Delphi Complete Works of Aeschylus (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics) (20 page)
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Authors: Aeschylus
AEGISTHUS
[1662]
But to
think that these men should let their wanton tongues thus blossom into speech
against me and cast about such insults, putting their fortune to the test! To
reject wise counsel and insult their master!
CHORUS
[1665]
It
would not be like men of Argos to cringe before a man as low as you.
AEGISTHUS
[1666]
Ha! I
will visit you with vengeance yet in days to come.
CHORUS
[1667]
Not if fate
shall guide Orestes to return home.
AEGISTHUS
[1668]
From my
own experience I know that exiles feed on hope.
CHORUS
[1669]
Keep on,
grow fat, polluting justice, since you can.
AEGISTHUS
[1670]
Know
that you shall atone to me for your insolent folly.
CHORUS
[1671]
Brag in
your bravery like a cock beside his hen.
CLYTAEMESTRA
[1672]
Do no
care for their idle yelpings. I and you will be masters of this house and order
it aright.
[
Exeunt omnes.
]
Translated by Herbert Weir Smyth
The second part
of the
Oresteia
trilogy continues the tale of Agamemnon’s family,
opening with Orestes’ arrival at his father’s tomb, where he meets his sister
Electra and plans revenge upon Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus.
Clytemnestra’s account of a nightmare in which she gives birth to a snake is
recounted by the chorus; and this leads her to order Electra, her daughter, to
pour libations on Agamemnon’s tomb, with the assistance of libation bearers, hoping
to make amends. Orestes enters the palace pretending to bear news of his own
death, and when Clytemnestra calls in Aegisthus to share in the news, Orestes
kills them both. Orestes is then beset by the Furies, who avenge the murders of
kin in Greek mythology.
Orestes, Elektra and Pylades at the tomb of Agamemnon
- Campanian red-figure hydria, c. 330 BC
Orestes, Electra and Hermes in front of Agamemnon's
tomb as depicted by a Choephoroi artist
ORESTES
CHORUS of Slave-women
ELECTRA
A SERVANT
CLYTAEMESTRA
PYLADES
NURSE
AEGISTHUS
SCENE. — Argos.
TIME. — The heroic age.
DATE. — 468 B.C., at the City Dionysia.
Now when she had
slain Agamemnon, Queen Clytaemestra with her lover Aegisthus ruled in the land of Argos. But the spirit of her murdered
lord was worth and sent a baleful vision to distress her soul in sleep. She
dreamed that she gave birth to a serpent and that she suckled it, as if it had
been a babe; but together with the mother’s milk the noxious thing drew clotted
blood from out her breast. With a scream of horror she awoke, and when the
seers of the house had interpreted the portent as a sign of the anger of the
nether powers, she bade Electra, her daughter, and her serving-women bear
libations to the tomb of Agamemnon, if haply she might placate his spirit.
Now Princess
Electra dwelt in the palace, but was treated no better than a slave; but,
before that Agamemnon was slain, her brother, Prince Orestes, had been sent to
abide with his uncle Strophius in a far country, even in Phocis.
There he had grown to youthful manhood, and on the selfsame day that his mother
sought to avert the evil omen of her dream, accompanied by his cousin Pylades,
he came to Argos
seeking vengeance for his father’s murder.
On the tomb of
Agamemnon he places a lock of his hair, and when Electra discovers it, she is
confident that it must be an offering to the dead made by none other than her
brother. She has been recognized by him by reason of her mourning garb; but not
until she has had further proof, by signs and tokens, will she be convinced
that it is he in very truth.
Orestes makes known
that he has been divinely commissioned to his purpose of vengeance. Lord Apollo
himself has commanded him thereto with threats that, if he disobey, he shall be
visited with assaults of the Erinyes of his father — banned from the
habitations of men and the altars of the gods, he shall perish blasted in mind
and body.
Grouped about the
grave of their father, brother and sister, aided by the friendly Chorus,
implore his ghostly assistance to their just cause. Orestes and Pylades,
disguised as Phocian travellers, are given hospitable welcome by Clytaemestra,
to whom it is reported that her son is dead. The Queen sends as messenger
Orestes’ old nurse to summon Aegisthus from outside accompanied by his
bodyguard. The Chorus persuades her to alter the message and bid him come
unattended. His death is quickly followed by that of Clytaemestra, whose
appeals for mercy are rejected by her son. Orestes, displaying the bloody robe
in which his father had been entangled when struck down, proclaims the justice
of his deed. But his wits begin to wander; the Erinyes of his mother, unseen by
the others, appear before his disordered vision; he rushes from the scene.
[
Scene: The tomb
of Agamemnon. Enter Orestes and Pylades.
]
ORESTES
[1]
Hermes of
the nether world, you who guard the powers that are your father’s, prove
yourself my savior and ally, I entreat you, now that I have come to this land
and returned from exile. On this mounded grave I cry out to my father to
hearken, to hear me. . . . [Look, I bring] a lock to Inachus in requital for
his care, and here, a second, in token of my grief. For I was not present,
father, to lament your death, nor did I stretch forth my hand to bear your
corpse.
[10]
What is this I
see? What is this throng of women that moves in state, marked by their sable
cloaks? To what calamity should I set this down? Is it some new sorrow that
befalls our house? Or am I right to suppose that for my father’s sake they bear
these libations to appease the powers below? It can only be for this cause: for
indeed I think my own sister Electra is approaching, distinguished by her
bitter grief. Oh grant me, Zeus, to avenge my father’s death, and may you be my
willing ally!
[19]
Pylades, let us
stand apart, that I may know clearly what this band of suppliant women intends.
[
Exit Orestes
and Pylades. Enter Electra with women carrying libations.
]
CHORUS
[20]
Sent forth
from the palace I have come to convey libations to the sound of sharp blows of
my hands. My cheek is marked with bloody gashes where my nails have cut fresh
furrows. And yet through all my life my heart is fed with lamentation. Rips are
torn by my griefs through the linen web of my garment, torn in the cloth that
covers my breast, the cloth of robes struck for the sake of my mirthless
misfortunes.
[30]
For with a
hair-raising shriek, Terror, the diviner of dreams for our house, breathing
wrath out of sleep, uttered a cry of terror in the dead of night from the heart
of the palace, a cry that fell heavily on the women’s quarter. And the readers
of these dreams, bound under pledge, cried out from the god that those beneath
the earth cast furious reproaches and rage against their murderers.
[42]
Intending to ward
off evil with such a graceless grace, O mother Earth, she sends me forth,
godless woman that she is. But I am afraid to utter the words she charged me to
speak. For what atonement is there for blood fallen to earth? Ah, hearth of
utter grief! Ah, house laid low in ruin! Sunless darkness, loathed by men,
enshrouds our house due to the death of its master.
[55]
The awe of
majesty once unconquered, unvanquished, irresistible in war, that penetrated
the ears and heart of the people, is now cast off. But there is still fear. And
prosperity — this, among mortals, is a god and more than a god. But the balance
of Justice keeps watch: swiftly it descends on those in the light; sometimes
pain waits for those who linger on the frontier of twilight; and others are
claimed by strengthless night.
[66]
Because of blood
drunk up by the fostering earth, the vengeful gore lies clotted and will not
dissolve away. Soul-racking calamity distracts the guilty man till he is
steeped in utter misery. But for the violator of a bridal chamber there is no
cure. And though all streams flow in one course to cleanse the blood from a
polluted hand, they rush in vain. For since the gods laid constraining doom
about my city and led me from my father’s house to a slave’s lot, it is fitting
for me to govern my bitter hate, even against my will, and submit to the wishes
of my masters, whether just or unjust. But I weep beneath my veil over the
senseless fate of my lord, my heart chilled by secret grief.
ELECTRA
[84]
You
handmaidens who set our house in order, since you are here as my attendants in
this rite of supplication, give me your counsel on this: what should I say
while I pour these offerings of sorrow? How shall I find gracious words, how
shall I entreat my father? Shall I say that I bring these offerings to a loved
husband from a loving wife — from my own mother? I do not have the assurance
for that, nor do I know what I should say as I pour this libation onto my
father’s tomb. Or shall I speak the words that men are accustomed to use: “To
those who send these honors may he return benefits” — a gift, indeed, to match
their evil?
[96]
Or, in silence
and dishonor, even as my father perished, shall I pour them out for the earth
to drink and then retrace my steps, like one who carries refuse away from a
rite, hurling the vessel from me with averted eyes?
[100]
In this, my
friends, be my fellow-counsellors. For we cherish a common hatred within our
house. Do not hide your counsel in your hearts in fear of anyone. For the
portion of fate awaits both the free man and the man enslaved by another’s
hand. If you have a better course to urge, speak!
CHORUS
[106]
In
reverence for your father’s tomb, as if it were an altar, I will speak my
thoughts from the heart, since you command me.
ELECTRA
[108]
Speak,
even as you revere my father’s grave.
CHORUS
[109]
While you
pour, utter benedictions for loyal hearts.
ELECTRA
[110]
And to
whom of those dear to me should I address them?
CHORUS
[111]
First to
yourself, then to whoever hates Aegisthus.
ELECTRA
[112]
Then for
myself and for you also shall I make this prayer?
CHORUS
[113]
That is
for you, using your judgment, to consider now for yourself.
ELECTRA
[114]
Then whom
else should I add to our company?
CHORUS
[115]
Remember
Orestes, though he is still away from home.
ELECTRA
[116]
Well said!
You have indeed admonished me thoughtfully.
CHORUS
[117]
For the
guilty murderers now, mindful of —
ELECTRA
[118]
What
should I say? Instruct my inexperience, prescribe the form.
CHORUS
[119]
Pray that
some divinity or some mortal may come to them —
ELECTRA
[120]
As judge
or as avenger, do you mean?
CHORUS
[121]
Say in
plain speech, “One who will take life for life.”
ELECTRA
[122]
And is it
right for me to ask this of the gods?
CHORUS
[123]
How could
it not be right to repay an enemy with ills?
ELECTRA
[124]
Supreme
herald of the realm above and the realm below, O Hermes of the nether world,
come to my aid, summon to me the spirits beneath the earth to hear my prayers,
spirits that watch over my father’s house, and Earth herself, who gives birth
to all things, and having nurtured them receives their increase in turn. And
meanwhile, as I pour these lustral offerings to the dead, I invoke my father: “Have
pity both on me and on dear Orestes! How shall we rule our own house? For now
we are bartered away like vagrants by her who bore us, by her who in exchange
got as her mate Aegisthus, who was her accomplice in your murder. As for me, I
am no better than a slave, Orestes is an outcast from his inheritance, while
they in their insolence revel openly in the winnings of your toil. But that
Orestes may come home with good fortune I pray to you, father: Oh, hearken to
me! And as for myself, grant that I may prove far more circumspect than my
mother and more reverent in deed.
[142]
I utter these
prayers on our behalf, but I ask that your avenger appear to our foes, father,
and that your killers may be killed in just retribution. So I interrupt my
prayer for good to offer them this prayer for evil. But be a bearer of
blessings for us to the upper world, with the help of the gods and Earth and
Justice crowned with victory.”
[
She pours out the libations.
]
[147]
Such are
my prayers, and over them I pour out these libations. It is right for you to
crown them with lamentations, raising your voices in a chant for the dead.
CHORUS
[152]
Pour forth
your tears, splashing as they fall for our fallen lord, to accompany this
protection against evil, this charm for the good against the loathsome
pollution. Hear me, oh hear me, my honored lord, out of the darkness of your
spirit. Woe, woe, woe! Oh for a man mighty with the spear to deliver our house,
an Ares, brandishing in the fight the springing Scythian bow and wielding his
hilted sword in close combat.
[
As they conclude,
Electra discovers the lock of Orestes’ hair.
]
ELECTRA
[164]
My father
has by now received the libations, which the earth has drunk. But take your
share of this startling news.
CHORUS
[167]
Speak — but
my heart is dancing with fear.
ELECTRA
[169]
I see here
a lock cut as an offering for the tomb.
CHORUS
[169]
A man’s,
or a deep-girt maid’s?
ELECTRA
[170]
That is
open to conjecture — anyone may guess.
CHORUS
[171]
How then?
Let my age be taught by your youth.
ELECTRA
[172]
There is
no one who could have cut it but myself.
CHORUS
[173]
Yes, for
those who ought to have mourned with a lock of hair are enemies.
ELECTRA
[174]
And
further, in appearance it is very much like —
CHORUS
[175]
Whose
lock? This is what I would like to know.
ELECTRA
[176]
It is very
much like my own in appearance.
CHORUS
[177]
Then can
this be a secret offering from Orestes?
ELECTRA
[178]
It is his
curling locks that it most resembles.
CHORUS
[179]
But how
did he dare to come here?
ELECTRA
[180]
He has
merely sent this cut lock to honor his father.
CHORUS
[181]
What you
say is no less a cause of tears for me, if he will never again set foot on this
land.
ELECTRA
[183]
Over my
heart, too, there sweeps a surge of bitterness, and I am struck as if a sword
had run me through. From my eyes thirsty drops of a stormy flood fall unchecked
at the sight of this tress. For how can I expect to find that someone else,
some townsman, owns this lock? Nor yet in truth did she clip it from her head,
the murderess, my own mother, who has assumed a godless spirit regarding her
children that ill accords with the name of mother. But as for me, how am I to
assent to this outright, that it adorned the head of Orestes, the dearest to me
of all mortals? No, hope is merely flattering me.
[195]
Ah, woe! If
only, like a messenger, it had a kind voice, so that I would not be tossed by
my distracted thoughts. Rather it would plainly bid me to spurn this tress, if
it was severed from a hated head. Or if it were a kinsman’s, he would share my
grief as an adornment to this tomb and a tribute to my father.
[201]
But I invoke the
gods, who know by what storms we are tossed like seafarers. Yet if I am fated
to reach safety, a great stock may come from a little seed.
[205]
And look!
Another proof! Footprints matching each other — and like my own! Yes, here are
the outlines of two sets of feet, his own and some companion’s. The heels and
the imprints of the tendons agree in proportion with my own tracks. I am in
torment, my brain is in a whirl!
[
Enter Orestes.
]
ORESTES
[212]
Give
recognition to the gods that your prayers have been fulfilled, and pray that
success may attend you in the future.
ELECTRA
[214]
What? Have
I succeeded now by the will of the gods?
ORESTES
[215]
You have
come to the sight of what you have long prayed for.
ELECTRA
[216]
And do you
know whom among mortals I was invoking?
ORESTES
[217]
I know
that you are pining for Orestes.
ELECTRA
[218]
Then how
have I found an answer to my prayers?
ORESTES
[219]
Here I am.
Search for no other friend than me.
ELECTRA
[220]
But
surely, stranger, you are weaving some snare about me?
ORESTES
[221]
Then I am
devising plots against myself.
ELECTRA
[222]
No, you
wish to mock my distress.
ORESTES
[223]
Then my
own also, if yours.
ELECTRA
[224]
Am I then
to address you as Orestes in truth?
ORESTES
[225]
Now, even
though you see him in me, you are slow to learn. Yet at the sight of this tress
cut in mourning, and when you were scrutinizing the footprints of my tracks,
your thought took wings and you knew you had found me. Put the lock of hair,
your own brother’s, in the spot it was cut from and observe how it matches the
hair on my head. And see this piece of weaving, your handiwork, the strokes of
the batten and the beasts in the design. Control yourself! Do not go mad with
joy! For I know that our nearest kin are bitter foes to us both.
ELECTRA
[235]
O best
beloved darling of your father’s house, its hope of a saving seed longed for
with tears, trust in your prowess and you will win back your father’s house. O
delightful eyes that have four parts of love for me: for I must call you
father; and to you falls the love I should bear my mother, whom I most rightly
hate; and the love I bore my sister, victim of a pitiless sacrifice; and you
were my faithful brother, bringing me your reverence. May Might and Justice,
with Zeus, supreme over all, in the third place, lend you their aid!