The Greek World Revisited: Carl R. Mueller Translates Aeschylus

Aeschylus: Complete Plays. Volume I: Oresteia, Volume II: Four Plays. Translated by Carl R. Mueller. Introduction by Hugh Denard.New Hampshire: Smith and Kraus, 2002.

Classical scripts are not archaeological relics. Whether a history play by Shakespeare, a comedy by Molière, or a tragedy by Aeschylus, these playwrights never intended for their scripts to be quietly contemplated while residing in an armchair or discussed while sitting in the classroom. The authors did not set out to write a classic for private consideration; they set out to write a performance piece that would "sell" to a living and breathing audience. In this, they succeeded. This is what we must preserve. Directors must have vital yet true translations to inspire them. Contemporary productions of the Greek classics attest to the vitality of these ancient works when directors interact creatively with classic texts: Max Reinhardt's Oedipus with its plague chorus of hundreds, Gerald Freedman's Electra set in the ancient African kingdom of Benin, Ariane Mnouchkine's Les Atrides with an archaeological dig revealing the "relics" of the ruling house and a chorus of Furies that lunged over the heads of the audience on scaffolding, John Barton's Trojan War saga, The Greeks, that combined ten Greek tragedies, Silviu Purcarete's production of Les Danaïdes with a chorus of fifty fleeing sisters with suitcases and their father, Danaos, played by a topless woman, to name only a few.

Yet translators persist in proving the old Italian adage traduttore/traditore. Time and time again, translators, following the letter of the law, are so true to the original text that they kill it with heightened integrity. To a neophyte trying to read or, heaven help them, perform one of these translations, only one thing is clear: the classics are a colossal bore. Conversely, other translators, following only the spirit of the law, uphold the translator/traitor maxim by composing a text so far removed from the original that, in all fairness, the translator's name should appear above the playwright's. The reader or actor may find these works more accessible, but the experience will reveal little of the playwright's intent. The classic work itself is lost in an attempt to save it. For the classics to survive in the hearts of readers, and, more importantly, on our contemporary stages, we must have performable translations that are true to both the letter of the law and the spirit of the law. The translator must walk a tightrope between the literal and the adapted. The translation must be true to the sense and spirit of the original, yet meet the demands of contemporary performance before a contemporary audience. Carl R. Mueller's translations of the extant plays of Aeschylus accomplish just that. As Hugh Denard observes in his marvelous introduction to the Oresteia, "Insofar as each translation attempts to be loyal to some particular aspects of our understanding of Aeschylean tragedy, it will necessarily betray others. . . . But perhaps what we are pursuing. . . is an experience authentic to ourselves in response to the fragments we assemble as 'the past.'" Dealing with the past is, as he notes, a "two-way communication." Indeed, theatre is, by its nature, the art of reinterpretation. The Athenian playwright interpreted myths and history. The translator interprets the Greek playwright's words. The director interprets the translator's script. And finally, the audience interprets the director's production.

In the two volumes of Aeschylus: Complete Plays, Mueller and Denard give the director an inspirational gift. These translations soar to the heights one expects and needs from the world's oldest tragedies while retaining a currency of feeling that is sometimes unnerving. In the Agamemnon, Kassandra cries for humanity's fate with the words: "I weep for man and his destiny. / Success, good fortune, / is only a shadow, / and man's grief the scribble of chalk on a...