naught know I save this, that thou art utterly undone.
Where did my frenzy seize me? where did it destroy me?
In the moment thou wert purifying thyself with fire at the altar.
Ah me! [why do I spare my own life when I have taken that of my dear children?] Shall I not hasten to leap from some sheer rock, or aim the sword against my heart and avenge my children's blood, or burn my body in the fire and so avert from my life the infamy which now awaits me?
But hither I see Theseus coming to check my deadly counsels, my kinsman and friend. Now shall I stand revealed, and the dearest of my friends will see the pollution I have incurred by my children's murder. Ah, woe is me! what am I to do? Where can I find release from my sorrows? shall I take wings or plunge beneath the earth? Come, let me veil my head in darkness;for I am ashamed of the evil I have done, and, since for these I have incurred fresh blood-guiltiness, I would fain not want to harm the innocent.
I am come, and others with me, young warriors from the land of
Ha! what means this heap of dead upon the floor? Surely I have not delayed too long and come too late to check a revolution? Who slew these children? whose wife is this I see? Boys do not go to battle; nay, it must be some other strange mischance I here discover.
O king, whose home is that olive-clad hill!
Why this piteous prelude in addressing me?
Heaven has afflicted us with grievous suffering.
Whose are these children, o'er whom thou weepest?
My own son's children, woe to him! their father and butcher both was he, hardening his heart to the bloody deed.
Hush! good words only!
I would I could obey!
What dreadful words!
Fortune has spread her wings, and we are ruined, ruined.
Whatmeanst thou? what hath he done?
Slain them in a wild fit of frenzy with arrows dipped in the venom of the
hundred-headed hydra.
This is Hera's work; but who lies there among the dead, old man?
My son, my own enduring son, that marched with gods to Phlegra's plain, there to battle with giants and slay them, warrior that he was.
Ah! woe for him! whose fortune was e'er so curst as his?
Never wilt thou find another that hath borne a larger share of suffering or been more fatally deceived.
Why doth he veil his head, poor wretch, in his robe?
He is ashamed to meet thine eye; his kinsman's kind intent and his children's blood make him abashed.
But I come to sympathize; uncover him.
My son, remove that mantle from thine eyes, throw it from thee, show your face unto the sun; a counterpoise to weeping is battling for the mastery. In suppliant wise I entreat thee, as I grasp thy beard, thy knees, thy hands, and let fall the tear from my old eyes. O my child! restrain thy savage lion-like temper, for thou art rushing forth on an unholy course of bloodshed, eager to join mischief to mischief.
What ho! To thee I call who art huddled there in thy misery, show to thy friends thy face; for no darkness is black enough to hide thy sad mischance. Why dost thou wave thy hand at me, signifying murder? is it that I may not be polluted by speaking with thee? If I share thy misfortune, what is that to me? For if I too had luck in days gone by, I must refer it to the time when thou didst bring me safe from the dead to the light of life. I hate a friend whose gratitude grows old; one who is ready to enjoy his friends' prosperity but unwilling to sail in the same ship with them when their fortune lours. Arise, unveil thy head, poor wretch! and look on me. The gallant soul endures without such blows as heaven deals.
O Theseus, didst thou witness this struggle with my children?
I heard of it, and now I see the horrors thou meanest.
Why then hast thou unveiled my head to the sun?
Why have I? Thou, a man, canst not pollute what is of the God.
Fly, luckless wretch, from my unholy taint.
The avenging fiend does not go forth from friend to friend.
For this I thank thee; I do not regret the service I did thee.
While I, for kindness then received, now show my pity for thee.
Ah yes! I am piteous object, a murderer of my own sons.