Translating Euripides

1 Translations (English) of/Translating Euripides Translating Euripides There is more than one way to skin a cat. Or, as they say in Spanish, each person has his own method for killing fleas. Each language has its own resources, each age has its own idiom and conventions, and each translator has his or her own understanding of what Euripides’ voice sounds like in Greek. The approach to a translation will be influenced by its anticipated audience: the work may be intended for stage performance, for readers interested in becoming acquainted with the classics, or for lovers of poetry; for students struggling to learn Greek and seeking guidance from an English version, for students and readers who will never study Greek, or for some combination of all these audiences. In the present day, translation is often “a palliative for the disease of monoglotism”; in Renaissance Europe, by contrast, the translator’s role “was the same as the author’s: to entertain, to express, to expand their art and their language” (Wechsler 1998: 69; for a comprehensive history of literary translation into English, see Gillespie and Hopkins 2005; France and Haynes 2006; Ellis 2008; Braden et al. 2010). Theater audiences are the most likely to embrace free adaptations of the plays of Euripides, and may even prefer them to straight translations: for example, Richard West’s relatively faithful rendering of HECUBA was a failure at London’s Theatre Royal at Drury Lane in 1726, but John Delap’s more freewheeling version was a hit at the same venue in 1762 (Kewes 2005: 247–8). Euripides was the Greek tragedian most exploited in the eighteenth century by adapters, who transformed his work into a genre which acquired the name “‘She-Tragedy’ … a type of drama focused on a woman in pain” (Hall and Macintosh 2005: 66). We seem to be living currently in a new age of Euripidean adaptations for the stage, with titles such as “Orestes: A Tragic Romp” (translated and adapted by Anne Washburn, 2010), “Orestes Terrorist” (translated and adapted by Mary-Kay Gamel, 2011), and “Cyclops: A Rock Opera” (Psittacus Productions, 2011; for the performance history of Greek drama, see http://asp. apgrd.ox.ac.uk/ and http://didaskalia.net/; for descriptions of recent adaptations, see McDonald 2003; Hall et al. 2004). Readers tend to be more concerned than theatergoers with accuracy, especially readers who do not know Greek and are obliged to trust the translator. For verse drama, though, as for all forms of poetry, accuracy can be hard to define. In the nineteenth century, “literalness” became a highly prized quality in translations, and “metaphors of translation as ‘mirror’ and ‘copy’ … frequently appear in reviews and prefaces at this time … All this advocacy of ‘literalness’ concealed – and indeed relied on – differences as to what the word precisely meant” (Reynolds 2006: 65–6). The translator of Euripides whose goal is to mirror the original is faced in every line with many questions that go far beyond word-for-word semantic content. What are the connotations, associations, and nuances of each word? Does Euripides use any of these words elsewhere – are there any deliberate echoes or ALLUSIONS? How does the line sound – is there anything striking about the rhythm, or the patterns of vowels and consonants (see also RHETORIC AND RHETORICAL DEVICES; SOUND AND MEANING)? Are there any images or implied METAPHORS involved? What is the speaker’s mood and tone? Is the word order important: for example, is a significant name or piece of information withheld or thrown into ENJAMBMENT? Is the speaker using language that is formal or COLLOQUIAL: is this a word or phrase that belongs in the epics of Homer or on the streets of Athens (see also GREEK EPIC AND TRAGEDY; LANGUAGE OF GREEK TRAGEDY)? Euripides uses both ornate poetic language (especially in his CHORAL odes and MESSENGER The Encyclopedia of Greek Tragedy, First Edition. Edited by Hanna M. Roisman. © 2014 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Published 2014 by John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. 2 speeches) and everyday expressions. ARISTOTLE says that Euripides was the first dramatist to compose speeches that resembled ordinary conversation (Arist. Rh. 1404b24–25), and his range from high to low is one of the special challenges of translating Euripides (on colloquial expressions, see Stevens 1976; Collard 2005a). Translating for the stage adds another layer of complexity, since the lines must be speakable and actable (see also PERFORMATIVE APPROACH TO GREEK TRAGEDY). The flexibility of English (and of language in general) enables a skilled translator to capture many of the qualities of Euripides’ verse simultaneously, but sometimes he or she must abandon one feature in order to preserve another. Whether the overall result can be called accurate is a matter of judgment: A translation cannot be right or wrong in the manner of a school quiz or a bank statement. A translation is more like a portrait in oils … It’s hard to say just what it is that allows viewers to agree that a portrait captures the important things … The mysterious abilities we have for recognizing good matches in the visual sphere lie near to what it takes to judge that a translation is good. (Bellos 2011: 318) Perhaps the most central question the translator must address is the choice between verse and prose; both have been defended in the name of fidelity. Euripides composed his plays entirely in metrical verse; moreover, different parts of each play use different METERS, depending on whether they are spoken, chanted, or sung. To translate the plays into prose is to alter their basic nature, and to translate them into a single style of verse throughout is to flatten out the rhythmic texture of the originals. “A weakness shared by many translations is their failure to convey crucial information relating to the performative aspect of the texts, including which parts of the drama were sung and which were spoken” (Garland 2004: 139). Many have felt, however, that because prose and (beginning in the twentieth century) free verse involve relatively few formal or technical constraints, they are better able to convey Euripides’ meaning. The current view is that prose is best for scholarly parsing, and both the Loeb Classical Library and the Penguin Classics series have replaced their early-to-mid-century verse translations (by A.S. Way and Philip Vellacott, respectively) with clear, elegant, prose renderings (by David Kovacs and John Davie). But scholarly parsers are a specialized sub-set of the audience for Euripides in English. What kind of translation will convey to the Greekless the best sense of what Euripides was like for his original AUDIENCE, or give the strongest impression that he is worth reading and listening to today? Translators over the centuries have deployed the full range of approaches to the question of form. English translations of Euripides The Romans brought Greek drama into the western literary tradition, beginning in the third and second centuries BCE, and it was again the Latin language that ushered in the first English translations of Euripides (see also GREEK TRAGEDY IN/AND LATIN LITERATURE). Erasmus of Rotterdam translated Euripides’ Hecuba into Latin verse in 1503–4, and published it together with his translation of IPHIGENIA AT AULIS in 1506, hard on the heels of Aldus Manutius’ first printed Greek edition of these plays in 1503 (see also EURIPIDES: TRANSMISSION OF TEXT). Erasmus in his preface to Hecuba says that he is striving to follow Euripides “verse for verse, and almost word for word” (“dum versum versui, dum verbum pene verbo reddere nitor,” Waszink 1969: 218). Erasmus was the first humanist to translate a complete tragedy into verse (Rummel 1985: 29), and it was a great achievement; as Aldus points out in his headnote to the edition, Erasmus had no scholarly commentaries or knowledgeable teachers of Greek to rely on (“Deerant olim boni libri, deerant docti praeceptores,” Waszink 1969: 215). Yet Hecuba is not only “remarkably accurate” semantically (Rummel 1985: 31); Erasmus also matches Euripides’ meters, even 3 following some of the choral meters syllable for syllable. For example, in the First Stasimon, Erasmus’ Quo loci miseram vehes me? (489) is a perfect match in both meter and sense for Euripides’ poi me tan melean poreuseis? (“Where will you carry poor me?” Hec. 447; see Waszink 1969: 202–3, 220–1 [Erasmus’ note Ad Lectorem], and, e.g., 240 [note on 486–524] and 260 [note on 1116–42]). For Iphigenia at Aulis, Erasmus simplified his metrical approach and no longer attempted to match Euripides’ choral meters (Rummel 1985: 31). In choosing Hecuba to translate, Erasmus was following traditional taste, since it was the lead play of the BYZANTINE TRIAD; his choices were influential in turn, and there were six more translations of Hecuba and four of Iphigenia at Aulis into vernacular languages before 1600 (Waszink 1969: 208; Heath 1987b: 43; for a list of “Notable Translations of Greek Tragedy” into both Latin and other world languages from 1506 to 1974, see Garland 2004: 202–26; on Latin translations, see also Mastronarde 2010: 9–10; for a comprehensive list of translations into English, see Walton 2006: 230–53 for Euripides). Another tastemaker and translator of Euripides, following Erasmus’ lead, was the Scots humanist George Buchanan, who taught at the Collège de Guyenne in Bordeaux from 1539 to 1543; Michel de Montaigne was one of his students there. He published his translations into Latin verse of MEDEA and ALCESTIS in 1544 and 1556 respectively, and helped to launch the popularity of these plays. Both Erasmus’ and Buchanan’s translations were performed: Buchanan’s Alcestis was presented to Queen Elizabeth in the 1560s (Waszink 1969: 207; Poole 2000: 364). Queen Elizabeth herself is said to have translated a play of Euripides into Latin (Braden 2010: 264). Erasmus made possible the very first translation into English of a Greek play; in the early 1550s, a teenage girl, Lady Jane Lumley, translated Iphigenia at Aulis into English prose, using Erasmus’ Latin and possibly the Greek text as well. This work was also the first play in English by a woman. Lady Lumley treated Euripides’ play freely, not only in her choice of prose, but also by shortening the piece and omitting the choral odes (Walton 2006: 29–33; Medcalf 2008: 385–6; Braden 2010: 262–4). The only other complete Euripidean play in English of the sixteenth century, George Gascoigne and Francis Kinwelmershe’s verse drama Jocasta, was in fact based on Ludovico Dolce’s Giocasta, an Italian version of EURIPIDES’ PHOENICIAN WOMEN. It was presented at Gray’s Inn in 1566 and published in 1572 (Walton 2006: 33–6, 251). But until the late eighteenth century, Euripides was more familiar to readers in Latin than in English, through the translations I have mentioned and through Erasmus’ extensive drawing on Euripides in his collections of pithy sayings, the Adages (Poole 2000: 364; see also Poole and Maule 1995: 149–69 for translations of excerpts from Euripides, from Roger Ascham’s fourteeners from HERACLES [1545] to a selection from Wole Soyinka’s African Bacchae of 1973; see also RECEPTION OF GREEK TRAGEDY IN [SUB-SAHARAN] AFRICAN LITERATURE). In the early 1780s, two separate editions of the complete plays of Euripides were brought out by competing translators, Robert Potter and Michael Wodhull (Walton 2006: 230–1). Both took the same formal approach, using iambic rhythms throughout: blank verse for the dialogue, and shorter iambic lines, usually rhymed, for the sung passages. This sample of STICHOMYTHIA from ION (273–4 of the Greek text) shows Potter, of the two, keeping a tighter rein on his lines: ION CREUSA ION CREUSA The virgins ope’d the interdicted chest? And died, distaining with their blood the rock. (Potter 1938: 1129) I hear those virgins oped the wicker chest In which the goddess lodged him. Hence their doom Was death, and with their gore they stained the rock. (Wodhull 1908: 172) 4 Potter and Wodhull both enjoyed a long run in print; the Everyman Library edition of the Plays of Euripides, in two volumes (1906, 1908), contains ten of Wodhull’s translations and six of Potter’s, along with Percy Bysshe Shelley’s 1818 Cyclops and Henry Hart Milman’s 1865 The Bacchanals (Bacchae); *RHESUS is omitted. This edition was reprinted many times into the mid twentieth century. An interesting experiment in metrical authenticity was undertaken in 1884 by Henry Barrett Lennard, who published, under the initials H.B.L., a version of Alcestis that preserved all of Euripides’ original meters, at the expense of some ridiculousness and the necessity of spellings such as “Heeraklees” (Lennard 1884). Unlike Erasmus’ forays into metrical equivalence, H.B.L.’s were not artistically successful or well received; a brief review in the June 14, 1884 issue of The Athenaeum (no. 2955) throws up its hands: “No words of ours could convey an adequate idea of the peculiarities of this version.” H.B.L. goes beyond preserving the metrical correspondence between STROPHES and ANTISTROPHES in the choral odes; he maintains Euripides’ original rhythms: for example, in the Greek text en nomois genesthai (574), an ITHYPHALLIC, is answered by Phoibe, poikilothrix (584). H.B.L. has “in thy homely pre – cincts! –” (591) answered by “PHOIBE, dapple Roe – fawns, –” (601). Between strophe and antistrophe he adds a stage direction for a “Dance and Pantomime representing the Chace,” and the work is studded throughout with dumbshows and other forms of elaborate spectacle. The two great watersheds of Euripidean translation in the twentieth century were the career of Gilbert Murray and the publication of The Complete Greek Tragedies, edited by David Grene and Richmond Lattimore, by the University of Chicago Press. Gilbert Murray was in all likelihood the last person in history to be a major editor of Euripides’ Greek text (in the Oxford Classical Texts series), a best-selling translator of Greek drama (selling approximately 400,000 copies), and a translator whose works received many performances and revivals (see LloydJones 1982a; Ackerman 1986; Hall and Macintosh 2005: 494–9). Murray’s translation of Medea, on both the page and the stage, was important to the women’s suffrage movement (Hall and Macintosh 2005: 511–20). Murray translated all three of the great Athenian tragedians, but his favorite was Euripides, whose views he considered in alignment with his own liberal politics (Ackerman 1986: 334). His formal choice was rhyming couplets: iambic pentameters for the dialogue, and more song-like meters for the odes. His ship was sunk for posterity by T.S. Eliot, who wrote in 1920 that “Professor Murray has simply interposed between Euripides and ourselves a barrier more impenetrable than the Greek language … As a poet, Mr. Murray is merely a very insignificant follower of the pre-Raphaelite movement” (Eliot 1932a: 49). Eliot preferred the stripped-down Euripides of H.D. (Eliot 1932a: 50). Here is the opening of her version of the First Stasimon of Hecuba (quoted above in Erasmus’ translation): Wind of the sea, O where, where, where, through the salt and spray, do you bear me, in misery? (H.D. 1931: 43) H.D., who also translated choruses from HIPPOLYTUS and Iphigenia at Aulis, and all of Ion, is “radically, wonderfully taut: ultramodern, ultra-imagist” (Jenkins 2007: 129). Murray, by contrast, confessed to embellishing Euripides: “I have often used more elaborate diction than he, because I have found that, Greek being a very simple and austere language and modern British an ornate one, a direct translation produced an effect of baldness which was quite unlike the original” (quoted in Ackerman 1986: 336). The modern taste that made Eliot recoil from Murray also underlies Grene and 5 Lattimore’s Chicago series, still very much in print and widely used in classrooms. The translations in the Euripides volumes range in date from 1942 to 1960. The prevailing style is clean and straightforward, stripped of “the brown varnish of antiquarianism” (Cohen 1962: 10). The dialogue is translated for the most part into loose iambic lines, the choruses into free verse, with a handful of more traditional forms: for example, the rhymed choral odes of Ralph Gladstone’s HERACLIDAE. For ELECTRA, Emily Townsend Vermeule uses a sixbeat iambic line that suggests Euripides’ Greek IAMBIC trimeter, and her odes approximate strophic responsion, as do those of Witter Bynner’s IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS and Ronald Frederick Willetts’s Ion. Going the farthest in this direction is poet John Frederick Nims in ANDROMACHE, whose odes are composed in strict responsion, and who replicates Euripides’ elegiac couplets (unique to this play) and choral dactylic hexameters (lines 103–16, 117, 127). I have adopted Nims’s practice of metrical fidelity in my own translations (Arnson Svarlien 2007, 2012). Nims himself continued this practice in his translation of SUPPLIANTS for the Penn Greek Drama Series (1998). William Arrowsmith, one of the most prominent and talented contributors to the Chicago series, went on to found a rival series with Oxford University Press, “Greek Tragedy in New Translations.” Most of its titles pair a Greek scholar with a poet to work collaboratively; Arrowsmith himself, who needed no collaborator, initiated the series with his Alcestis. This play has been a favorite of translators and adaptors since Buchanan’s version, and a scene from it will provide an interesting sampling of twentiethcentury Euripides in English. Around the middle of the play (780–6), a drunken HERACLES (unaware that his HOST’s WIFE has just died) gives advice to ADMETUS’ SERVANT, who is MOURNING ALCESTIS’ death (see also UNNAMED CHARACTERS). Remarkably, the Greek contains four verses in a row (782–5) with HOMOIOTELEUTON at line-end – RHYME! – which is supposed to be absent from Greek tragedy. Murray, who rhymes the entire play, is harder pressed to bring out this effect: Dost comprehend things mortal, how they grow? (To himself ) I suppose not. How could he? … Look this way! Death is a debt all mortal men must pay; Aye, there is no man living who can say If life will last him yet a single day. On, to the dark, drives Fortune; and no force Can wrest her secret nor put back her course … (Murray 1915: 45) Lattimore, in the Chicago series, using a loose, unrhymed, six-beat line, can make the anomaly stand out: Do you really know what things are like, the way they are? I don’t think so. How could you? Well then, listen to me. Death is an obligation which we all must pay. There is not one man living who can truly say if he will be alive or dead on the next day. Fortune is dark; she moves, but we cannot see the way nor can we pin her down by science and study her. (Lattimore 1959/1974: 38; cf. Arnson Svarlien 2007: 39, 830–7) Arrowsmith omits the rhyme, ignores Euripides’ meter, and writes his Heracles in a way that highlights the performance: You know what it’sh like to be a man? I mean, d’you really unnerstan’ the human condishun, fren’? I can see you don’t. How could you, with a face like that? Well. lissen, mister: We all gotta die. An’ that’s a fact. There’s not a man alive who knows the odds on death. 6 Here today. Gone tomorrow. Poof. That’s fate. A mystery. I mean, there’s jus’ no knowin’. Man can’t figger it out. (Arrowsmith 1974: 73–4) Another drunken reveler will provide a final study in contrast. In the SATYR PLAY CYCLOPS, POLYPHEMUS sings in celebration as ODYSSEUS plies him with wine. Here is the passage (504–10 of the Greek text) as translated first by Percy Bysshe Shelley in 1818 and then by American poet Heather McHugh in 2001: Heavy with the joy divine, With the young feast oversated, Like a merchant’s vessel freighted To the water’s edge, my crop Is laden to the gullet’s top. The fresh meadow grass of spring Tempts me forth thus wandering To my brothers on the mountains, Who shall share the wine’s sweet fountains. Bring the cask, O stranger, bring! (Shelley 1906: 15) My heart is skipping stones to keep abreast of her festivities. I’m loaded to the topdecks – sing! Spring’s in the bed, spring’s in the year. To brother Cyclopes let’s bring the cheapest gal – a gallon’s cheer. Come on now, friend, give back that wineskin. (McHugh 2001: 57) Both Shelley’s lyricism and McHugh’s wordplay suit the context and seem native to Euripides, who was a master of both. Poets and translators in every age will find ways to bring across what they love about Euripides. Translation of verse drama poses infinite challenges, and the solutions are infinite. See also HEBREW TRANSLATION OF GREEK TRAGEDY; RECEPTION; TRANSLATION AND/ TRANSLATING GREEK TRAGEDY; TRANSLATIONS (ENGLISH) OF/TRANSLATING AESCHYLUS; TRANSLATIONS (ENGLISH) OF/TRANSLATING SOPHOCLES References Ackerman, R. 1986. “Euripides and Professor Murray.” CJ 81.4: 329–36. Arnson Svarlien, D. (tr.). 2007. Euripides: Alcestis, Medea, Hippolytus. Indianapolis: Hackett. Arnson Svarlien, D. (tr.). 2012. Euripides: Andromache, Hecuba, Trojan Women. Indianapolis: Hackett. Arrowsmith, W. (tr.). 1974. Euripides: Alcestis. Greek Tragedy in New Translations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bellos, D. 2011. Is That a Fish in Your Ear? Translation and the Meaning of Everything. New York: Faber & Faber. Braden, G. 2010. “6.1: Tragedy,” in G. Braden, R. Cummings, and S. Gillespie (eds.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 2: 1550–1660. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 262–79. Braden, G., R. Cummings, and S. Gillespie (eds.). 2010. The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 2: 1550–1660. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cohen, J.M. 1962. English Translators and Translations. Writers and Their Work 142. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Collard, C. 2005a. “Colloquial Language in Tragedy: A Supplement to the Work of P.T. Stevens.” CQ 55: 350–86. Eliot, T.S. 1932a. “Euripides and Professor Murray,” in Selected Essays 1917–1932. New York: Harcourt, Brace, and Company: 46–50. Ellis, R. (ed.). 2008. The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 1: To 1550. Oxford: Oxford University Press. France, P. and K. Haynes (eds.). 2006. The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 4: 1790–1900. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Garland, R. 2004. Surviving Greek Tragedy. London: Duckworth. Gillespie, S. and D. Hopkins (eds.). 2005. The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 3: 1660–1790. Oxford: Oxford University Press. H.D. 1931/1970. Red Roses for Bronze. London: Chatto & Windus; repr. New York: AMS Press, 1970. Hall, E. and F. Macintosh. 2005. Greek Tragedy and the British Theatre 1660–1914. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 7 Hall, E., F. Macintosh, and A. Wrigley (eds.). 2004. Dionysus since 69: Greek Tragedy at the Dawn of the Third Millennium. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Heath, M. 1987b/2003. “ ‘Jure principem locum tenet ’: Euripides’ Hecuba.” BICS 34: 40–68; repr. with revisions in J. Mossman (ed.), Euripides. Oxford Readings in Classical Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003: 218–60. Jenkins, T.E. 2007. “The ‘Ultra-modern’ Euripides of Verrall, H.D., and MacLeish.” Classical and Modern Literature 27.1: 121–45. Kewes, P. 2005. “5.6: Drama,” in S. Gillespie and D. Hopkins (eds.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 3: 1660–1790. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 241–52. Lattimore, R. (tr.). 1959/1974. “Alcestis,” in D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), The Complete Greek Tragedies, vol. 3: Euripides. Chicago: University of Chicago Press; repr. 1974: 2–53. Lennard, H.B. (H.B.L.) (tr.). 1884. The Alcestis of Euripides: Translated from the Greek into English, Now for the First Time in Its Original Metres, with Preface, Explanatory Notes, and Stage Directions Suggesting How It Might Have Been Performed. London: R. Bentley and Sons. Lloyd-Jones, H. 1982a. Blood for the Ghosts: Classical Influences in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. London: Duckworth. Mastronarde, D.J. 2010. The Art of Euripides: Dramatic Technique and Social Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McDonald, M. 2003. The Living Art of Greek Tragedy. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. McHugh, H. (tr.). 2001. Euripides: Cyclops. Greek Tragedy in New Translations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Medcalf, S. 2008. “5.6: Classical Authors,” in R. Ellis (ed.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 1: To 1550. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 364–89. Murray, G. (tr.). 1915. The Alcestis of Euripides, Translated into English Rhyming Verse with Explanatory Notes. New York: Oxford University Press. Nims, J.F. 1998. “Suppliant Women,” in D.R. Slavitt and P. Bovie (eds.), Euripides, vol. 2. Penn Greek Drama Series. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Poole, A. 2000. “Euripides,” in P. France (ed.), The Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 363–7. Poole, A. and J. Maule (eds.). 1995. The Oxford Book of Classical Verse in Translation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Potter, R. (tr.). 1938. “Euripides: Ion,” in W.J. Oates and E. O’Neill, Jr. (eds.), The Complete Greek Drama, vol. 1. New York: Random House. Reynolds, M. 2006. “Principles and Norms of Translation,” in P. France and K. Haynes (eds.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 4: 1790–1900. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 61–82. Rummel, E. 1985. Erasmus as a Translator of the Classics. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Shelley, P.B. (tr.). 1906. “The Cyclops,” in E. Rhys (ed.), The Plays of Euripides, vol. 1. Everyman’s Library 63. New York: E.P. Dutton & Co. Stevens, P.T. 1976. Colloquial Expressions in Euripides. Hermes-Einzelschriften 38. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. Walton, J.M. 2006. Found in Translation: Greek Drama in English. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Waszink, J.H. (ed.). 1969. “Euripidis Hecuba et Iphigenia Latinae Factae Erasmo Interprete,” in Desiderii Erasmi Roterodami: Opera Omnia, I-1. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing Company: 193–359. Wechsler, R. 1998. Performing without a Stage: The Art of Literary Translation. North Haven, CT: Catbird Press. Wodhull, M. (tr.). 1908. “Ion” in E. Rhys (ed.), The Plays of Euripides, vol. 2. Everyman’s Library 271. New York: E.P. Dutton & Co. Further Reading Biguenet, J. and R. Schulte (eds.). 1989. The Craft of Translation. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hofstadter, D.R. 1997. Le Ton beau de Marot: In Praise of the Music of Language. New York: Basic Books. Mahon, D. (tr.) 1991. The Bacchae: After Euripides. Loughcrew: Gallery Press. DIANE ARNSON SVARLIEN