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Aeschylus
Agamemnon
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This translation by Ian Johnston,
Professor Emeritus at Vancouver Island University, Nanaimo, BC, has certain copyright
restrictions. For information please use the following link: Copyright. For
comments or question please contact Ian Johnston.
Last revised October 1, 2002, minor editorial corrections made on May
21, 2005, minor formatting changes made on June 6, 2012, and in March 2014.
For links to other plays in the trilogy, please use the following link: Oresteia Table of Contents.
This text is available in the form of a Publisher or Word file for those
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files. For details, please use the following link: Publisher
files.
Note that in the following text the numbers in square brackets refer to
the Greek text and that the numbers without brackets refer to this text.
Partial indented lines are included with the previous partial lines in the
reckoning.
For a list of other translations and lectures by
Ian Johnston, use this link: johnstonia
Dramatis Personae
WATCHMAN: servant of Agamemnon
and Clytaemnestra.
CHORUS: old men, citizens of Argos.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: wife of Agamemnon, daughter of Leda, sister of Helen.
HERALD: soldier serving with Agamemnon.
AGAMEMNON: king of Argos, leader of the Greek expedition to Troy.
MESSENGER: a servant in the palace.
CASSANDRA: daughter of Priam, King of Troy, a
prisoner given to Agamemnon, a priestess of Apollo.
AEGISTHUS: son of Thyestes, cousin of Agamemnon, Clytaemnestra’s lover.
SOLDIERS and SERVANTS attending on Agamemnon and on
Clytaemnestra and Aegisthus.
The brothers Agamemnon and Menelaus, sons of Atreus,
are both kings of Argos and leaders of the expe-dition against
Troy, launched ten years before the action of the play begins. Agamemnon is the
senior of the two. The allied forces under Agamemnon are called
the Argives, the Achaeans, or the Danaans,
as in Homer’sIliad—not Greeks. Priam’s city is called Troy or Ilion interchangeably.
[The
scene is in Argos immediately in front of the steps leading up to the main
doors of the royal palace. In front of the palace there are statues of gods. At
the start of the play, the Watchman is prone on the roof of the palace resting
his head on his arms. It is just before dawn.]
WATCHMAN |
I pray the gods will give me some relief
and end this weary job. One long full year
I’ve been lying here,
on this rooftop,
the palace of the sons of Atreus,
resting on my arms, just like a dog.
I’ve come to know the night sky, every
star,
the powers we see glittering in the sky,
bringing winter and summer to us all,
as the constellations rise and sink.
I’m still looking for that signal
flare, 10
the fiery blaze from Troy, announcing
it’s been taken. These are my
instructions [10]
from the queen. She has a fiery heart,
the determined resolution of a man.
When I set my damp, restless bed up here,
I never dream, for I don’t fall asleep.
No. Fear comes instead and stands beside
me,
so I can’t shut my eyes and get some rest.
If I try to sing or hum a tune,
something to do instead of trying to
sleep, 20
since I’m always awake, I start to weep,
as I lament what’s happened to this house,
where things are not being governed well,
not like they used to be. How I wish
my watching could end happily
tonight, [20]
with good news brought by fire blazing
through this darkness.
[The
signal fire the Watchman has been waiting for suddenly appears. The Watchman
springs to his feet]
Fire
gleaming in the night!
What a welcome sight! Light of a new day—
you’ll bring on many dancing choruses
right here in Argos,
celebrations 30
of this joyful news.
[Shouting]
It’s
over! It’s over!
I must call out to wake the queen,
Clytaemnestra, Agamemnon’s wife,
to get her out of bed, so she can raise
a shout of joy as soon as possible
inside the palace, welcoming this fire—
if indeed the city of Troy’s fallen,
as this signal fire seems to
indicate. [30]
For my part, I’ll start things off by
dancing,
treating my king’s good fortune as my
own. 40
I’ve had a lucky dice roll, triple six,
thanks to this fiery signal . . . .
[His mood
suddenly changes to something much more hesitant and reserved]
But
I hope
the master of this house may come home
soon,
so I can grasp his welcome hand in mine.
As for all the rest, I’m saying nothing.
A great ox stands on my tongue. But this
house,
if it could speak, might tell some stories.
I speak to those who know about these
things.
For those who don’t, there’s nothing I
remember.
[The
Watchman goes down into the house. Enter the Chorus of Argive elders,
very old men who carry staves to help them stand up. As they speak,
servants come out of the palace and light oil lamps in offering to the statues
of the gods outside the palace doors]
CHORUS
It’s now ten years since
Menelaus, 50 [40]
Priam’s great
adversary,
and lord Agamemnon,
two mighty sons of Atreus,
joined by Zeus in double honours—
twin thrones and royal sceptres—
left this country with that fleet,
a thousand Argive ships,
to back their warrior cause with force,
hearts screaming in their battle fury,
two eagles overwhelmed by
grief, 60
crying for their young—wings
beating [50]
like oars, they wheel aloft,
high above their home, distressed
because they’ve lost their work—
their fledglings in the nest are gone!*
Then
one of the supreme powers—
Apollo, or Pan, or Zeus—
hears the shrill wailing cry,
hears those screaming birds,
who live within his
realm, 70
and sends a late-avenging Fury
to take revenge on the transgressors.
In just that way, mighty
Zeus, [60]
god of hospitality,
sends those sons of Atreus
against Alexander, son of Priam—
for that woman’s sake, Helen,
the one who’s had so many men,
condemning Trojans and Danaans
to many heartfelt struggles, both
alike, 80
knees splintering as the fighting starts.*
Now
things stand as they stand.
What’s destined to come will be fulfilled,
and no libation, sacrifice, or human tears
will mitigate the gods’ unbending wrath
of sacrifice not blessed by fire.
But
as for us, whose old bodies
confer no honour, who were left behind
when the army sailed so long
ago, 90
we wait here, using up our strength
to support ourselves with canes,
like children, whose power,
though growing in their chests,
is not yet fit for Ares, god of war.
And so it is with old men, too,
who, when they reach extreme old age,
wither like leaves, and go their way
three-footed, no better than a
child, [80]
as they wander like a
daydream. 100
But
you, daughter of Tyndareus,
queen Clytaemnestra,
what’s going on? What news?
What reports have you received
that lead you to send your servants out
commanding all this sacrifice?
For every god our city worships—
all-powerful gods above the earth,
and those below, and those in
heaven, [90]
and those in the
marketplace— 110
their altars are ablaze with offerings.
Fires rise here and there and everywhere,
right up to heaven, fed by sacred oils
brought from the palace—sweet and holy,
their purity sustains those flames.
Tell us what you can,
tell us what’s right for us to hear.
Cure our anxious thoughts.
For now, at one particular
moment, [100]
things look grim, but then our
hopes, 120
rising from these sacrificial fires,
make things seem better, soothing
corrosive pains that eat my heart.
I
have the power to proclaim
that prophecy made to our kings,
as they were setting on their way,
a happy outcome for their expedition.
My age inspires in me Persuasion still,
the power of song sent from the gods,
to sing how two kings of Achaea’s
troops, 130
united in a joint command, led
off [110]
the youth of Greece, armed with avenging
spears,
marching against Troy, land of Teucer.
They got a happy omen—two eagles,
kings of birds, appeared before the kings
of ships.
One bird was black, the
other’s tail was white,
here, close to the palace, on the right,
in a place where everyone could see.
The eagles were gorging themselves,
devouring a pregnant
hare 140
and all its unborn offspring,
struggling in their death throes
still. [120]
Sing
out the song of sorrow, song of grief,
but let the good prevail.
Then
the army’s prophet, Calchas,
observing the twin purposes
in the two warlike sons of Atreus,
saw the twin leaders of the army
in those birds devouring the hare.
He then interpreted the omen, saying, 150
“In
due course this expedition
will capture Priam’s city,
Troy—
before its towers a violent Fate
will annihilate all public
goods. [130]
But may no anger from the gods
cast its dark shadow on our troops,
our great bit forged to curb Troy’s mouth.
For goddess Artemis is full of anger
at her father’s flying hounds—she pities
the cowering sacrificial creature in
distress, 160
she pities its young, slaughtered
before she’s brought them into life.
Artemis abominates the eagles’ feast.”
Sing
out the song of sorrow, song of grief,
but let the good prevail.
“And
lovely
Artemis— [140]
though you’re gentle with the tender cubs
of vicious lions and take special joy
in the suckling young of all wild living
beasts,
promise things will work out
well, 170
as this omen of the eagles
indicates,
an auspicious sign, but ominous.
And I call Apollo, god of healing,
to stop Artemis delaying the fleet,
by sending hostile winds
to keep the ships from
sailing, [150]
in her demand for another sacrifice,
one which violates all human law,
which no feast celebrates—
it shatters families and makes the
wife 180
lose all respect and hate her
husband.
For in the home a dreadful anger waits.
It does not forget and cannot be appeased.
Its treachery controls the house,
waiting to avenge a slaughtered child.”
Calchas prophesied that fatal destiny,
read from those birds, as the army marched,
speaking by this palace of the kings.
And
to confirm all this
sing out the song of sorrow, song of
grief, 190
but let the good prevail.
O
Zeus, whoever he may be, [160]
if this name please him as invocation,
then that’s the name I’ll use to call him.
As I try to think all these things through,
I have no words to shape my thoughts,
other than Zeus—if I truly can succeed
in easing my heart of this heavy grief,
this self-defeating weight of sorrow.
As
for Uranus, who was once so
great, 200
bursting with arrogance for every fight,
people will talk about that god
as if he’d never even lived. [170]
And his
son, Cronos, who came after,
has met his match and is no more.
But whoever with a willing heart
cries his triumphal song to Zeus
will come to understand all things.*
Zeus,
who guided mortals to be wise,
has established his fixed
law— 210
wisdom comes
through suffering.
Trouble, with its memories of pain,
drips in our hearts as we try to
sleep, [180]
so men against their will
learn to practice moderation.
Favours come to us from gods
seated on their solemn thrones—
such grace is harsh and violent.
So
then the leader of Achaean ships,
the elder brother,
Agamemnon, 220
did not blame or fault the prophet,
but gave in to fortune’s sudden blows.
For Achaea’s army, stranded there,
on the shores across
from Calchis, [190]
was held up by opposing winds at Aulis,
where tides ebb and flow.
Troops grew weary, as supplies ran low.
Winds blew from the Strymon river,
keeping ships at anchor, harming men
with too much leisure. Troops grew
hungry. 230
They wandered discontent and restless.
The winds corroded ships and cables.
The delay seemed endless, on and on, until
the men, the flower of Argos, began to wilt.
Then Calchas proclaimed
the cause of this—
it was Artemis. And he
proposed [200]
a further remedy, but something harsh,
even worse than the opposing winds,
so painful that the sons of Atreus
struck their canes on the ground and wept.* 240
Then
Agamemnon, the older king, spoke up:
“It’s harsh not to obey this fate—
but to go through with it is harsh as well,
to kill my child, the glory of my house,
to stain a father’s hands before the
altar [210]
with streams of virgin’s blood.
Which of my options is not evil?
How can I just leave this fleet,
and let my fellow warriors down?
Their passionate demand for
sacrifice 250
to calm the winds lies within their rights—
even the sacrifice of virgin blood.
So be it. All may be well.”
But
when Agamemnon strapped on
the harsh yoke of necessity,
his spirits changed, and his intentions
became profane, unholy,
unsanctified. [220]
He undertook an act beyond all daring.
Troubles come, above all, from delusions
inciting men to rash designs, to
evil. 260
So Agamemnon steeled his heart
to make his own daughter the sacrifice,
an offering for the Achaean fleet,
so he could prosecute the war
waged to avenge that woman Helen.
In
their eagerness for war, those
leaders [230]
paid no attention to the girl,
her pleas for help, her cries of “Father!”—
any more
than to her virgin youth.
Her father offered up a
prayer, 270
then ordered men to seize her
and lift her up—she’d fallen forward
and just lay there in her robes—to raise
her,
high above the altar, like a goat,
urging them to keep their spirits up.
They gagged her lovely mouth,
with force, just like a horse’s bit,
to keep her speechless, to stifle any curse
which she might cry against her family.
As
she threw her saffron robe onto the
ground, 280
she glanced at the men, each of
them, [240]
those carrying out the sacrifice,
her eyes imploring pity. She looked
just like a painting dying to speak.
She’d often sung before her father’s table,
when, as host, he’d entertained his guests,
a virgin using her flawless voice
to honour her dear father with
her love,
as he prayed for blessing
at the third
libation. 290
What
happened next I did not see.
And I won’t say. What Calchas’ skill
had prophesied did come to pass.
The scales of Justice move to
show [250]
that wisdom comes through suffering.
As for what’s to
come—you’ll know that
when it comes. So let it be.
To know would be to grieve ahead of time.
It’s clear whatever is to happen
will happen, like tomorrow’s
dawn. 300
[Enter
Clytaemnestra through the palace doors]
But
I hope whatever follows will be good,
according to the wishes of our queen,
who governs here, our closest guard,
keeping watch all by herself,
protecting Peloponnesian lands.
CHORUS LEADER
Queen Clytaemnestra, we’ve come here
in deference to your royal authority.
With our king far away, the man’s
throne [260]
is empty—so it’s appropriate for us
to pay allegiance to his wife, the
queen. 310
I’d really like to hear your news,
whether what you’ve heard is good or not.
Your sacrificial offerings give us hope.
But we won’t object if you stay silent.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
It’s a welcome message. As the proverb
says,
“May Dawn be born
from mother Night.”
You’ll hear great news, greater than all
your hopes—
the Argives have captured Priam’s city!
CHORUS LEADER
What’s that you say? I misheard your words—
what you’ve just said—it defies
belief! 320
CLYTAEMNESTRA
I say Troy is now in Achaean hands.
Is that clear enough?
CHORUS LEADER
That
fills me with joy.
So much so I can’t stop
crying. [270]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Then your eyes reveal your faithful
loyalty.
CHORUS LEADER
Is this report reliable? Is there proof?
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Of course there is. Unless
some god deceives me.
CHORUS LEADER
Has some vision persuaded you of this,
something in a dream, perhaps?
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Not
at all.
As if I’d listen to some dozing brain.
CHORUS LEADER:
Perhaps some
unfledged rumour raised your
hopes? 330
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Now you’re insulting my intelligence,
as if I were a youngster, just a child.
CHORUS LEADER
When exactly was the city captured?
CLYTAEMNESTRA
I’ll tell you. It was the very night
that gave birth to this glorious day.
CHORUS LEADER
How could a messenger get here so
fast? [280]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Hephaestos, god
of fire, sent his bright blaze
speeding here from Ida, his messenger,
flames racing from one beacon to the next—
from Ida to Hermes’ rock in Lemnos. 340
From that island the great flames sped
to the third fire, on the crest of Athos,
sacred to Zeus, and then, arcing high,
the beacon light sprang across the sea,
exulting in its golden fiery power,
rushing on, like another sun, passing
the message to the look-out towers
at Macistus.
The man there was not
sleeping, [290]
like some fool. Without a moment’s pause,
he relayed the message, so the blazing
news 350
sped on, leaping across Euripus’ stream,
to pass the signal to the next watchmen,
at Messapion.
Those men, in their turn,
torched a pile of dried-out heather, firing
the message onward. The flaming light
was not diminished—its strength kept
growing.
Like a glowing moon, it jumped across
the plain of Asopus,
up to the ridges
on mount Cithaeron, where it set alight
the next stage of the relay race of
fire. 360
Those watching there did not neglect their
work—
that light which came to them from far
away [300]
they passed on with an even greater blaze,
which dashed across the shores of Gorgopus,
to reach mount Aegiplanctus,
with orders
for those there to keep the beacon moving.
They lit a fire, a huge flaming pillar,
with unchecked force, speeding the message
on—
its light visible even at the headland
by the Saronic Gulf.
It swooped
down, 370
once it reached the crest of Arachnaeus,
that look-out near our city—and from there
jumped down onto the roof of Atreus’
sons, [310]
flames directly linked to blazing Troy.
I organized these messengers of fire,
setting them up in sequence, one by one.
In that race the first and last both
triumph,
the ones who sent the message and received
it.
That’s the evidence I set before you,
a message from my husband,
dispatched 380
all the way from burning Troy to
me.
CHORUS
My queen, I’ll offer up to all the gods
my prayers of thanks, but now I’d like to
hear
the details of your wonderful report.
Can you tell me the news once more?
CLYTAEMNESTRA
On this very day Achaea’s
army [320]
has taken Troy. Inside that town, I think,
voices cry out in mass confusion.
If you place oil and vinegar together,
in the same container, you’ll
observe 390
they never mix, but separate themselves,
like enemies—well, in Troy the shouting
of conquerors and conquered is like that,
matching their very different situations.
Trojans fall upon their family corpses,
husbands, brothers. The children scream
over dead old men who gave them life.
As captives now, they keep lamenting
all their slaughtered loved ones. But
the Argives,
famished after a long night’s
roaming, 400 [330]
and weary after battle, are set to eat,
to gorge themselves on what the town
affords.
They’re quartered now in captured Trojan
homes,
sheltered from the night sky’s frost and
dew,
but not according to official rank,
rather as luck determines each man’s lot.
They’re happy. They’ll sleep straight
through the night,
without posting a guard. Now, if these
troops
fully and piously respect Troy’s gods,
a captured country’s divinities and shrines, 410
those who’ve conquered may not, in their
turn, [340]
be conquered. But let no frenzied greed,
no overpowering lust for plunder,
fall upon the army from the start,
so they ravage what they should leave
alone.
For to get safely home,
the army needs
to make that long journey back again.
But even if the soldiers do reach home
without offending any god, harsh sorrow
for the dead may still be watching for
them, 420
unless some new disaster intervenes.
Well, I’ve let you hear my woman’s words.
May good things now prevail for all
to see.
I take this news as cause for common
joy. [350]
CHORUS LEADER
You speak wisely, like a prudent man.
But now I’ve heard that I can trust your
news,
we must prepare ourselves to thank the
gods,
who’ve given a blessing worthy of our toil.
[Clytaemnestra
goes back into the palace]
CHORUS
O Zeus, my king, and friendly Night,
you’ve handed us great
glories 430
to keep as our possession.
You cast upon the towers of Troy
your all-encompassing hunting net,
and no one, young or old, escaped
its enslaving fatal mesh [360]
that overpowered them all.
I
worship mighty Zeus,
god of hospitality,
who made this happen.
For a long time
now 440
he’s aimed his bow at Paris,
making sure his arrow
would not fall short or fly
above the stars and miss.
Men
will say it’s a blow from Zeus
and trace his presence in all this.
He acts on what he himself decides.
Some people claim that
gods [370]
don’t really care about those men
who trample
underfoot 450
favours from the pure in heart.
Such people are profane.
For we now clearly see
destruction is the penalty
for those with reckless pride,
who breathe a boastful spirit
greater than is just,
because their homes are full,
stuffed with riches to excess,
beyond what’s best for
them. 460
Let men have sufficient wealth
to match good sense, not so
much [380]
it piles up their misfortunes.
There’s no security in riches
for the insolent man who kicks aside
and pushes from his sight
great altars of righteousness.
Such
a man is overpowered
by perverse Persuasion,
insufferable child of scheming
Folly. 470
And there’s no remedy.
His evil’s not concealed—
it stands out, a lurid glitter,
like false bronze when
rubbed. [390]
All men can judge his darkness,
once he’s tested by events.
He’s like a child chasing a flying bird.
He brands his city with disgrace
which cannot be removed,
for no god hears his
prayers. 480
The man who lives this way,
doing wrong, the gods destroy.
Such a man was Paris. He came
to the home of the sons
of Atreus, [400]
and then abused their hospitality,
running off with his host’s wife.
But
she left her people
the smash of shield and spear,
a fleet well armed for war.
To Troy she carried with
her 490
no dowry but destruction.
Daring what should not be dared,
she glided through Troy’s gates.
The prophets in this house cried out,
“Alas, alas for house and
home, [410]
and for the royal leaders here.*
Alas, for the marriage bed,
still holding traces of her body,
the one who loved her husband.”
As for him, he sits
apart, 500
in pain, silent and dishonoured.
He
does not blame her—
no, he aches to be with her,
the woman far across the sea.
Her image seems to rule the house.
Her husband finds no beauty now
in graceful statues, for to his blank eyes
all sexual loveliness has gone.
In
his dreams he sees sad
images, [420]
with memories of earlier
joy— 510
a vain relief, for when the man
thinks he sees such beauty there,
all at once it’s gone, slipping
through his hands, flying away
along the paths of sleep.
These
are the sorrows in the house,
around the hearth, and pain
much worse than this. For everywhere,
throughout the land of Greece,
in every home where men set
out 520 [430]
to gather in that army
there is insufferable grief.
Many disasters pierce the heart.
People know the ones who leave,
but every house gets back
weapons and ash, not living men.
For
Ares, god of war, pays gold
for soldier’s bodies. In spear fights
he tips the scales, then back from
Troy [440]
he ships a heavy freight of
ash, 530
cremated bodies of the dead,
sent home for loved ones to lament.
He trades funeral dust for men,
shiploads of urns filled up with ashes.
Back home the people weep,
praising one man for his battle skill,
another for courageous death.
Some complain about that woman,
how she’s to blame for all of this—
but do so quietly.
Nonetheless, 540 [450]
this sorrow spreads resentment
against the leaders of the war,
the sons of Atreus.
Meanwhile,
over there, across the seas in Troy,
around the city walls, the hostile ground
swallows our beautiful young men,
now hidden in the earth they conquered.
The
people’s voice, once angered,
can create dissent, ratifying a curse
which now must have its
way. 550
And so, in my anxiety, I wait,
listening for something murky,
something emerging from the
gloom. [460]
For gods aren’t
blind to men who kill.
In time, black agents of revenge,
the Furies, wear down and bring to nothing
the fortunes of a man who prospers
in unjust ways. They wear him out,
reverse his luck, and bring him at last
among the dead. There’s no
remedy. 560
To boast too much of one’s success
is dangerous—the high mountain peak
is struck by Zeus’ lightning
bolt. [470]
I’d choose wealth no one could envy.
May I never be the sort of man
who puts whole cities to the sword.
Let me never see myself enslaved,
my life in someone else’s power.
CHORUS MEMBER ONE
This welcome fiery message has spread fast;
it’s gone throughout the town. But is it
true? 570
Sent from the gods or false? Who knows?
CHORUS MEMBER TWO
What man is such a senseless child
he lets his heart catch fire at this
news, [480]
and then is shattered by some fresh report?
CHORUS
MEMBER THREE
That’s just the nature of a woman—
to give thanks before the truth appears.
CHORUS MEMBER FOUR
Yes, they’re far too trusting.
The proper order in a woman’s mind
is easily upset. Rumours women
start
soon die out, soon come to
nothing. 580
CHORUS LEADER
We’ll quickly know about these signal
fires,
flaming beacons passed from place to
place. [490]
We’ll find
out if that really did occur
or if, just like a dream, this joyful light
has come in order to deceive our hopes.
For I see a herald coming
from the shore—
an olive bough of triumph shades his face.
The dry dust on him, all those muddy
clothes,
tell me he’ll report the facts. Nor will he
light some flaming pile of mountain
wood 590
to pass a signal on with smoke. No—
he’ll shout out to us what he has to say,
and we can then rejoice still more,
or else . . . but I won’t think of that.
Let’s have
good news to add to what we know
already. [500]
If anyone is
praying for something else
to happen to our city, let him reap
the harvest of his own misguided heart.
[Enter
Herald]
HERALD
Greetings to this Argive soil,
my father’s land.
On this day, ten years later, I’ve come
back. 600
I’ve seen many hopes of mine destroyed,
and only one fulfilled—I’ve made it home.
I never dreamed I’d die here in
Argos,
with a burial plot in this land I love.
I bless the land, the bright light of this
sun—
and I give thanks to Zeus, our highest god,
and to Apollo, lord of Pytho.
May you never fire your arrows at
us [510]
any more. We
had enough of those,
my lord, beside Scamander’s
banks, 610
when you took your stand against us. But
now,
Apollo, may you preserve and heal us.
And I greet all gods assembled here,
including Hermes, whom I honour,
the well-loved herald god, worshipped
as the herald’s patron. And next I pray
the heroic spirits who sent us off
will welcome back the remnants of our army,
those spared being slaughtered by the spear.
O you hall of kings, you roof I
cherish, 620
you sacred seats and gods who face the sun,
if your shining eyes in days gone
by [520]
have welcomed our king home, then do so
now,
after his long absence. He’s coming here,
carrying light into this darkness, for you
and all assembled here—our mighty king,
lord Agamemnon. Greet him with full
respect.
For he’s uprooted Troy—with the pick axe
of avenging Zeus he’s reduced her soil.
The altars of the gods and all their
shrines 630
he has obliterated, laying waste
all that country’s rich fertility.
Around Troy’s neck he’s fixed destruction’s
yoke.
Now he’s coming home, king Agamemnon,
the fortunate elder son
of Atreus, [530]
among all men he merits the
most honour.
For neither Paris nor his accomplice,
the Trojan city, can ever boast again
their deeds were greater than their
suffering.
Guilty of rape and theft, he’s lost his
loot. 640
He’s utterly destroyed his father’s house,
the land, too, which sustained his people.
So Priam’s sons
have paid the price twice over.
CHORUS LEADER
All joyful greetings to you, herald,
as you come back from our army.
HERALD
I,
too, rejoice.
Now I don’t fear death—it’s as the gods
decide.
CHORUS LEADER
Did your love of this land cause you
distress? [540]
HERALD
Yes. That’s why my eyes are filled with
tears.
CHORUS LEADER
It’s as if you had some pleasing
sickness.
HERALD
How so? Tell me exactly what you
mean. 650
CHORUS LEADER
You suffered from love for those who loved
you.
HERALD
You mean the country and the army
both missed each other?
CHORUS LEADER
Yes,
so much so,
often my anxious heart cried out aloud.
HERALD
What caused this gnawing trouble in your
heart?
CHORUS LEADER
Long ago I learned to keep my silence—
the best antidote against more trouble.
HERALD
Why’s that? Were you afraid of someone,
once the kings were gone?
CHORUS LEADER
Indeed
I was.
In fact, as you have said, there’d be great
joy 660 [550]
in dying now.
HERALD
It’s
true we have done well.
As for what happened long ago, you could
say
some worked out happily, and some was bad.
But who except the gods avoids all pain
throughout his life? If I told what we went
through—
the hardships, wretched quarters, narrow
berths,
the harsh conditions—was there anything
we did not complain about? We had our share
of trouble every day. And then on shore
things were even worse. We had to
camp 670
right by
the enemy wall. It was wet—
dew from the sky and marshes soaked
us. [560]
Our clothes
rotted. Our hair grew full of lice.
And it was freezing. The winters there,
beyond endurance, when snows from Ida
froze birds to death. And then the heat,
so hot at noon, the sea, without a ripple,
sank to sleep. . . . But why complain about
it?
Our work is done. It’s over for the dead,
who aren’t about to spring to life
again. 680
Why should the living call to mind the
dead? [570]
There’s no
need to relive those blows of fate.
I think it’s time to bid a long farewell
to our misfortune. For those still living,
the soldiers left alive, our luck’s won
out.
No loss can change that now. We’ve a right,
as we cross land and sea, to boast aloud,
and cry out to the sun, “Argive forces once,
having captured Troy, took their spoils of
war
and nailed them up in gods’ holy
shrines, 690
all through Greece, glorious tribute from
the past!”
So whoever hears the story of these things
must praise our generals—our city,
too. [580]
Full honour and thanks to Zeus
who did the work.
That’s my full report.
CHORUS LEADER
What
you say is true.
I was in the wrong—I won’t deny
that.
But the old can always learn from younger
men,
and what you’ve said enriches all of us.
[Enter
Clytaemnestra from the palace]
But
your news will have a special interest
for Clytaemnestra and her
household. 700
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Some time ago I cried out in triumph,
rejoicing when that first messenger
arrived,
the fiery herald in the night, who told me
Troy was captured and was being destroyed.
Some people criticized me then,
saying, [590]
“How come you’re so easily persuaded
by signal fires Troy’s being demolished?
Isn’t that just like a woman’s heart,
to get so jubilant?” Insults like these
made it appear as if I’d lost my
wits. 710
But I continued with my sacrifice,
and everywhere throughout the city
women kept up their joyful shouting,
as they traditionally do, echoing
their exultation through all holy shrines,
tending sweet-smelling spicy flames,
as they consumed their victims. So now,
why do I need you to go on and on
about all this? I’ll hear it from the king.
But, so I can give
my honoured husband 720 [600]
the finest welcome home, and with all speed—
for what light gives a woman greater
pleasure
than to unbar the gates to her own husband
as he comes home from battle, once the gods
have spared his life in war?—tell him this,
and give him the message to come home
as soon as possible. The citizens
will love to see him, and when he gets
back,
in this house he’ll find his wife as
faithful
as when he left, a watch dog of the
home, 730
loyal to him, hostile to his enemies,
and, for the rest, the same in every way.
In this long time, I’ve not betrayed our
bond— [610]
I’ve known no pleasure with another man,
no breath of scandal. About such things
I understand as much as tempering bronze.
I’m proud to state this, for it’s all true—
nothing a noble lady should feel shame to
say.
[Clytaemnestra
exits back into the palace]
CHORUS
LEADER
She seems to speak as if she really wants
to tell you something, but, in
fact, 740
to those who can interpret her words well
she’s only saying what she ought to say.
But tell me, herald, can I learn something
of Menelaus, this country’s well-loved
king—
did he make it back safe and sound with
you?
HERALD
I can’t lie with false good news of
Menelaus, [620]
so his friends can enjoy themselves for
long.
CHORUS LEADER
I wish your news of him was true and good.
It’s hard when both of these don’t go
together.
HERALD
Menelaus disappeared—the army 750
lost sight of him and his ship.
That’s the truth.
CHORUS LEADER
Did you see him sail off from Ilion,
or did some storm attack the entire fleet
and cut him off from you?
HERALD
Like a master archer, you hit the mark—
your last question briefly tells the story.
CHORUS LEADER
According to the others in the
fleet [630]
what happened? Is he alive or dead?
HERALD
No one knows for certain, except the sun,
moving around the earth sustaining
life. 760
CHORUS LEADER
Tell me how that storm struck the soldiers’
ships.
How did the anger of the gods come to an
end?
HERALD
It’s not right I talk of our misfortunes,
and spoil such an auspicious day as this.
We ought to keep such matters separate
in deference to the gods. When a messenger
arrives distraught, bringing dreadful news
about some slaughtered army, that’s one
wound [640]
inflicted on the city. Beyond that,
from many houses many men are
driven 770
to their destruction by the double whip
which Ares, god of war, so loves—
disaster with two prongs, a bloody pair.
A messenger weighed down with news like
this
should report the Furies’ song of triumph.
But when he brings good news of men being
saved
to a city full of joyful celebrations . . .
How can I mix the good news and the bad,
telling of the storm which hit Achaeans,
a storm linked to the anger of the
gods? 780
For fire and sea, before now
enemies, [650]
swore a common oath and then proclaimed it
by destroying Achaea’s helpless forces.
At night malevolent seas rose up,
as winds from Thrace smashed ships
together.
Pushed round by the power of that storm,
and driven by great bursts of rain, the
ships
scattered, then disappeared,
blown apart
by the evil shepherd’s whirlwind. Later,
when the sun’s bright light appeared
again, 790
we witnessed the Aegean sea in bloom
with corpses of Achaean troops and
ships. [660]
As for us,
some god saved us in secret
or interceded for us—our boat survived,
its hull intact. That was no human feat.
Some divine hand was on our steering oar,
some stroke of Fortune wanted our ship
saved,
not swamped by surf as we rode at anchor
or smashed upon the rocky coast. And
then,
once we’d avoided Hades on those
seas, 800
we couldn’t believe our luck, as we
brooded,
in the bright light of day, on all our
troubles,
this new disaster which destroyed our
fleet, [670]
dispersing it so badly. So on those ships
if anyone’s still breathing, he’ll now say
we’re the ones who’ve been destroyed. Why
not,
when we say much the same of them?
But let’s hope things all turn out for the
best.
As for Menelaus, wait for his return—
that should be your first
priority. 810
If some ray of sunlight finds him still
alive,
his vision still intact, thanks to Zeus,
whose crafty plans at this point don’t
include
destruction of the entire race, there’s
hope
he’ll soon come home again. Now you’ve
heard this,
you’ve listened to the
truth. [680]
[Exit
Herald]
CHORUS
Whoever came up with that name,
a name so altogether true—
was there some power we can’t see
telling that tongue what to
say, 820
the tongue which prophesied our fate—
I mean the man who called her Helen,
that woman wed for warfare,
the object of our strife?
For she’s lived up to that name—
a hell for ships, a hell for men,
a hell for cities, too.
From her delicately curtained
room [690]
she sailed away, transported
by West Wind, an earth-born
giant. 830
A horde of warriors with shields
went after her, huntsmen
following the vanished track
her oars had left, all the way
to where she’d beached her ship,
on leafy shores of Simois.
Then came bloody
war.
And
so Troy’s destiny’s
fulfilled— [700]
wrath brings a dreadful wedding day,
late retribution
for dishonour 840
to hospitality and Zeus,
god of guest and host,
on those who celebrated with the bride,
who, on that day, sang aloud
the joyful wedding hymns.
Now Priam’s city,
in old
age, [710]
has learned a different song.
I think I hear loud funeral chants,
lamenting as an evil fate
the marriage Paris
brought. 850
The city’s filled with songs of grief.
It must endure all sorrows,
the brutal slaughter of its sons.
So
a man once raised a lion cub
in his own home. The beast
lacked milk but craved its mother’s teat.
In early life the cub was
gentle. [720]
Children loved it, and it brought
the old men great delight.
They gave it many
things 860
and clasped it in their arms,
as if it were a nursing child.
Its fiery eyes fixed on the hands
that fed it, the creature fawned,
a slave to appetite.
But
with time the creature grew
and its true nature showed—
the one its parents gave it.
So it paid back those who reared it,
preparing a meal in
gratitude, 870
an unholy slaughter of the
flocks, [730]
house awash with blood,
while those who lived inside the home
were powerless against the pain,
against the massive carnage.
By god’s will
they’d brought up
a priest of doom in their own house.
I’d
say she first arrived in Troy
a gentle spirit, like a calming breeze,
a delicate, expensive
ornament— 880 [740]
her soft darting eyes a flower
which stings the heart with love.
Then, changing her direction,
she took her marriage to its bitter end,
destroying all those she lived with.
With evil in her train and led by Zeus,
god of guest and host, she turned into
a bride of tears, a Fury.
Among
men there’s a
saying, [750]
an old one, from times long
past: 890
A man’s prosperity, once fully grown,
has offspring—it never dies
without producing children.
From that man’s good fortune
spring up voracious pains
for all his race.
But on this
I don’t agree with other men.
I stand alone and say
it’s the unholy act that breeds
more acts of the same
kind. 900 [760]
A truly righteous house is blessed,
its children always fair and good.
Old
violent aggression
loves to generate new troubles
among evil men—soon or late,
when it’s fated to be born,
new violence springs forth,
a spirit no one can resist or conquer,
unholy recklessness,
dark ruin on the
home, 910 [770]
like the destructiveness
from which it sprang.
But
Righteousness shines out
from grimy dwellings, honouring
the man who lives in virtue.
She turns her eyes away
from gold-encrusted mansions
where men’s hands are black,
and moves towards integrity,
rejecting power and wealth, 920
which, though praised, are
counterfeit. [780]
Righteousness leads all things
to well-deserved fulfillment.
[Enter
Agamemnon in a chariot with Cassandra and a large military escort]
CHORUS LEADER
Welcome, son of Atreus,
my king,
Troy’s destroyer. How shall I address you?
How honour you without
extravagance,
without failing to say what’s suitable?
For many men value appearances
more than reality—thus they violate
what’s right. Everyone’s prepared to
sigh 930 [790]
over some suffering man, though no sorrow
really eats their hearts, or they can
pretend
to join another person’s happiness,
forcing their faces into smiling masks.
But a good man discerns true character—
he’s not fooled by eyes feigning loyalty,
favouring him with watered-down
respect.
Back when you were gathering the army
in Helen’s cause—I won’t deny the
fact— [800]
I saw you in an unflattering
light, 940
an unfit mind steering our ship astray,
trying through that sacrifice to boost the
spirits
of dying soldiers. But now, with
love,
with a full heart, I welcome your return.
For those who’ve won final success, the joy
is worth the toil. If you enquire, in time
you’ll learn about the men who stayed at
home,
those who with justice stood guard for the
city
and those who failed to carry out what’s
right.
AGAMEMNON
First I salute Argos and my native
gods, 950 [810]
as is right, the ones who worked with me
for my safe return and for the justice
I brought down on Priam’s city.
The gods
refused to listen to their urgent pleas,
then cast their ballots—there was no
dissent—
into the urn of blood—to kill their men,
to wipe out Ilion. The other urn,
the one for clemency, stood there empty—
only Hope took up her stand beside it.
Even now smoke from the burning
city, 960
an auspicious sign, tells of its capture.
The storms from its destruction still live
on.
As fiery embers cool, their dying breaths
give off ripe smells of wealth. For all
this, [820]
we must give the gods eternal thanks.
Around Troy we’ve cast a savage net.
For a woman’s sake, the beast from Argos,
born from the belly of that wooden
horse,
in the night, as the Pleiades went down,
jumped out with their shields and razed the
city. 970
Leaping over walls, the ravenous lion
gorged itself on blood of royalty.
So much for my long
prelude to the gods.
As for your concerns, I’ve heard your
words,
and I’ll keep them in mind. I agree with
you—
we’ll work together. By nature few men
possess the inborn talent to admire
a friend’s good fortune without envy.
Poisonous malice seeps into the heart,
doubling the pain of the infected
man, 980
weighing him down with misfortunes of his
own,
while he groans to see another’s wealth.
I understand too well companionship
no more substantial than pictures in a
glass.
From my experience, I’d say those men
who seemed so loyal to me are shadows,
no more than images of true
companions. [840]
All except Odysseus—he sailed with me
much against his will, but once in harness,
he was prepared to pull his weight for
me. 990
I say this whether he’s alive or dead.
For other issues of the city and our gods,
we’ll set up a general assembly,
all of us discussing things together.
We must make sure what’s working well
remains that way in future. By contrast,
where we need some healing medicine,
we’ll make a well-intentioned effort
to root out all infectious evil,
burning the sores or slicing them
away. 1000 [850]
[Enter
Clytaemnestra with attendants carrying the purple carpet]
Now
I’ll go inside my palace, my hearth and home,
first, to greet the gods who sent me off
and today bring me back. May victory,
which has been mine, stay with me forever.
[Agamemnon
moves to climb out of the chariot but is held up by Clytaemnestra’s speech]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Citizens, you senior men of Argos here,
I’m not ashamed to speak before you all,
to state how much I love my husband. With
time,
men’s fears diminish. So I’ll speak out
now.
I don’t talk as one who has been taught
by others, so I’ll just describe my
life, 1010
my oppressive life, all the many years
my husband’s been away at
Ilion. [860]
First, it’s unmitigated trouble
for a woman to sit at home alone,
far from her man. She has to listen to
all sorts of painful rumours.
Messengers
arrive, hard on each other’s heels, bearing
news of some disaster—and everyone
tells of troubles worse than those before,
shouted throughout the house. If my
husband 1020
had had as many wounds as I heard rumours
coming to this house, he’d have more holes
in him
than any net. If he’d died as many times
as rumour killed him, he could
claim to be
a second Geryon,
that triple-bodied
beast, [870]
and boast of being covered up with earth
three times, one death for every separate
shape.
Because of all these spiteful messages,
others have often had to cut me loose,
a high-hung noose strung tight around my
neck. 1030
That’s why our son, Orestes, is not
standing here,
the most trusted bond linking you and me.
He should be, but there’s no cause to
worry.
He’s being cared for by a friendly
ally, [880]
Strophius of
Phocis, who warned me twice—
first, of your own danger under Ilion’s
walls,
second, of people here, how they could
rebel,
cry out against being governed, then
overthrow
the Council. For it’s natural to men,
once someone’s down, to trample on
him 1040
all the more. That’s how I explain myself.
And it’s all true. As for me, my eyes are
dry—
the welling sources of my tears are
parched,
no drop remains. Many long nights I wept
until my eyes were sore, as I kept watching
for that beacon light I’d set up for
you, [890]
but always it kept disappointing
me.
The faint whirring of a buzzing fly
would often wake me up from dreams of you,
dreams where I saw you endure more
suffering 1050
than the hours in which I slept had time
for.
But now, after going through all this, my
heart
is free of worry. So I would salute my
lord—
the watch dog who protects our
household,
the mainstay which saves our ship of
state,
the lofty pillar which holds our roof beams
high,
his father’s truly begotten son, for men at
sea
a land they glimpse beyond their wildest
hopes,
the fairest dawn after a night of
storms, [900]
a flowing stream to
thirsty travellers. 1060
What joy it is to escape necessity!
In my opinion, these
words of greeting
are worthy of him. So let there
be no envy,
since in days past we’ve suffered many
ills.
And now, my beloved lord, come to me here,
climb down from that chariot. But, my king,
don’t place upon the common ground the foot
which stamped out Troy.
[Clytaemnestra
turns to the women attending on her who, on her orders, begin to spread out at
Agamemnon’s feet the tapestries they have brought out from the house, making a path
from the chariot to the palace doors. The tapestries are all a deep red-purple,
the colour of blood]
You women, don’t just stand there.
I’ve told you what to do. Spread out those
tapestries,
here on the ground, directly in his path.
Quickly! 1070
Let his path be covered all in red, so
Justice [910]
can lead him back into his home, a place
he never hoped to see. As for the rest,
my unsleeping vigilance will sort it out,
with the help of gods, as fate decrees.
AGAMEMNON
Daughter of Leda, guardian of my home,
your speech was, like my absence, far too
long.
Praise that’s due to us should come from
others.
Then it’s worthwhile. All those things you
said—
don’t puff me up with such
female honours, 1080
or grovel there before me babbling
tributes,
like some barbarian. Don’t invite
envy [920]
to cross my path by strewing it with cloth.
That’s how we honour gods, not
human beings.
For a mortal man to place his foot like
this
on rich embroidery is, in my view,
not without some risk. So I’m telling
you
honour me as a man, not as a god.
My fame proclaims itself. It does not need
foot mats made out of such
embroideries. 1090
Not even to think of doing something bad
is god’s greatest gift. When a man’s life
ends
in great prosperity, only then can we
declare
that he’s a happy man. Thus, if I act,
in every circumstance, as I ought to now,
there’s nothing I need
fear. [930]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Don’t say that just to flout what I’ve
arranged.
AGAMEMNON
You should know I’ll not go back on what
I’ve said.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
You must fear something, then, to act this
way.
You’ve made some promise to the
gods. 1100
AGAMEMNON
I’ve said my final word. I fully
understand,
as well as any man, just what I’m doing.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
What do you think Priam would
have done,
if he’d had your success?
AGAMEMNON
That’s
clear—
he’d have walked across these tapestries.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
So then why be ashamed
by what men say?
AGAMEMNON
But what people say can have great power.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
True, but the man whom people do not envy
is not worth their envy.
AGAMEMNON
It’s
not like a woman
to be so keen on
competition. 1110 [940]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
It’s fitting that the happy conqueror
should let himself be
overcome.
AGAMEMNON
And
in this contest
that’s the sort of victory you value?
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Why not agree? Be strong and yield to me,
of your own consent.
AGAMEMNON
Well,
if it’s what you want . . .
Quick, someone get these
sandals off—
they’ve served my feet so well. As I now
walk
on these red tapestries dyed in the sea,
may no distant god catch sight of me,
and, for envy, strike me down. There’s much
shame 1120
when my feet squander assets of my house,
wasting wealth and costly woven finery.
[Agamemnon,
in bare feet, comes down from the chariot onto the tapestries]
So much for that.
[Agamemnon
turns to call attention to Cassandra in the chariot]
Welcome
this foreign
girl [950]
into our house. And do it graciously.
For god, who sees us from far away,
looks down with favour on a
gentle master.
No one freely puts on slavery’s yoke,
but this girl, the finest flower of all our
loot,
comes with us as my army’s gift to me.
And now, since you’ve talked me into
this, 1130
I’ll proceed into
my palace, treading
on this crimson pathway as I go.
[Agamemnon
starts to move slowly along the tapestries towards the palace and up the stairs.
Cassandra remains in the chariot]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
There is the sea. Who will drain it dry?
It gives us crimson dye in huge amounts,
as valuable as silver, inexhaustible.
With that we dye our garments. And of
these [960]
our house has a full store, thanks to the
gods.
We’re rich. We have no sense of poverty.
I’d have vowed to tread on many clothes,
to use what we have stored up in our
home, 1140
if an oracle had ordered such a payment
to save your life. If the root still lives,
the house can blossom into leaf once more,
growing high-arching shade, protection
against the Dog Star’s scorching season.
Your return to your father’s hearth and
home
brings us the summer’s heat in winter time.
It’s like when Zeus makes wine from bitter
grapes, [970]
the house immediately grows cool, once its
lord
strolls through his own halls in complete
command. 1150
[By this
time Agamemnon has reached the palace doors and has just entered the palace]
O
Zeus, Zeus, who accomplishes all things,
answer my prayers. Take care to bring about
all things that reach fulfillment through
your will.
[Exit Clytaemnestra into the palace. The doors close behind her]
CHORUS
Why does this sense of dread
hover so unceasingly
around my heart
with such foreboding?
My song of prophecy goes on
unbidden and unpaid.
Why can’t some calming
confidence 1160 [980]
sit on my mind and spurn
my fears as enigmatic dreams?
It was so long ago—
Time has long since buried
deep in sand the mooring cables
cast when the army sailed to Troy.
My
own eyes tell me
Agamemnon has returned.
For that I need no further witness.
But still, here, deep in my
heart, 1170
the spontaneous song
keeps up its tuneless
dirge, [990]
as the avenging Furies chant.
It kills my confidence, my hope.
Everything inside me
beats against my chest,
surging back and forth
in tides of grim foreboding—
something’s moving to fulfillment.
But I pray my
premonitions 1180
prove false and never come to
light. [1000]
For,
as we know, boundaries
of vigorous health break down—
disease is always pressing hard
the common wall between them.
So with the fate of men.
It holds to a straight course,
then, all at once, can crash
upon a hidden rock of grief.
But if, as a
precaution, 1190
men toss overboard
some part of their rich cargo,
and time their throw just
right, [1010]
the house, though grieving,
will not completely founder,
nor will its hull be swamped.
And Zeus’ bountiful rich gifts
reaped from the furrows every year
hold off the plague of famine.
But
once a murdered man’s dark
blood 1200
has soaked the ground, who
then [1020]
can bring him back through song?
Even Aesculapius, whose skill
could raise men from the dead,
was stopped by Zeus’ thunderbolt.
Was that not warning to us all?
If one fate settled by the gods
did not prevent another fate
securing an advantage,
my heart would then outrace my
tongue— 1210
I’d speak out loud and clear,
I’d cry out my forebodings.
But now it mutters in the
dark, [1030]
uneasy, holding little hope
for any resolution.
And still my spirit smoulders.
[Enter
Clytaemnestra from the palace. She addresses Cassandra, who is still in the
chariot]
CLYTAEMNESTR
You should go in, too—I mean you up there,
Cassandra. Zeus, in his mercy to you,
has made you member of our household,
one who shares its purification
rites. 1220
So you can take your place before the altar
of the god protecting all our wealth,
along with other slaves. So come down.
Leave the chariot. And leave your pride
behind.
Men say even Hercules, Alcmene’s
son, [1040]
once long ago was sold in slavery
and had to eat its bitter bread. If Fate
has brought you to the same condition,
be very grateful you serve masters here
who’ve been rich forever. Certain
men, 1230
those who’ve reaped a harvest of rich goods
beyond their dreams, maltreat their slaves.
They go too far. But here, with us, you’ll
get
the treatment our traditions say is right.
CHORUS LEADER [addressing
Cassandra]
Our queen is
talking to you. Her meaning’s clear.
Fate has caught you in its nets—you’d best
obey,
unless such action is beyond your power.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
If she’s not like a swallow, with a
song [1050]
all her own, something barbarously obscure,
I’ll speak so she can understand. She must
obey. 1240
CHORUS LEADER [to
Cassandra]
Go with the queen. Of all your options now
what she says is best. Do as she says.
Step down from your chariot seat.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Come
down
now.
I don’t have time to waste on this girl
here.
Inside, by our central hearth, our
victims
are already waiting for the sacrifice,
a joyful time beyond our fondest hopes.
So if you want to play your part in
this,
you’d better come at once. If what I say
means nothing to you, if you can’t
understand, 1250 [1060]
at least use your foreign hand to make a
sign.
CHORUS LEADER
An interpreter is what this stranger needs.
She’s like some wild thing, freshly
trapped.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
She’s mad, too
busy listening to her troubled heart.
She’s just left her newly captured city,
then come here, without sufficient time
to learn to stomach the controlling bit.
She will, once her anger’s been dissolved
in foaming blood. But I’ll waste no more
time,
dealing with her contempt outside the
house. 1260
[Clytaemnestra
turns and exits into the palace. The members of the Chorus gather around
Cassandra]
CHORUS LEADER
I’ll not lose my temper. I pity her.
You unhappy creature, why not come
down? [1070]
Leave the
chariot. Why not accept fate’s yoke
of your own free will?
CASSANDRA [searching
the sky for a sign of Apollo and screaming]
Aieeeee . . . earth . . . sky . . .
Apollo . . . Apollo . . .
CHORUS MEMBER
Why cry out your distress in Apollo’s name?
He’s not a god who pays attention
to those who mourn like this.
CASSANDRA
Aieeee . . . earth . . . sky . .
. 1270
Apollo . . . my destroyer . . .
CHORUS MEMBER
She cried out again. Such
ominous words—
and to a god who’s not the one
to have around at times of grieving.
CASSANDRA
Apollo! Apollo! God of the road . .
. [1080]
You’re destroying
me. Why leave me here
beyond all hope a second time?
CHORUS MEMBER
It looks as if she’s going to prophesy,
to say something of her unhappiness.
She may be a slave, but inside
her 1280
the god’s voice still remains.
CASSANDRA
Apollo!
O Apollo! God of the road . . .
You’re obliterating me! Where am I now?
Where have you led me? What house is this?
CHORUS MEMBER
If you don’t know where you are, I’ll tell
you—
you’re at the house of the sons of Atreus.
That’s the truth.
CASSANDRA
No
. . . no . . . a
house [1090]
that hates the gods . . . house full of
death,
kinsmen butchered . . . heads chopped off .
. .
a human slaughterhouse awash in blood . .
. 1290
CHORUS MEMBER
This stranger’s like a keen hound on the
scent.
She’s on the trail of blood.
CASSANDRA
.
. . I see evidence I trust—young children
screaming as they’re butchered—then their
father
eating his own infants’ roasted flesh . . .
CHORUS MEMBER
We’ve heard about your fame in prophecy.
But here in Argos no one wants a prophet.
CASSANDRA
O god what’s this she has in
mind? [1100]
What new
agony inside the house
is she preparing? Something monstrous, 1300
barbaric, evil . . . beyond all love,
all remedy. And help is far away.
CHORUS MEMBER
I don’t understand what she’s saying now.
What she first said, that I understood—
the whole city talks about it.
CASSANDRA
O evil woman, you’re going to do it.
Your own husband, the man who shares your
bed—
once you’ve washed him clean . . . there in
the bath . . .
How shall I describe how all this ends?
It’s coming soon. She’s stretching out her
hand . .
. 1310 [1110]
and now her other hand is reaching for him
. . .
CHORUS MEMBER
I still don’t understand. What she’s saying
is just too confused. Her dark prophecies
leave me bewildered.
CASSANDRA
Look!
Look over there!
What’s that apparition? Is that death’s
net?
No, she’s the net, the one who sleeps with
him,
that woman, murder’s willing agent.
Let those Furies insatiably at work
against this clan rise up and scream for
joy—
they have another victim fit for
stoning. 1320
CHORUS MEMBER
What Fury do you now invoke to shriek
throughout this house? What you’ve just
said [1120]
makes me afraid.
CHORUS
Drop by drop the dark blood flows
around my heart—like mortal wounds
when life’s sunset comes,
when death is near.
CASSANDRA
Look over there! Look now!
Keep the great bull from his mate.
She’s caught him in her
robes— 1330
now she gores him with her black horn.
A trap! He’s collapsing in the bath!
I’m telling you what’s going on—
he’s being murdered in there,
while bathing—a plot to kill him!
CHORUS MEMBER
I can’t boast of any skill with
prophecies, [1030]
but these strike me
as pointing to disaster.
CHORUS
What good ever comes to men
from prophecies? They talk of evil.
All those skilful words encourage
men 1340
to be afraid of what the prophet chants.
CASSANDRA
Alas for me! Alas for my unwelcome fate!
I’m crying out for my own suffering—
my cup of grief is full, brim full . . .
Why have you brought me here,
so wretched, if not to die,
the second victim? Why else?
CHORUS MEMBER
Your mind’s possessed—some god is in
control. [1140]
And so you wail aloud about your death,
just like some shrill nightingale that
sings, 1350
without a pause, of her heart’s distress,
lamenting all her life for her dead son,
life rich in sorrow.
CASSANDRA
O
to have that—
the fate of the singing nightingale!
Gods gave her body wings and a sweet life.
She does not weep. But murder waits for me—
a two-edged sword hacks me to death.
CHORUS MEMBER
These vain prophetic cries of woe you
chant, [1150]
where do they start? Why introduce
such horrific fear into your
songs? 1360
How do you set some limit to the path
where what you see so ominously leads?
CASSANDRA
Alas for that wedding . . . Paris and his
bride . . .
how it destroyed his loved ones . . .
Alas for the Scamander, river of my home!
By your banks I was raised so long ago,
brought up to all this misery . . . And now
it seems
I must soon chant my prophecies
by Cocytus and banks of
Acheron, [1160]
twin rivers of the
dead. 1370
CHORUS MEMBER
What’s that? The words seem clear enough—
any child could understand. Your cruel fate
strikes at me like a bloody fang. It hurts.
My heart breaks to hear you chant your
sorrows.
CASSANDRA
Alas for my city’s fate—
totally destroyed . . .
Alas for my father’s sacrifices,
all those grazing herds . . .
offerings to save our walls!
In vain . . . the city was not spared . .
. 1380 [1170]
all that misery it’s endured.
Now I, on fire too, must go to ground.
CHORUS MEMBER
You keep repeating what you said before.
Some evil-minded demon, swooping down,
has fallen on you, forcing you to sing,
to chant your songs of death.
Where does this end?
That’s what I can’t see.
CASSANDRA
Then my prophecy will veil itself no more,
like some new bride half-concealed from
view. 1390
Let it now rise as clear as a fresh wind
blowing toward the rising sun, a
wave [1180]
cresting through the dawn and bringing on
a tide of woe far greater than my own.
I’ll teach you no more in cryptic riddles.
And you bear witness—run the trail with me,
as I sniff out the track of ancient crimes.
Up there on that roof there sits a chorus—
it never leaves. They sing in harmony,
but the song is harsh, predicting
doom. 1400
Drinking human blood has made them bold—
they dance in celebration through the
house.
The family’s Furies cannot be
dislodged. [1190]
Sitting in the home, they chant their song,
the madness that began all this, each in
turn
cursing that man who defiled his brother’s
bed.
Have I missed the mark? Or like a fine
archer
have I hit the beast? Or am I selling lies,
a fortune-teller babbling door to door?
Tell me on your oath how well I
know 1410
these old stories of this family’s crimes.
CHORUS LEADER
How could an oath of ours be any help,
no matter how sincere, to heal your grief?
But I’m amazed that you, born overseas,
can say so much about a foreign
city, [1200]
as if you’d lived here.
CASSANDRA
It
was Apollo,
god of prophecy, who made me what I am.
CHORUS MEMBER
Surely the god was not in love with you?
CASSANDRA
I used to be ashamed to talk of this . . .
CHORUS MEMBER
When we’re doing well, we all have
scruples. 1420
CASSANDRA
Apollo was like a mighty wrestler,
panting all over me, in love.
CHORUS MEMBER
Did you go through with it—
bear him a child?
CASSANDRA
I
promised to,
but then I broke my word.
CHORUS MEMBER
Did you already have prophetic skill,
inspired by the god?
CASSANDRA
At
that time
I used to prophesy to all my
countrymen. [1210]
I’d foretell disasters.
CHORUS MEMBER
How did you escape Apollo’s
anger? 1430
CASSANDRA
Since I resisted him, no one believes me.
CHORUS MEMBER
But to us, at least, what you prophesy
seems true enough.
CASSANDRA
Aieee . . . the pains I feel.
The fearful labour pains of true
prophecy
seize me, confuse me, as they start again,
full of foreboding. Look there—see those
creatures,
young ones, sitting by the house, dark
shapes,
like something from a dream? They’re like
children
murdered by their loved ones . . . their hands
are full,
clenching chunks of their own flesh as
food, 1440 [1220]
their guts and inner organs . . . it’s all
so clear . . .
that awful meal their own father tasted.
For all that, I say, revenge is on the way,
someone’s planning it, a craven lion,
a beast wallowing in bed, keeping watch,
waiting for my master to get back.
Yes, my master—since I must now bear
the yoke of slavery. That lord of war,
who led the fleet and ravaged Ilion,
has no idea what that cur is up
to, 1450
what evil plans the hateful bitch is
hatching,
as her tongue licks his hands in welcome,
ears perked up for joy, like treacherous Ate, [1230]
goddess who destroys. It’s outrageous—
the woman kills her man. What shall I call
her?
What awful monster suits her? A snake?
An amphisbaena with a
head at either end?
Or perhaps a Scylla living in the rocks,
preying on sailors, raging mother of hell,
who breathes relentless war on loved
ones. 1460
How that woman, in her audacity,
screamed out in triumph, like a battle
cry,
pretending to enjoy his safe return!
Whether you credit what I say or not—
that doesn’t really matter. Why should it?
What will come will come. And
soon
enough, [1240]
as you stand here full of pity, you’ll say
Cassandra’s prophecies were all too true.
CHORUS
I understand about Thyestes’ meal,
and tremble thinking how he ate his
children’s flesh. 1470
Terror grips me as I hear these truths
without embellishment. As for the rest,
hearing that just makes me lose my way.
CASSANDRA
I tell you you’ll see Agamemnon dead.
CHORUS MEMBER
Poor girl, calm yourself.
Tone down those words.
CASSANDRA
No—no one can heal what my words prophesy.
CHORUS
Not if they’re true. But may the gods
forbid!
CASSANDRA
While you pray here, others move in to
kill. [1250]
CHORUS LEADER
What man is going to commit such crimes?
CASSANDRA
What man? You’ve completely missed the
point. 1480
You’ve failed to understand my prophecies.
CHORUS LEADER
Yes
I have—
I don’t see who has means to do it.
CASSANDRA
Yet I can speak Greek well enough.
CHORUS LEADER
So does the oracle at Delphi,
but understanding what it says is hard.
CASSANDRA
O this fire! His fire comes over me once
more!
The pain . . . Lycian Apollo
. . . burning me . . .
That two-footed lioness . . . crouching
there
with a wolf, once the noble lion’s gone . .
.
She’s going to kill me . . . the
agony! 1490 [1260]
Now she prepares her drugs, and in her rage,
vows I too will be a part of her revenge,
as she whets a sword to kill her king.
He brought me here. Now we both die.
Her retribution. So
why do I bear
these ornaments that mock me, this rod,
these prophet’s wreaths around my neck?
Let me be rid of you before I die . . . .
[Cassandra
breaks her wand and throws off the insignia of her office as a prophet]
There,
an end to you. With you down there,
I get revenge. Make some other woman
rich. 1500
Let her preach destruction instead of me.
[Cassandra
now starts tearing off her clothes]
Look
how Apollo now in person strips me,
rips my prophetic robes, the god who
watched, [1270]
as my friends in their hatred turned on me,
mocked me so savagely in these very
clothes—
they thought they knew what they were
doing.
But they were wrong. I heard them call me
names,
“beggar,” “starving wretch”—I endured them
all.
And now the prophet god is done with me.
He’s led his prophet to her place of
death. 1510
No father’s altar for me here—instead
a chopping block awaits, slaughtered
in one hot stroke of bloody sacrifice.
But we’ll not die without the gods’
revenge.
Another man will come and will avenge
us, [1280]
a son who’ll kill his mother, then pay back
his father’s death, a wanderer in exile,
a man this country’s made a stranger.
He’ll come back and, like a coping stone,
bring the ruin of his family to a
close. 1520
For gods have made a powerful promise—
his father’s stretched out corpse will
bring him home.
Why then do I lament so piteously?
Since I’m the one who first saw how Troy
would be wiped out the way it was,
since I see now how those who took the city
are being destroyed in judgment from the
gods,
I’ll go to meet my fate. I’ll dare to
die. [1290]
I greet this doorway as the gates of Death.
Once the death blow strikes, I pray I’ll
have 1530
a gentle end—no struggle, as my life blood
drains away. And then I’ll close my eyes.
CHORUS LEADER
You poor woman, so much pain and wisdom.
You’ve said so much. But if you see your
death—
see it so clearly—how can you go on
so bravely to the altar, like an ox
destined by gods for sacrifice?
CASSANDRA
There’s no way out. My friends, the time has come.
CHORUS LEADER
But there’s some benefit in going
last. [1300]
CASSANDRA
This is the day. It makes no sense to
run. 1540
CHORUS LEADER
You know, you
endure your suffering
with courage I admire.
CASSANDRA
No
one hearing that
has reason to be glad.
CHORUS LEADER
But
to die well
confers some human dignity.
CASSANDRA [approaching
the door then moving back in horror]
I cry for you, my father, your noble children.
CHORUS LEADER
What’s wrong? Why turn around in fear?
CASSANDRA
This house . . . It’s horrific!
CHORUS
Why call out in horror? Is there some
vision
in your mind?
CASSANDRA
It’s
this house—
it stinks of murder, blood slaughter . .
. 1550
CHORUS LEADER
No, no—that’s the smell of
sacrifice, [1310]
victims at the hearth.
CASSANDRA
That
smell . . .
it’s like an open grave . . .
CHORUS
Do you mean the splendid Syrian incense?
It’s all through the house.
CASSANDRA [turning
back to the palace doors]
No. But I must go.
I’ll lament my death, and Agamemnon’s, too,
inside the house. Enough of living!
Alas, my friends, I’m not holding back in
fear,
like some bird trapped in bushes. I want
you
to witness how I went to meet my
death, 1560
when for me another woman will be killed,
a man will die for one who married evil.
This is my last request before I
die. [1320]
CHORUS LEADER
I pity you, poor creature, and your death,
which you have prophesied.
CASSANDRA
One
last time
I feel the urge to speak, not sing a dirge
about my death. I pray to the sun,
here in the light of his most recent day,
that those who carry out revenge for me
will make my enemies pay with their
blood 1570
for butchering a slave, an easy victim.
Alas, for human life. When things go well,
a shadow overturns it all. When badly,
a damp sponge wipes away the picture.
Of these two, the second is more
pitiful. [1330]
[Cassandra
exits slowly and deliberately through the palace doors, which close behind her]
CHORUS
To rest unsatisfied amid great wealth
is in the nature of all human beings.
No one can point and order it away
from princely homes by uttering the words
“Dissatisfaction, enter here no
more!” 1580
Take Agamemnon. The powers in heaven
permitted him to capture Priam’s town,
to return home honoured by the
gods.
But now, if he must pay the penalty
for blood which other men before him shed
and die in retribution for the
dead [1340]
he killed himself, what mortal human being
who hears all this can boast he lives
a life unscarred by fate?
[A scream
comes from inside the palace]
AGAMEMNON [from
inside]
Help
me!
I’m hit . . . a deadly blow . . .
CHORUS LEADER
Silence! 1590
Who cried out then? Something
about a deadly blow.
AGAMEMNON [within]
Aaagh! I’m hit
again . . . a second blow . . .
CHORUS LEADER
That’s the king in there. Those cries, I
think,
tell us what’s going on. Come now, let’s
decide
what’s best to do, our safest course of
action.
[At this
point the Chorus breaks up in panic, losing its unity as a group. Individual
members speak to each other in great confusion]
CHORUS MEMBER ONE
Here’s my advice—summon all the people,
call them to
bring help up to the palace.
CHORUS MEMBER TWO
I say we must attack the house at
once, [1350]
catch them at it, swords still wet with
blood.
CHORUS MEMBER THREE
My view is we should do something like
that. 1600
I vote we act. There’s no time to delay.
CHORUS MEMBER FOUR
It’s all so clear. This is their opening
move—
a sign they’re going to tyrannize the city.
CHORUS MEMBER FIVE
We’re wasting time. They’ve thrown aside
all sense of hesitation. Their hands won’t
rest.
CHORUS MEMBER SIX
I don’t know what scheme I could propose.
It’s up to those who can carry out the plan
to tell us what to do.
CHORUS
MEMBER SEVEN
That’s
my view, too. [1360]
I don’t know how to bring the dead to life
with nothing but our words.
CHORUS MEMBER EIGHT
But
just to stay
alive, 1610
should we bow down before these tyrants,
who desecrate the house?
CHORUS MEMBER NINE
No.
We can’t do that.
Death would be preferable, a gentler fate
than such a tyranny.
CHORUS MEMBER TEN
But
should we assume,
just on the basis of those groans we heard,
that Agamemnon’s dead?
CHORUS MEMBER ELEVEN
Before
we act,
we must have clearer evidence. To guess
like this
is not really knowing what is true or not.
CHORUS LEADER
That’s it then—everyone agrees on
this— [1370]
we need to know more clearly how things
stand 1620
with Agamemnon, son of Atreus.
[The
palace doors open, revealing the bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra. Clytaemnestra
stands over them. She is covered in blood]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Before this moment I said many things
to suit my purposes. I’m not
ashamed
to contradict them now. How else could I
act on my hate for such a hateful man,
who feigned his love, how else prepare my
nets
of agony so high no one could jump them?
I’ve brooded on this struggle many years,
the old blood feud. My moment’s come at
last,
though long delayed. I stand now where I
struck, 1630
where I achieved what I set out to do.
I did all this. I won’t deny the
fact. [1380]
Round this man I cast my all-embracing net,
rich robes of evil, as if catching fish—
he had no way out, no eluding fate.
I stabbed him twice. He gave out two
groans.
Then as his limbs went limp, I hit again,
a third blow, my prayerful dedication
to Zeus, underground protector
of the dead.
He collapsed, snorting his life
away, 1640
spitting great gobs of blood all over
me, [1390]
drenching me in showers of his dark blood.
And I rejoiced—just as the fecund earth
rejoices when the heavens send spring
rains,
and new-born flower buds burst into bloom.
That’s how things stand, old men of Argos.
Be joyful, if that’s how you feel. For me,
this is my triumph. If it were fitting
to pour libations on this corpse,
I’d pour my curses out—that would be
just. 1650
He filled the mixing bowls in his own house
with such destructive misery, and now
he drinks it to the dregs. He’s home at
last.
CHORUS LEADER
What you say I find incredible!
How can that tongue of yours gloat like
this,
exulting over your dead
husband? [1400]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
You’re testing me, as if I were some silly
woman.
But my heart is fearless. Let me tell
you
what you already know—then you can praise
or criticize me as you like. I don’t
care. 1660
This man is Agamemnon, my husband.
He’s a corpse, the work of this right hand,
a work of justice. That’s how matters
stand.
CHORUS LEADER
Woman, what earth-grown poison have you
eaten,
what evil drink drawn from the surging sea,
that you’re so mad to risk the public
voice,
the curses people mutter? You cast him off.
You cut him down. So now you’ll be thrown
out, [1410]
exiled from the city—a hateful thing
to your own people.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
So
now 1670
you’d sentence me to banishment,
send me from the city a thing accursed?
Back then you made no accusation
against this man lying here. He sacrificed
his own child, that dear girl I bore in
pain,
to charm the winds from Thrace—and didn’t
care.
To him she was a beast for slaughter.
He had flocks of them—his farms were full.
Shouldn’t you have banished him from Argos
in punishment for that polluting
crime? 1680 [1420]
You’re strict
enough when you pass judgment
on what I’ve done. So let me caution you—
I’m prepared to fight you head to head.
If you win, well then, you can govern me.
But if god lets me prevail, you old men
will learn, old as you are, to behave
yourselves.
CHORUS LEADER
You’re too ambitious, far too arrogant.
Blood-drenched murder’s made you mad.
That’s plain.
Your eyes are full of blood. Now stroke for
stroke
you’ll pay for what you’ve done. You’ve
lost your friends, 1690
you’ve lost your honour . .
. [1430]
CLYTAEMNESTRA [interrupting]
Then hear this, too, the force behind my
oath—
by that Justice I exacted for my child,
by Ate, goddess of destruction,
by the Fury to whom I offered up this man,
my hopes will never walk these halls in
fear,
so long as Aegisthus stokes
the blazing fires
in my hearth.
And he’s as loyal to me now
as always, my shield, no man to trifle
with.
He’ll boost my confidence. Here he
lies, 1700
the man who abused his wife, seduced
by every captive girl at Ilion—
and here she lies, his concubine, his spear
prize, [1440]
the faithful prophetess who shared his bed.
She also knew the rowing benches
where sailors sweat. They get what they
deserve.
He’s dead. She, like a swan, sang her last
song,
then died.
Now she lies there, his sweetheart.
She’ll bring new thrills, fresh pleasures
to my bed.
CHORUS
O that some Fate would soon
come, 1710
free from suffering and quick,
bringing endless
sleep, [1450]
our last eternal sleep,
now our gracious lord is dead.
For a woman’s sake
he suffered much, and now
by a woman’s hand he died.
Alas
for you, Helen, frantic woman.
On your own, beneath Troy’s walls,
you slaughtered many
lives, 1720
and more than many.
Now you wear your final garland—
one long remembered for the blood
which will never wash
away. [1460]
Back then in
this house
lived a spirit of strife,
a power that broke our king.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Don’t torment yourself like this, invoking
death and fate, or redirect your rage
on Helen, as if she killed those
men, 1730
all those Danaan lives,
all by herself,
and brought us pain past remedy.
CHORUS
O spirit that falls upon this house,
on Menelaus, on Agamemnon,
descendants of Tantalus,
you overpower me
through these two
sisters, [1470]
each with power like a man.
You consume my heart with grief.
Perched on his
corpse 1740
the hateful raven caws her song,
her harsh triumphal tune.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Now you’re talking sense, when you call on
the demon of this house, who’s eaten up
three generations, the one who nurtures
bloodlust in our guts. And so new blood
spurts out before the old wound
heals. [1480]
CHORUS
You appeal to that huge fiend
haunting this house,
whose anger weighs it
down, 1750
to that tale of evil fate
insatiably consuming us.
Alas, alas, the will of Zeus,
the cause of everything,
who brings all things about.
What can come to mortal men
except at Zeus’ will?
And in what’s happened here
what’s not caused by the gods?
Alas,
my king, my
lord— 1760
How shall I weep for
you? [1490]
How speak of
you with love?
To lie entangled in the spider’s web,
gasping life away—a sacrilege—
stretched out on this bed of shame,
struck down in treachery,
the two-edged sword
wielded by your wife.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Are you saying this work is mine? That’s
not so.
Don’t think of me as Agamemnon’s
wife. 1770
The form of this corpse’s wife was taken
on [1500]
by the ancient savage spirit of revenge.
For that brutal meal prepared by Atreus,
it sacrificed one full-grown man,
payment for two butchered children.
CHORUS
Who would ever say
you bear no guilt
for Agamemnon’s murder?
How could they? How?
Yet that avenging
spirit 1780
acting on his father’s crime
could well have egged you on.
Black Ruin moves ahead with
force [1510]
through streams of family blood
granting vengeance for the young
served up as chunks of meat.
Alas,
my king, my lord—
How shall I weep for you?
How speak of you with love?
To lie entangled in the spider’s
web, 1790
gasping life away—a sacrilege—
stretched out on this bed of shame,
struck down in treachery,
the two-edged sword
wielded by your
wife. [1520]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
I don’t think the man died
wretchedly,
like some poor slave. Surely his own deceit
brought ruin on this house? His suffering
matches exactly what he did himself.
Remember my
own Iphigeneia, 1800
his daughter, that sweet flower whom we
mourn.
So let him not boast out loud in Hades.
He was the first to draw his sword,
and by the sword he’s been repaid.
CHORUS
There’s no clear way, and now [1530]
this family’s falling. I’m afraid.
It’s not just bloody drops. No,
storms of blood rain batter down,
destroying the house, while fate
on yet another whetstone, 1810
hones the edge of Justice,
for the next act, one more crime.
O
Earth, my Earth—
how I wish you’d swallowed me
before I ever saw my king
lying low on such bed, [1540]
a silver-plated bath.
Who will now bury him?
Who will lament for him?
Will you dare to do
this, 1820
a woman mourning for the spirit
of the husband she’s just killed,
complete the injustices you’ve done
with wretched favours to the dead
to expiate your monstrous crimes?
As people stand around the grave
to praise this god-like man, in tears,
whose sad heart will be
sincere? [1550]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
That business is none of your concern.
At our hands he collapsed in
death. 1830
We’ll bury him. But this house will not
weep.
No. Iphigeneia will
meet him down there,
as is fitting—the daughter greets her
father
happily by that swift stream of sorrow.
Then she’ll embrace the man with love.
CHORUS
One disgrace exchanged for yet
another, [1560]
the struggle to decide is hard.
The man who sins is sinned against,
the killer pays the price.
Yet while Zeus sits upon his
throne 1840
this decree from god remains—
the man who acts will suffer.
Who can then cast from this house
its self-perpetuating curse?
This race is wedded to destruction.
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Now you’re close to getting at the truth.
For my part, I’m prepared to swear an oath
to the demon of the House of Atreus—
I’ll rest content with what’s been
done, [1570]
hard though that is, if he’ll leave this
house
alone, 1850
transferring family murder somewhere else,
to some other clan. I don’t need much,
a small part of our wealth, if I can free
these halls entirely of this madness,
the urge we have to kill each other.
[Enter Aegisthus with armed attendants. The situation now
grows increasingly tense, with the soldiers menacing the members of the Chorus,
who begin to coalesce as a political unit, rediscovering their strength. This
sense of a major irreconcilable political division and the threat of civil
war grows increasingly acute until the end
of the play]
AEGISTHUS
What a glorious day of retribution!
Now I can say that once again the gods
looking down on men avenge their crimes.
How it fills my heart with joy to see this
man
stretched out here in a robe the Furies
wove, 1860 [1580]
full payment for deceitful treachery
his father’s hand devised. For Atreus,
king of Argos, was this man’s father.
To set the record straight, my father,
Thyestes, brother to Atreus,
challenged his authority. So Atreus
expelled him from his home and city.
But Thyestes in his misery returned,
a suppliant at his own hearth, praying
Fate would save him, he would not be
killed, 1870
his own blood would not stain his native
ground.
Atreus, the
godless father of this
man, [1590]
welcomed him effusively, but not with love.
He set up what seemed a celebration—
a feast day with lots of meat, but
served
my father flesh of his own children.
He sliced their toes and fingers off. Over
these
he diced the other parts, then passed this dish
to Thyestes, where he sat beside him.
My father then, in total
ignorance, 1880
took the food he didn’t recognize,
and ate the meal which, as you’ve
witnessed,
destroyed the race. When Thyestes learns
the abominable thing he’s done, he screams,
staggers back, vomits up the butchered
flesh.
Then, kicking down the banquet table
to underscore his cry for justice,
he calls down on the House of Atreus
a curse no one can bear, “Let them all
die, [1600]
the race of Pleisthenes—all
die like this.”* 1890
That’s why
you see this man lying here.
This murder was my plan for justice.
For Atreus threw
my broken father out,
and me as well, his third son, still
a child,
an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes.
But I grew up. And Justice brought me back.
I seized the man who’d banished me.
I planned each detail of this murderous
scheme.
Now I see him in the nets of
Justice, [1610]
I can face even my own death with
joy. 1900
CHORUS LEADER
To me you’re contemptible, Aegisthus,
getting pleasure from all this agony.
You say you killed the king deliberately,
and planned the cowardly slaughter on your
own.
I tell you—remember this—when justice
comes,
your head will not escape the people’s
cursing
or death by stoning at their hands.
AEGISTHUS
So you say—but you man the lower oars.
Your masters on the higher tiers control
the ship.
You may be old, but you’ll learn how
painful 1910
it is at your age to be taught your
place. [1620]
Hunger pangs and chains, two worthy
teachers,
make excellent cures for teaching wisdom,
even with old men. Surely you have eyes.
Can’t you see this? You shouldn’t kick at
thorns.
You’ll only hurt yourselves.
CHORUS MEMBER ONE
You
womanly creature!
You stayed at home, waiting out the war,
until the men came back. You soiled a real
man’s bed,
then planned
to kill our king.
AEGISTHUS
This
talk of yours
will soon give you sufficient cause to
weep. 1920
The tongue of Orpheus was not like yours—
the pleasure of his voice drew all things
to
him. [1630]
Your puny
squawking merely irritates.
But once I chain you up, my force has ways
to make you more compliant.
CHORUS MEMBER TWO
As
if you rule in Argos!
You, the one who plotted Agamemnon’s death,
but weren’t brave enough to kill the man
yourself!
AEGISTHUS
Clearly it was the woman’s role to trick
him.
I was not a man whom he would
trust. 1930
After all, I’m an old enemy of his.
But with his wealth I’ll try to rule the
people.
Those who resist I’ll strap under the
yoke. [1640]
It won’t be
light—not like a well-fed trace horse.
No. Miserable starvation in the dark—
then we’ll see how docile they can be.
CHORUS MEMBER THREE
You
coward!
Why not kill the man yourself? Why rely
upon that woman for the murder,
a disgrace to her own country and its gods?
O can Orestes still see the light of
day? 1940
If his good fortune holds, will he come
home,
win out, and kill the two of them up there?
AEGISTHUS
If that’s the way you want to act and
speak,
you’ll get your lesson fast. Men, stand
ready.
My trusty guard, your work’s in front of
you. [1650]
[The
soldiers place their weapons at the ready and move into menace the Chorus. The
Chorus stands its ground, raising their staves as weapons]
CHORUS LEADER
Don’t give way. Each of you, get your
weapons ready.
AEGISTHUS [half
drawing his sword]
My hand is on
my sword, as well.
I’m not afraid to die.
CHORUS LEADER
You say you’ll welcome death. That’s good
to hear.
We’re happy to oblige.
[Clytaemnestra,
alarmed at the way in which the conflict has grown, moves quickly between the
guards led by Aegisthus and the Chorus]
CLYTAEMNESTRA
Stop
this, my dearest. 1950
Let’s not act to bring on further trouble.
Our wretched harvest is bountiful enough—
we’ve reaped sufficient pain. No more
bloodshed.
You honourable old men, go home.
Yield to fate,
before you hurt yourselves. What we’ve done
here
we had to do. Let our troubles end right
now.
That we’ll allow, even though our
fate [1660]
has struck a heavy blow. That’s my advice,
what a woman ought to say, if any here
will act on it.
AEGISTHUS
What
about these
men 1960
who let their tongues prattle on against me,
hurling insults in my face, testing fate?
They throw aside all moderate restraint
to abuse their master.
CHORUS LEADER
Men
of Argos
will never cringe before an evil man.
AEGISTHUS
I’ll get my own back soon enough.
CHORUS LEADER
Not if fate brings Orestes home again.
AEGISTHUS
I understand how exiles feed on hope.
CHORUS LEADER
Go on. Fatten yourself up. While you still
can,
pollute all Justice.
AEGISTHUS
You
must know you’ll pay 1970 [1670]
for all this insolence to me.
CHORUS
Keep
on bragging—
just like a cock beside his hen.
CLYTAEMNESTRA [pulling Aegisthus towards the palace doors]
Leave them their feeble yelping. You and I
control the house. We’ll put things in
order.
[Clytaemnestra
and Aegisthus back slowly into the palace and
close the doors, leaving the guards and Chorus still facing each other. Slowly
the Chorus disintegrates and its members walk off one by one. The guards form
up in front of the palace, an armed defence before the doors]
NOTES
*Priam was king of Troy, father of Paris (the man who
abducted Helen). Agamemnon and Menelaus were the commanders of the expedition
against Troy (with Agamemnon in the senior position). [Back to Text]
*Alexander was
an alternative name for Paris, son of Priam. [Back to Text]
*Uranus was the
original god, who was overthrown by his son Cronos.
Then Cronos, in turn, was overthrown by his son
Zeus. [Back to Text]
*Calchas tells Agamemnon he must sacrifice his
daughter Iphigeneia to appease Artemis and
stop the hostile winds. [Back to Text]
*The lines
following describe Menelaus’ reaction to Helen’s disappearance. [Back to Text]
*In some
legends Atreus had a son Pleisthenes who was raised by his brother Thyestes.
Thyestes sent Pleisthenes to kill Atreus, but the latter killed him, not knowing he was his
son. This was the cause of the notorious banquet. In other stories Pleisthenes (perhaps another person with the same
name) is the husband ofAerope and father of
Menelaus and Agamemnon. When Pleisthenes died, Atreus married Aerope and
adopted the children. Aerope had a sexual
affair with Thyestes, another cause for the quarrel between the two brothers,
and was drowned for her adultery. [Back to Text]
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