AESCHYLUS’
TRANSLATED BY
GEORGE THEODORIDIS
©2005
Dramatis Personae
∞§∞
Aigisthus
Cassandra
Chorus of Elders of the city of
Various soldiers attendants to Agamemnon and Aigisthus
Night.
We are surprised by the fact that though we see no one on the stage we hear, somewhere in the deep of darkness, the solitary voice of a man humming nervously to himself - an awkward, tentative tune, full of fear and foreboding. The humming is interspersed with trembling noises of fear. He is humming so as to stay awake as well as to keep unwanted animals or spirits away.
Sounds of a peaceful night. Owls, nightingales, etc.
Suddenly the eerie howling of a wolf.
The night progresses slowly and as Dawn nears we eventually see the man clearly. He is on the roof of the royal palace.
He is the Watchman and he is lying on a mattress of straw.
He speaks to us but most of the time he has his back to us.
Beneath him is the centre gate to the palace and in front of it, are three small altars with ivy growing around them.
When he is not talking he is gazing hard into the dark distance.
At first he is resting on his elbows but then, when he tires of this, changes positions gently and quietly, lest he wakes up the sleeping palace. Intermittently, he utters sounds of pain and discomfort and he rubs and scratches his legs, bum, elbows, neck, etc.
On the palace walls, on either side of the gate hang a pair of double axes tied crosswise.
In front of the palace is an altar with ivy wrapped all around it. It is the altar of Apollo so some signage(in correct Greek such as APOLLWN) or a statue would help to identify it as such.
When the Watchman speaks, he happily displays his love and loyalty for Agamemnon and his utter disdain for Clytaemestra.
Watchman:(Turns to speak to the audience. Shakes his head in despair. Then, indicating the sky:)
I’ve been asking the gods to release me from this here torment for a whole year now. Oh, yes, it’s been a whole year since I’ve been put up here, on the roof of the palace of the race of Atreus… flat on my paws, like a dog, gazing far into the distance. Watching the distant distance. Staring into it.
I can tell you for certain: I’m now thoroughly acquainted with all the constellations of the stars. Every single one of them! All those masters of the sky that light it all up and sparkle from on high, as well as all the smaller stars, those that, by their rising and setting, bring to us, the mortals our summer and winter.
So, now I’m watching out for a message. A sign that will be brought
to us by a fire. It’ll be the light of a torch and this light will announce
10
(Indicates inside the palace) These are the orders of a tough, man-hearted woman whose heart is full of… (knowingly) full of manly hopes.
(He begins to hum nervously again for a moment, then gets up and moves about on his restricted space, perhaps suddenly precariously slipping)
And when this shapeless bed of mine, waterlogged with morning’s dew, rejects me and my need for sleep, I try to remedy the situation with a bit of singing; but when I do that, my mouth becomes bitter with mournful songs about the suffering of this palace, a palace which no longer rules as virtuously as before.
He looks at the bed scornfully. Manhandles it angrily. He is looking towards the audience when he’s talking and so does not notice the torch light moving across the stage behind him.
It doesn’t recognise dreams, this bed. Huh! And how could it? Fear is my constant companion and Fear, well, Fear won’t let Sleep come anywhere near me to shut my eyelids tight enough for the dreams to venture out into my skull.
Finally the light becomes bright enough to light the whole stage at which time he is shocked, turns and nearly falls off the roof with excitement.
Aha! Finally! There’s the end of them! That’s it! That’s the torch of the night I’ve been waiting for. That’s the end of my troubles. Welcome, welcome torch of the night that shines its light like a fulsome day, bringing with it a million celebrations of good luck for the Argives.
25
He shouts cheerfully at the palace.
Oi! Oi! Can you hear me in there?
He jumps down from the roof.
Oi! Oi! You in there!
I’ll shout loudly at Agamemnon’s wife. Get her up out of bed immediately and get her
to raise shouts of laughter in the whole palace; and give thanks to this torch,
that is, if it really does signal the fall of
I’ll be the first to hop into the dance. Give them a good start because I consider the luck of my masters to be my luck. That torch out there is like sixes in a game of dice for me.
Bangs at the gate again
Ohhh, how I wish I’d be able to hold my Lord’s hand deep into mine, when he returns!
35
As for all the… other things, I am saying nothing. A huge cow is standing on my tongue…
This house though, this house could make a lot of things very clear, if only it could speak! (winking knowingly. He knows about Clytaemestra’s unfaithfulness) Those of you who know what I mean, know what I mean. The others… well, you just don’t know… what I mean!
Watchman bangs at the gate again before he exits.
A short Pause of utter silence before it is broken by Clytaemestra’s gleeful shouts from within.
Dawn
Clytaemestra, followed by jubilant attendants come out of the palace and light incense on the altar.
Enter the Chorus while this activity is going on. They are old and feeble, many with shepherd’s crooks and canes, perhaps one even blind, giving the impression that since the Argive youth has left for over ten years, the once great State has become weak and ineffective.
40
Chorus: (Director should distribute lines among the chorus as often as possible)
It’s been ten long years since Priam’s enemies, the twin yoke of kings, Menelaos and Agamemnon, sons of Atreas, who were honoured by Zeus with twin thrones and twin sceptres, raised a fleet of a thousand battle ships from this land.
Their angry war cries came out of their hearts like the cries of hapless eagles whose eyrie has been emptied of their chicks. Look there! Above them the eagles hover again and again, their wings turning the air like oars turn the sea, desperately looking for their chicks that had lost the warm safety of their nest.
55
Still, some higher being, Apollo, Zeus or Pan, perhaps, airy neighbours to the eagles, hear their pitiful and bitter cries and they will send justice to their enemies when the right time comes.
And that’s why Zeus, protector of the stranger, sent to Paris, a Trojan, the sons of Atreas, to bring about justice by setting up many and fatal battles for the sake of a woman… a woman loved by many men.
65
There, in
Well, so much for that. What has been decreed to happen from now on, will happen. No one can placate the ordained and inexorable anger of unholy sacrifices with burnt or unburnt offerings… or with tears!
71
But we, we of the older and weaker flesh, we were left here, away from the great sail, without honour and with the strength of a mere child and with the need of the support of a walking stick.
Ah, old age! Youth have the bursting heart while the old have the withering leaves –and where is the battle lover Ares?
The old walk about the streets on three feet. Not like the young ones, nor are they anywhere near as strong.
Enter Clytaemestra with attendants carrying offerings of ivy garlands, water, and incense which they light on each of the altars. Clytaemestra also cuts a small lock of her hair and places a bit on each altar.
The old ones? They wonder about like in a day dream.
83
But you, Clytaemestra, daughter of Tyndareus. What’s going on? What news do you have? What have you learnt?
What’s got you rushing about making sacrifices?
Why are all the altars in the city clogged with sacrificial fires? Every altar of every god –the mighty gods and the lowly gods and the gods in between; and all the gods of the heavens and all those of the marketplace- all the altars in the city are burning bright with these fires. One fire here another there, they rise high, nourished by the subtly scented, holy, pure oils from the cellars of your palace.
Tell us whatever you can - whatever the gods may allow you to tell us - and calm this terrible turbulence we have in our soul. One moment we feel grief, but then, the gentle light of these altars shines and, with new hope, it casts away our soul-crushing misery.
105
I feel now I can sing about the divine sign that drove our two generals on their way to victory.
Age and the gods inspire in me this ability to sing about that bird of war which sent the two young kings of Greece, two leaders both, of a single mind, with threatening iron in hand and with the strength of vengeance to Troy’s soil.
There, at the spear’s side of the Trojan palaces, two birds –the kings of birds!- appeared before the kings of ships and men. One bird white the other black.
Just then, high up on a rock, the two men saw a pregnant hare running. The eagles swooped down and made that hare’s path its last and there and then, with their deadly claws tore it to bloody bits and devoured it.
Let the song see tears but let virtue see victory.
122
Seeing the two murderers of the hare, the wise prophet of the army, Calhas, knew the eagles to be the two sons of Atreas, Menelaos and Agamemnon, both of them lovers of battle and both of them leaders of the expedition; so he declared his vision: “In many years to come,” Calhas said, “this here army will take Priam’s Troy and Fate will reap with force the countless wealth within its palaces. Only, let not some divine rage of jealousy rush down to crush this army, this mighty clamp around the city’s wall, before it meets its aim because pure Artemis, the goddess we all revere, holds a mighty hatred for her father’s flying dogs, those eagles that slaughtered that poor frightened animal and all its young inside her.”
Let the song see tears but let virtue see victory.
140
“Artemis!” The holy priest continued. “Brilliant goddess who loves so tenderly all the suckling cubs of fearsome lions! Artemis, who is so mightily pleased to see the young of all the wild beasts roaming the valleys free!”
So the priest begs Zeus. “Let her anger against the eagles be avenged. Let the sacrifice of Iphigeneia be avenged in full.” But I ask Artemis’ brother, the Healer, Apollo, to intervene and let not his sister send crashing contrary winds against the Greek fleet and keep them ashore longer still, seeking yet another sacrifice, unholy, of no use to a table, a kill without the sound of a flute to send it off, a kill, the cause of many terrible family feuds yet to be born. Because Feuds without the king of the palace present, are afraid of nothing. They lurk within its halls for a long time and then, cunningly, one day, they emerge and ask for revenge of the sacrifice of a daughter. This daughter is called Iphigeneia.”
156
Such good and fearful things did Calhas, the priest uttered for the two palaces; things he had seen in the flight of those two fatal birds and so, because of this…
Let the song see tears but let virtue see victory.
Chorus addresses Zeus
160
Zeus! Whoever you are! If this is the name you love best then I shall call you by it! I beg you! Lift this unholy burden of ignorance off my soul.
I have placed all things on the scales of comparison and found all others wanting. You, alone can help me.
Ouranos, who was mighty once –mighty in strength and arrogance at every turn- has long gone and can no longer be invoked.
And Cronos who came after him found a threefold greater opponent to send him away.
But Zeus! Whoever shouts “Zeus is victorious!” will gain wisdom replete. Zeus it was who gave men their knowledge and Zeus who made the rule, “pain is wisdom.”
180
For here, into our heart, while we sleep, slowly drips the painful memory and even to those who fight it, that pain, that pain, becomes wisdom. Because it is by force that the gods who sit upon their throne in majesty, give us this gift of wisdom.
So then, Agamemnon, the leader of the Greek Fleet, the older of the two brothers, blamed no prophet and set fast his spirit against the ill winds of fortune. There, around the shores of Halkis, where the tides of Avlis swell and fall, the Greeks ached with hunger and with cursed winds.
191
And as the winds whirl hard from the great river Strymon,
they bring to the men restive indolence, tortuous despondency and a flaring
starvation. Such winds shut down ports,
rot ships and their oars, extend their idle stay there endlessly and there they
wither, there, the flower of
And so then the prophet spoke to the Greeks about the bitter winter ahead, and told them of yet another hard cure for their woes, uttering Artemis’ name. At that the two brothers pierced angrily their sceptres to the ground and let their tears flow.
Then, the great Agamemnon, chieftain of the Greeks, shouted:
205
“It will be a heavy penalty indeed if I do not obey and yet heavy still if I slaughter my own child! My child! The jewel of my palace!
And by doing so I shall pollute the altar with the streams of a virgin’s blood, a blood spilt by her own father. Which of these is not a vile deed? Shall I abandon my fleet? Shall I abandon our allies? It is their right. It is their right to demand even the most awful sacrifice to calm these winds! True, a virgin’s blood too, is within their right. (Resigned) May the end of all this be good,” he said.
218
But then, when he felt the yoke-straps of Fate tightening faster and faster around his neck, some rebellious winds rushed into his soul and spun it about. Unholy winds, winds that have no authority from god- and within that very moment, within a single instant, the king changed his mind and, rejecting all things sacred and all things of heaven, he let unyoked arrogance come and rule his heart. “No! No,” he screamed. “Artemis shall be obeyed!”
A man in his right mind performs what is right whereas a man deranged, even for a moment, for the shortest instant, well, his mind gives him all the audacity he wants to accomplish enormous evil.
And so Agamemnon’s heart was hardened and he called for the sacrifice of his daughter -so that his fleet could sail and he could be victorious in a war!
A war declared to avenge the honour of a woman.
228
And neither the poor girl’s cries and pleas to her father nor her young virginal life were considered by the commanders whose heart were more eager for war.
After the sacrificial prayers, Agamemnon told his slaves to lift his young daughter, Iphigeneia, from his feet and place her, face down, upon the altar like a suckling goat, her mouth sealed tightly that no fatal curse may be heard against his household. Face down so that the blood may wash over the stone.
239
Iphigeneia let her saffron robe fall to the ground and with glances like arrows dipped in pity she cast one at each of her sacrificers.
She was like a painting eager to speak.
The girl was often called upon to use her pure, sweet, chaste voice to sing the Third Libation, the final hymn of the feast at her father’s dining halls when he was being hospitable to strangers. A hymn she’d sing with much love.
248
I neither saw nor will tell what followed after that sacrifice. Calhas’ prophecies have never failed. Such is the way of Justice: Justice leans her scale upon us so that we may learn through suffering. We see the future only when it’s upon us. Why cry before it comes? When it does come, it will reveal itself like the bright morning sun rays.
Let all this come to a good end –as this guard
Enter Clytaemestra
Here she is now.
Clytaemestra, I have come with respect for your royal authority. It is only fair that we honour the king’s wife when the throne is left bereft of a male.
I will happily hear your words whether they contain good news, or if you have made sacrifices in the hope of them. But, if you choose to be silent, I will not hold that against you.
264
Clytaemestra:(exuberant)
May Dawn, as she leaves the arms of her mother, Night, bring us joyful news, as the saying goes. And these are truly most hopeful news: The Greeks have won! The Greeks have conquered Priam’s city!
Chorus:(The chorus will try hard to reject this news, though does so with diplomatic pretence)
What was that? That’s unbelievable! I… I’m lost for words!
Clytaemestra:
270
Chorus:
Tears of joy choke me!
Clytaemestra:
Yes I can see this. Tears that show the joy in your eyes.
Chorus:
But… are you sure of this? Do you believe it yourself? Do you have certain proof?
Clytaemestra:
Of course I do. Most certainly –that is unless this is some trick of the gods!
Chorus:
Do you perhaps believe too easily in the visions of dreams?
275
Clytaemestra:
I never pay much heed to the messages of a sleeping brain.
Chorus:
Perhaps some gloated word, a word unable to fly off on its own has come and fed your hopes?
Clytaemestra:
You are accusing me of having the brain of a small child!
Chorus:
How long ego did they enter the city?
Clytaemestra:
I told you: during the night that gave birth to this very light.
280
Chorus:
But what herald could get here so quickly
Clytaemestra:
The great god of fire, Hephaistos! He sent a bright light from Mount Ida, in Troy. Then, torch to torch, like a human herald, this light first shone in Trojan Ida, then on Mount Hermes in Lemnos and from that island, the third torch arrived at Zeus’ Rock at Mount Athos. Then with a huge leap over the great sea, the flame travelled hard but happily and, like the sun, transferred its rays through the watchtowers of Makistos. From there, without delay, like a good herald, refuting sleep, conquering sleep flew far to the streams of Evripos where it tells the news to the guards of Mount Messapios, in Evoea.
295
The Messapians gathered a mount of dried heather and by lighting it continued the light’s progress. Now, the light, strong and clear like a full moon sped over the valley around River Esopos and the tip of Mount Kitheron, setting off another lot of fiery signals.
300
The guards there lit an even greater fire, great enough for it to leap over the lake Gorgopis’ waters and the Mountain of the Goats where the guards obeyed the flame’s purpose with enthusiasm and lit up a huge beard of flame, huge enough to leap over the Saronic Gulf and land upon the Rock of Arahne, at the guard houses near the city.
After that, the flame, the very descendant of the flame of Troy’s Ida can be seen up there, on the roof of this house, the house of Agamemnon, of the family of Atreidis.
310
My husband and I have arranged this method by which I would be notified when Troy fell and these were the orders we gave to all the torch bearers in this relay race.
Equal in dignity to both, the first and the last of them.
Chorus:
Madam, I shall thank the gods later but first, let me enjoy the story even more while you’re telling it again.
320
Clytaemestra:
The Greeks are the rulers of Troy now. I
can imagine the dissonant cries cluttering the city’s air. Pour vinegar and oil
in the same jar and you will see their enmity keeping them apart. That’s how
the violent cries of the victors and the vanquished are heard –the one apart
from the other, each violent for a different reason, each subject of a
different fate.
The first lot is flung over the dead bodies of their brothers and sisters, their children and their elderly parents, wailing, lamenting their death with tongues and hearts no longer free.
330
The other lot, starving from the full night’s murderous work are rushing like disorderly savages, to the city’s pantries and laying in the homes of their prisoners, free, finally from the cold and the damp of the war camps. See how happy they look now that they don’t have to serve on all-night guard squads!
Only one task is left for them now if their fate must not be turned and they become the vanquished: to honour solemnly the gods and temples of the defeated city and not to be overtaken by the soldier’s greed to pillage what they should not. They’ve still got to make the return trip home safely and so they should remember that it is a double course they must run.
Still, even if all goes well and they show due respect to the gods of Troy, there’s still the anger of those suffering for their slaughtered sons.
Let’s hope then that no new dreadful acts occur.
(Ironically and with disdain which the chorus notices)
I’m a mere woman and these are a mere woman’s words but, before me there’s a wide choice of blessings and I’ve chosen this: Let the good win and win most clearly so that everyone can see it.
351
Chorus:
My Lady you speak like the wisest of men. I’ve heard your words; they are most credible proofs of the matter and I shall now prepare myself to thank the gods for the success they’ve given us.
Chorus approaches Zeus’ altar.
Most revered Zeus and you, our beloved Night, splendidly adorned, you who gave us the great honour of victory; you who has cast a vast, dark and impenetrable net around the towers of Troy so that neither young nor old can escape the bitterness of slavery and the all-destructive doom.
362
I revere the great Zeus, protector of both, the stranger and the host, Lord, who brought this about by pulling back the bow’s string for a long time now, aiming it at Paris and letting the arrow fly accurately, neither too soon nor too late, lest it flies in vain, way over the stars.
People will say, “It is the shaft of Zeus and you can see the prints of his hands upon it.”
The will of Zeus is the act of Zeus.
And
Others will say that the gods don’t care at all if men desecrate the holy.
Such words are sacrilege!
And
Now it’s obvious to all what punishment is paid for reckless pride that flies over the proper measure –when the overweening greed sends men to war so as to clutter with wealth their already over-cluttered palaces.
All things in moderation is best.
Contentment in sufficiency is best.
These show wisdom and good sense.
381
And
The rich man who kicks the altar of Justice away from his sight no longer has protection from Greed. No, that man is driven by the goddess Persuasion, destructive daughter of Infatuation who makes men work against their better judgement.
And
There is no remedy, no medicine for him to take.
And
Now, his evil deed is shining brightly, terribly, for all to see,just like a coin, rubbed by sheer use turns black, just like a child that tries to catch a bird, that man brings blackness to his city’s folk, a blackness to forever hold.
And
So, the gods have shut their ears to his calls and bring his fall as due reward for his irreverent deed.
399
Such a man was Paris, that, when he came to Menelaos’ palace and was properly sat at a welcoming table, when he left he stole his host’s woman.
She, Helen by name, left behind to her own people the awful clamour of spears banging against shields and the clutter of a fleet arming for war.
And as for Troy, there she brought a dowry of destruction and with soft feet she passed through the city’s gates, daring a deed that no man could. Not through Troy’s walls. No!
And
The sighs and groans of the palace prophets were deep and weighty.
410
“O sad Palace, sad Lords, sad Menelaos’ bed and sad the impression his woman left upon it! (As if seeing a ghost) See there? There, at that corner of the room? There one can see the abandoned man alone, silent, wronged, yet without a sound of protest nor of complaint.
And,
Because of his deep love for the woman who has now traversed the sea, a ghost will take over the running of the palace.
415
The charms of the statues of beautiful women are hateful to the husband.
When the eyes of a man are empty all passion leaves him.
His dreams are cluttered with visions of empty joy!
Empty joy! Empty because, though he loves the touch of these visions, they slide through his fingers, flying off through the airy pathways and byways of Sleep.”
425
These are the pains that fill the chambers of the palace. These and worse. Pains that fill the house of every man who climbed those ships bound for Troy. Insufferable grief!
And so, pain upon pain slices the heart. Pain upon pain knows whom it sent there and who returned inside those urns that carry the ashes of the dead.
438
Look there! See Ares the god of war, the god of money changers? He stands between the hosts with his scales and measures the heavy gold against the heroes’ ashes.
(Indicating one side of the scales)
There the spears clash and glitter before the walls of Troy.
(Indicating the other side of the scales)
There the fire and there the bloodied corpses
and
He, the god of war barters with his scales. Bodies for urns full ofash.
445
And
To the grieving folk he praises with hollow words: “He was a practiced soldier!” or to another’s wife, “He fell most bravely in the slaughter!”
Such is the stuff of whispers but the pain snakes along side by side with hatred –for the vengeful sons of Atreas.
452
But
There!
There all round the high walls of Troy are the dead Argives - all those “well-praised” Argives, gracing the Trojan soil, the enemy soil with their Greek tombs.
There’s a soil that hides well its defilers!
The voice of the people is heavy with a pressing rage. It seeks an equally heavy payment. It seeks a curse from all of them.
460
My own fears expect some dark and dreadful news. The gods leave no murderer unpunished, least so the murderer whose victims are many.
In time, the Black Spirits of Vengeance will catch up with him whose good life has its roots in the soil of evil acts and, with but one, quick reversal of his tide, destroy him. After that, no one can help him.
Too much glory is too dangerous a thing. The higher the mountain’s peak the nearer it is to the thunderbolt.
No audacious wealth for me. No conspicuous, enviable riches. Oh, no! Just let me have the sort of happiness that no one envies. Nor do I want to be a conqueror of cities or a captive to others.
475
And so we see the bright light spreading the great news across our city.
Yet… is it truly great news or is this some kind of trick from heaven?
Who would be so childish or so stupid as to have his heart ablaze with these new tidings and then to have that same heart of his, in deep sorrow when the tidings are given another meaning?
It’s in the nature of a woman to grasp at joy well before the news of it appears clearly. She believes in things far too quickly; and what she believes she spreads too quickly. Still, a woman’s news have a short life.
487
Ah! We’ll know soon enough if all this lengthy travelling of torches and lights and fires was a real event and a true sign or if it was some dreamy vision that dulled our minds.
Indicating behind the wings. As they speak they spread themselves as widely across the stage as it is possible.
Look there! I can see a herald running towards us from the shore.
He’s wearing wreaths of olive and judging by the high clouds of dust and dry mud on him, he won’t be wasting time talking with signs but directly, with his own mouth.
No, no, I can see that very well: he’s not going to start a fire with mountain wood to speak with us. No smoke signals for this herald!
No, he’ll either tell us more good news using words of joy or – But No! I won’t think the contrary. Let better news fall upon good.
He whose heart wishes otherwise for this city let him suffer the error of his heart.
Enter the Herald running and exhausted. He is a soldier and has come straight after the landing of Agamemnon’s fleet. His body is soiled with mud and blood and he is rushing to tell his story. He stops and begins to address the city in abstract as well as the chorus directly, taking each member’s hand in happy greeting.
501
Herald:
Oh, Argos! My own land! The land of my grandfathers! At last, after ten whole years, the day of my return has arrived. So many hopes crashed heavily to the ground. So many but one! I have never, ever hoped – never ever boasted that I would die here, in Argos or that I would be buried in a grave I loved.
So now, greetings land of my home, greetings Apollo’s sun, greetings Zeus, protector of our city and (turning to the altar or statue) you, Apollo, Grand Master, please! Please, don’t ever shoot your arrows at us again.
510
You’ve been our enemy long enough, when we were back in Troy, by the banks of Scamander. Now, King Apollo, be our saviour again, be our healer.
To all of you gods who protect the contests and to my own protector Hermes, most loved herald, revered by all the mortal heralds.
And you, too! Heroes who sent us there, there to Troy: Welcome the soldiers who have escaped the war’s spear.
Turning to address the palace
And you, palace of our Kings, beloved roofs, revered thrones, divine statues that always look upon the sun, receive now, after such a long time, our King. Receive him with joy in your eyes and gladness in your heart as you have always done.
521
He has arrived, bringing into your darkness a clear light.
Indicating the crowd
And to all these folk, King Agamemnon has arrived.
Receive him well for he deserves it. With the pick of Zeus, the keeper of Justice, he brought the mighty walls of Troy down to the ground, razed all the city’s altars and temples to the ground and the seed of the whole land was destroyed. This is the yoke into which our magnificent King, Agamemnon, the son of Atreas, a most benevolent man has placed Troy.
(Indicating behind the wing)
530
And here he comes. Of all other mortals this mortal is most worthy of honour and praise. So deserving of honour that not even Paris, nor the city that ended with him can say that their punishment was heavier than their deed.
Paris was guilty. Guilty of abduction and of robbery and for those two crimes he was punished. The Helen he abducted is back by her husband’s side. His own father’s home he turned into scattered rubble and his whole land is totally devastated.
The sons of Priam, the King of Troy, have paid a double price for their sinful doings.
538
Chorus:
Greetings herald of the Greek army and a great joy to you!
Herald:
Thank you, citizens of Argos. Yes, I feel very happy. So happy that even if the gods were to ask me to die right now, I wouldn’t say no.
Chorus:
Has your love for this country been such gruelling work for you?
Herald:
Yes, so gruelling that my eyes are now filled with tears of joy.
Chorus:
So… you’ve been hit by a rather pleasant illness then.
Herald:
What was that? I don’t understand.
Chorus:
You see, we, too, are also hit by the same love.
545
Herald:
Do you mean to say that the city was longing for those who longed for her?
Chorus:
Yes, such longing that we would sigh inside our darkened hearts.
Herald:
What would cause this huge sadness of yours for the army?
Chorus:(Reluctant to speak)
I… for a long time now… well, for a long time now, I use silence as a remedy for pain.
Herald:
But why? Both Kings were away. Were you afraid perhaps of someone else?
Chorus:(turning towards the palace knowingly)
Yes. Yes… Indeed. Afraid. So much so that… just as you’ve put it a minute ago, death would be a happy thing.
551
Herald:
Yes. The war had a happy conclusion. Still, once the years roll the one after the other, one can look back and see that some things happened well and some not so well. Is there any mortal who lived his whole life without some suffering? By Zeus! If I were to complain about all our difficulties, all the dreadful seas, the meagre space and the awful berths where no sleep could be had… Ah! How could we not sigh with despair when we’d never have one single good day?
And as for the land? There the torture was even worse. Because we had to spread our beds very near the enemy’s walls and the dew from both, the sky as well as the valleys saturated our clothes destroying them completely. Our clothes! Ha! The hair on them sprung up like a wild beast.
As for Winter! Insufferable snows came down from Mount Ida, killing every bird. Or else shall I talk of the scorching heat? There the sea would fall asleep in midday’s bed chambers, without wind or wave…
567
Bah! Damn it all! Why should we grieve over all this? The agony has gone now –for us as well as for the dead, since they’ll never rise again. The dead? Why count them? Why count the dead? Why should the survivor suffer his bad luck all over again?
I say, let’s say goodbye to all suffering! Goodbye to it for ever! Look at the scales! You see? For us, the remnants of the Argive army, for us who have survived, the gains far outweigh the losses.
575
Here, in the full light of heaven’s Sun, we can make this boast clearly and loudly: “After a long war the army of the Argives took Troy and in the many temples of Greece’s gods they’ve placed an abundance of spoils.” And let these words fly forever over many lands and over many waves.
And when people hear these words in the future they will praise our city and the leaders of her army. And we should also thank Zeus who granted us a happy ending.
There! Now I’ve told you everything.
583
Chorus:
Ah, I am now convinced! You words ring true. Old men are always young enough to learn the truth. Your news though, in all fairness should be told to Clytaemestra, to the palace, though they do make me very happy indeed.
Clytaemestra:(To the Chorus)
I let out my cry of joy when the first blazing messenger of the night announced the fall and destruction of Troy. (shaking her finger at the chorus angrily) One of you mocked me: “Do you believe in torches and think that Troy has been taken? Bah! Women’s hearts jump so easily!” you said.
You’ve made me feel as if I’d gone mad. But I made the appropriate sacrifices to the gods and, just as it is the proper conduct for women, they all came out and they, too began to make their cry of joy all over the city and singing hymns in the temples. Finally, they placed the sacred, flesh-eating, scented flame at its resting site.
598
(To the Herald)
So, now, why would you need to tell me more? The King himself will tell me everything.
I’ll now rush to make preparations to receive my beloved husband as best I can. Oh, what is sweeter for a woman then to open the gates to a husband whom the gods allowed to return home safely from a war?
Now go and tell these things to my husband. Tell him to come quickly. The city wants him dearly. And when he arrives, he’ll find a faithful wife, a wife being exactly as he left her, like a faithful dog in the palace, loving towards him, hateful to his enemies and identical in all other respects to the woman he left behind. He will find a woman sealed when he left and a woman with that seal intact still and unbroken.
610
I know as much about the pleasures of other men or about evil gossip as I know about dyeing bronze spears!
Herald:
A huge boast for a woman but fully loaded with the truth. This is not a vulgar boast when it comes from such a noble lady.
Chorus:
So she spoke and so you’ve learnt. An eloquent speech made for the ears of those who understand such speeches. But, tell us Herald, tell us about Menelaos. I need to learn myself if he is alive and if he’s returning with you. He is Argos’ leader loved greatly by the Argives.
620
Herald:
How can one lie to one’s friends? How can one make a bad story sound good and believable for any length of time?
Chorus:
Indeed! Good words and truth are a couple. Separate them and the lie will appear. Speak plainly, Herald.
Herald:
I’ll speak plainly and speak the truth. We’ve lost sight of Menelaos and his ship of Achaeans.
Chorus:
Did you all see him sail away from Troy or did some storm crash down upon you all and swept him away from you?
Herald:
You hit bullseye like an excellent archer. With few words you told a very long and painful story.
630
Chorus:
And did the other sailors say anything about him, if he’s alive or dead?
Herald:
No one knew anything. No one that is, except Apollo who nurtures the whole Earth.
Chorus:
Well then, how do you think this angry storm came and how did it go away?
Herald:
A pleasant day like this - a day with such pleasant news should not be destroyed with ill announcements by a frowning herald. Each god has his day each has his time for worship. Should the herald bring grave news to the city at a time like this? News about the destruction of her army – a common wound for the whole city? Should he spread the news that the war god Ares has also slain many men from many houses? That this god alone has caused both dreadful miseries? Losses of men on the foreign field and the horrible wounds in their homes? Should the Herald pollute the day announcing such double scourge?
645
Such a heavy load of bad news a herald would need to sing the praises of the evil Furies.
I’ve come here to announce good news. Good news which will gladden the city. How can I mix such good news with bad, speaking about the angry storms which the gods threw upon the Greeks with such anger?
The two implacable enemies, fire and the sea, suddenly came together and conspired to destroy the poor fleet of the Greeks.
The horror began at night with wild seas. Fierce winds from Thrace crashed upon all our ships and one after the other, in turned rammed against each other with mighty force. As if… as if some evil shepherd spun his sheep about and sent it out of sight.
Then, in the morning, when Apollo’s bright light shone, we saw the Aegean in full bloom with the corpses of Greek men and the floating ruins of our fleet.
660
Our own ship was saved, untouched. How, I don’t know but it was as if some god –it certainly couldn’t have been a man- took a strong grip of its wheel, or, perhaps prayed for us, I don’t know which, but he secretly pulled it away from the storm. Fate decided all of her own, to come aboard our ship and kept it from both taking in water and from crashing upon some rocky coast.
In the morning’s white light we couldn’t believe our luck. We had escaped the Hades of the sea but we became miserable at the thought of what our fleet had suffered.
670
And so then, if any of those who are lost to us have, in fact, survived, they’d think that we in turn would be lost. Of course they would. Why not? It’s what we think of them.
Ah, may it all turn out for the best.
Expect Menelaos to be the first to return.
In any case, if there’s some sun ray that finds him somewhere, that finds that Zeus is keeping him somewhere, alive and well, then we may hold onto some hope that he will return.
Zeus hasn’t yet declared that he wants to destroy the Greek race totally.
(pause)
Remember, what you’ve heard is the truth.
(Exit Herald)
680
Chorus:
Helen! Who on earth had given her this name? Helen, Death; Death, Helen. Such an apt name. It covers all death. Some invisible being, it must have been, expertly twirled his tongue about; prophetically, correctly and named her Helen. Helen, the bride of spear, the womb of strife. Helen! No sooner had she pulled away the fine fabrics of her curtained bower and stepped upon a ship to sail with the soft breath of Earth-born Zephyrus and she has proven herself to be the death of ships, the death of men and the death of cities.
She was closely hunted by many oarsmen who followed her lost tracks and landed at the green banks of Simois to clash in a clash of gore.
Nemesis brought her deep into Troy. An anger to avenge the sin of polluted hospitality. An anger never-ending. A marriage not of joy but of grief. The bride? Helen! Vengeance for the sin committed against Zeus and against hospitality, vengeance for those who raised the wedding hymn, Helen’s suitors.
699
And so, Priam’s ancient city, Troy, has now learnt a new song, a song full of sadness, full of grief, full of sighs and, as for Paris’ wedding, she curses it for all the blood she lost.
Someone once took a suckling lion to his home. Barely a day old, he had gently pulled it away from its mother’s teat. During the first while, the baby lion was tame, giving pleasure to the farmer’s children and to the old folk also. They’d take it into their arms often and treat it just like a human newborn. The lion, in turn, would lick the hand that fed it.
726
But when it grew up it, it showed the true nature of its parents.
It repaid its hosts by preparing a feast with the meat of the complete flock of the farmer’s sheep. The blood flooded the house and the folk in it fell into uncontrollable grief. What have they raised in their house? One would think some god had made the lion a priest of ruin.
And so, I’d say, it happened with Helen. She entered Troy like the fresh breath of a serene wind. Like a gentle, peaceful ornament to wealth. Like a soft dart of glances, a bloom that bends men’s hearts.
But then, the woman changed her course. Her marriage came to a bitter end, her hatred clogged Troy’s houses, as if she was cast upon them by Zeus the guard of hospitality. A bitter bride, a black Spirit of Vengeance.
750
There’s an ancient saying among mortals which says that when man’s prosperity becomes fully grown, it doesn’t die childless but it leaves its children. Yet from this prosperity springs not more joy for his children but interminable misery.
But my thinking is different. I believe that the improper act gives birth to yet another improper act which then, in turn, gives birth to another. A good house is blessed with good acts for ever.
Arrogance, though, in the evil men, when the time comes for her to give birth, will bring forth not only a young arrogance, but, as well, the other evil, the unconquerable, the irresistible, the unholy, Impudence. And Impudence will bring forth black terror, black ruin, just like parents and their children.
Justice though shines brightly in poor houses even with smoky chimneys. She knows how to honour a simple yet virtuous life. And she shuns those gold-heavy palaces, where the hands are dirty with evil deeds. She turns her face from such places and heads for the innocent homes. Justice has no respect for the wealth, the ill-gained wealth, which men consider praiseworthy.
Justice brings both, the good and the evil to their proper end.
(Enter Agamemnon, Cassandra and attendants. Agamemnon and Cassandra are on a chariot. Cassandra’s behaviour is made known in line1063: “she’s like a captured wild animal.” Agamemnon wears regalia whereas Cassandra wears symbols of her vocation, a seer: A staff with cotton wool around its tip, a crown of cotton wool and ivy, a chain around her neck and a sacred mantle – all of which she will throw away in disgust around lines 1264ff )
783
Ah! The King! Atreas’ son, conqueror of Troy! What words should I use to honour you appropriately? Words that will not overdo the praise nor undervalue it? A great many mortals prefer appearances to good deeds, offending justice. (confidentially, signalling possible trouble)
Many are ready to show a shallow sympathy to one who suffers but the arrow of sadness never reaches the heart; and as for joy, they force their unsmiling face to smile with those who smile. A shepherd who knows his sheep well will never be tricked by the eyes of people who, though they look as if they are faithful to their master, in fact flatter him with false adoration.
799
But I must tell you, Agamemnon, when you first gathered the army for the sake of Helen, the images I had of you in my mind were not very pretty. I didn’t think you held the steering wheel of your brain properly. It seemed as if you wanted to force courage into the minds of the dying men with sacrifices.
But now, well now, from the bottom of my heart and with no animosity whatsoever, let me tell you that I feel no ill will towards those whose hard work came to a good end. Later, in due course, you’ll be able to ask around and find out who among those citizens who stayed behind acted properly and who didn’t.
809
Agamemnon:
Firstly, it is right and proper that I should greet Argos and all the gods who inhabit this land and who have helped me through a safe return and through the war by which I have exacted Justice from Priam’s city. These gods had no ears for men’s pleadings but unanimously cast their ballots into the urn of blood, the urn that declared Troy’s destruction. As for the other urn, the urn of mercy, there was no hand approaching it, only the hope of a hand.
Only the smoke can declare where the fallen city lies. What is still alive are the storms of woe and the ambers leave a fatty stench of wealth as they die.
821
For all this then we should show our eternal thanks to the gods. We have filled the city with the torment of vengeance because of Helen. Troy has been beaten by a fierce, Argive beast, a wooden horse and by the shield-bearing army that launched its attack when the Pleiads set in the horizon.
The ravenous lion leaped over the huge walls of Priam’s city and drank its fill of princely blood.
This lengthy prologue was for the gods.
As for what you said, I heard you and I haven’t forgotten it. I agree with you. It’s true, it’s not in every man’s nature to admire another man’s good luck without envying him at the same time. When the poison of envy attacks the heart of the envious it doubles his pain and he, himself is weighed down by his own misfortune when he sees another man’s good fortune.
I speak from experience. I know many who were the very mirror of friendship, a mere shadow of a shadow of friendship when, in fact they were nothing more than hypocritical pretenders, pretending to be my most loyal friends.
841
Odysseus only was my eager friend, even though he began the sail unwillingly. Once he was harnessed into the task, though, he proved to be a loyal partner. And I say this without knowing if he’s alive or dead.
As for all the other matters concerning the city and her gods, we’ll declare public meetings and we’ll decide all together; and at that meeting, where we see that things are going well, we’ll make sure that they are enforced to stay like that. And where we see that something is in need of some remedy then we shall try to avoid the effect of the illness by using wise and gentle cautery or perhaps the knife.
(Enter Clytaemestra with attendants carrying purple carpets)
851
Now, I shall enter the halls of my palace and go directly to my hearth where I shall give thanks and greetings to the gods. They’ve sent me away and they’ve brought me back home again safely. May Victory, who has followed me to Troy, always stay with me.
855
Clytaemestra:
Citizens and elders of Argos! I feel no shame in expressing to you my love for my husband. With time, modesty between humans erodes.
What I’m about to say is not something I’ve heard from others. Rather, let me tell you what I’ve suffered all this time that he was away, fighting beneath the walls of Troy.
Firstly, it is a dreadful thing for a woman to stay home alone, without her husband. Her house is filled with fearful rumours: One person comes and tells of one terrible event, followed by another person who adds yet another worse event.
865
If this man had suffered as many wounds as these people said he had suffered, you would think the man had more holes in him than does a fishing net. He could then boast that he was a second Geryon, that three-bodied man who, with every one of his three deaths, with every earthly cover, he changed his shape.
These dire rumours were the cause that brought me to place many a noose around my neck, though, others, with force, untied them.
875
And it is for this reason that Orestes, our only son, is not standing here beside me, as he should be, a guarantor of my love and yours. And this is not strange. A close friend of ours, trustworthy and solid, Strophios from Phocis is looking after him. Strophios had warned me of two impending dangers: Firstly of your possible fall beneath the walls of Troy and secondly, the revolt of our Argives against the city’s Council, since it is in the nature of men to kick the fallen.
886
Removing Orestes from here is an honest thought I had and one hiding no trickery. The unending streams of tears have ended in me. There’s not a drop left and my eyes now ache from keeping vigil for the light of the torches that you have neglected to light. And as for sleep, the softest whir of a mosquito would wake me up from nightmares that had you suffering greater horrors than the span of sleep could hold.
895
I have said all I’ve suffered and now my heart is free from its weight.
For this reason I’d like to pronounce this man here, the guardian dog of our house, the saving anchor of our ship, the tallest, surest pillar of the roof, a father’s only son, the land before the eyes of a hopelessly lost sailor, the bright day after a disaster a clear, running water for the road-weary traveller!
It is indeed a sweet joy to escape all the inescapable need!
Such is the praise I consider worthy of him. Let hate stay away. We’ve suffered much in the past.
905
And now, my dear husband, come down from your chariot but don’t step on the ground, conqueror of Troy.
(To her attendants)
Why are you so slow, women? Have I not ordered you to spread the fine linen across his path? Quickly, then, let his path be covered with purple so that Justice may guide him into the home that never hoped to see him again. The rest will be taken care of by tireless, unsleeping Care with the help of the gods just as Fate shall declare.
(Agamemnon descents from his chariot but Cassandra remains on it.)
914
Agamemnon:
Clytaemestra, Leda’s daughter and guardian of my halls. Your speech about my absence was as lengthy as my absence itself; but… praise like this should come from other mouths. As for the rest, stop treating me just like any woman would nor as if I were some barbarian chieftain. I need no grovelling. Don’t spread your fine purple weaves upon the ground for me to walk on and attract the monstrous envy of others. Such treatment should be left for the gods. I am but a mortal and mortals could only walk upon these weaves with fear and dread.
925
I want you to honour me like a mortal, not like a god. The fame of a good man is spread without him walking on fine mats and tapestries. It is a god-given gift to think justly and you should praise a mortal only when his life is nearing a successful end. And if I live like this for the duration of my whole life, I shall have no fears whatsoever.
931
Clytaemestra:
Don’t tell me you’ll disobey me now!
Agamemnon:
Disobey you? No, I do as I please.
Clytaemestra:
Don’t tell me that some fear have made you swear this to the gods?
Agamemnon:
I know full well that what I am doing is the correct thing. Ask any man, if you like.
935
Clytaemestra:
And Priam? What do you think he would have done had he won the war?
Agamemnon:
Priam would most certainly have walked on such fine cloth.
Clytaemestra:
So why worry about the whisperings of the masses?
Agamemnon:
Why? Because there’s much power in the whisperings of the masses.
Clytaemestra:
Still, a man not hated is a man not worthy of respect.
940
Agamemnon:(Angrily. He’s losing the battle with his wife)
Woman! It’s not proper for women to love wars so much.
Clytaemestra:(sarcastic laughter, runs her elbow through his arm)
Ha! Come, there are times when even the happy conquerors should be defeated!
Agamemnon:
So, do you need this victory so desperately?
Clytaemestra:
Come on, retreat! Let my victory be with your consent. It’s for your own good.
Agamemnon:
Well then. If that’s what you want, let someone loosen my boots. They’ve enslaved my feet too long.
(A couple of Clytaemestra’s attendants untie Agamemnon’s boot laces. He looks nervously up into the Heavens)
I hope no jealous god strikes me from above because I’m walking on these purple mats. It’s a big shame to hurt the worth of your house by trampling all over its wealth and upon its priceless weaves… Never mind.
950
(Indicating Cassandra)
Make that young woman feel welcome into our house. God looks upon the gentle host with kindness. No one becomes a slave willingly. She was a special flower amid the huge mount of loot, the army’s gift to me and she has followed me.
(Reluctantly he steps upon the purple cloth. Clytaemestra looks slyly upon this. To the chorus, the people of Argos, the scene looks as if she had won a battle. It’s what she had hoped the people would see: Agamemnon trampling upon the purple and asking her to welcome a foreign slave. He does not leave yet)
And since I’ve retreated my argument and do as you say, I shall enter the palace walking on the purple cloth.
Clytaemestra:
My King, the sea has an endless supply of purple. Who could possibly empty it of it? Priceless dye for the cloth. Our palace, thank God, has a plentiful supply of them. We have never known poverty. Had the oracles told me of the result of the war and of your return, I would have ordered to be brought here many more purple tapestries for you to trample on.
965
So long as there’s root beneath the tree, its leafage covers the house and gives it shade from the high heat of summer; and you, my King, now that you’ve come to the hearth of our home, it is as if summer’s warmth has come in winter. And it’s as if, as if, when Zeus turns the bitter grape into wine in summer’s scorching heat and when you, its proper lord walks the halls of this palace, that wine refreshes all.
(Agamemnon enters the palace.
Clytaemestra’s attendants carefully roll up the cloth and Clytaemestra looks up into the heavens and, praying, continues her speech.)
Oh, Zeus! Zeus! You who accomplishes everything, I beg you, accomplish my prayers. Accomplish now what you’ve decided to accomplish earlier.
(Exit Clytaemestra and attendants)
975
Chorus:(introspectively)
Why this terror? Why does it turn, and turn again around my prophetic heart? And why does my heart spin ominous prophesies the one after the other?
Why yet does this terror rule it? My words have become a prophet of uninvited and unfed prophesies. Why can I not exorcise them as if they were dark, incoherent dreams? Why can I not sit my good courage upon my own heart’s throne?
985
Yet, it’s been a long time since the sand was shaken off the ropes of our Troy-bound ships. What doubt is there? What need for reassurance? My own eyes bare witness to the army’s return.
Ah, but my soul –dig deep inside me and you will hear my soul sing another tune altogether, one it composed of its own accord; a tune without the lyre’s company, the song of the Avenging Spirits, a song that’s lost its beloved courage of hope.
995
All my entrails spin in search of answers. This, this is no idle panic I feel: The heart is never turbulent for no reason and mine needs to see an end to all this.
Still, let our hope conquer our fears and make them false and unaccomplished.
1001
Excessive health is greedy. Health and Disease are close neighbours, leaning against a single, common wall. And so is happiness and calamity among mortals. Excessive wealth overloads a household as it does a ship and the wise captain knows that while the ship is sailing a straight and happy course, danger lurks beneath and he will cast overboard the excess wealth in order to save the home or hull from sinking.
Zeus’ benevolence and that of Earth’s annual harvest is more than ample to destroy the ills of famine.
1017
But the blood? Once the dark blood of a murdered man has sunk into the soil, what mortal’s magic can bring it back? Asclepius? Even he, who knew the ways of raising the dead, even him, Zeus did away with for our own good.
Yet, even if the gods have ordained it that no Fate should let a man indulge in excess, delivering him yet another Fate still to hold that Fate back, still, my heart would outrun my tongue and… (indicating the secrets within the palace) let all its secrets out!
Now, the heart mourns in pain and in the dark, bereft of hope to give a timely release the secrets is in my burning mind.
(Enter Clytaemestra.)
1035
Clytaemestra:(To Cassandra)
Come, Cassandra. You too, come in. It’s the will of kind Zeus for you to take part, along with our many other slaves, in the ceremonies at the altar of the god who guards our halls.
Come! Come down from the chariot, don’t be so proud. Even Heracles, himself, they say, Alkmene’s son, long ago, had to endure being sold as a slave and to eat the sort of bread that went with it; and if one’s Fate is to be a slave, he should consider himself happy indeed to be the slave of a master whose wealth is ancient, because the others, those who’ve reaped a rich harvest of possessions suddenly and without even hoping for it are exceedingly cruel to their slaves in every way. You shall receive from us everything that is thought proper.
(Cassandra is non-responsive. She knows the future and she knows Clytaemestra’s words are lies)
1047
Chorus:
Come, Cassandra. She has addressed you and in a clear language. You are in the grips of inescapable destiny so, do as she says, obey if you want; or… perhaps you have no such wish?
Clytaemestra:
Perhaps her language is foreign, an odd one, like that of a swallow. Well, then I should send words directly to her heart.
Chorus:
Come, Cassandra. She has given you the best of what’s available. Go with her. Get down from the chariot and follow her.
1055
Clytaemestra:(Frustrated)
Bah! I’ve no time to waste talking to this woman here, outside our gates! The sacrifices are ready and waiting at our home’s main hearth: A joy most unexpected. As for you, if you are going to do anything, do it quickly…
If you don’t understand my words then show me some sign with your hands as to what you want to do.
Chorus:
It seems to me the stranger needs some able interpreter. She looks like a freshly captured wild beast.
1064
Clytaemestra:
She’s captured by a madness and it’s that madness she’s obeying. She has left behind her a city freshly captured and she’s still to learn how to endure the bridle without first turning her wild anger into foaming blood.
No, I shall not speak any more only to be insulted like this.
(Exit Clytaemestra)
Chorus:
But I pity her. No, I won’t get angry with her. Come on, unhappy woman, get down from the chariot. Accept your fate and wear now this new yoke.
Cassandra:(Addressing the altar she screams in agony)
Ah, Apollo! Apollo! What pain, Apollo! What pain!
Chorus:
Apollo? Loxias Apollo? Why him? He is no god in need of wailing women.
1076
Cassandra:
Apollo! Apollo! Oh, what pain, Apollo!
Chorus:
Apollo again! Again she calls with lamentations a god who cannot stand the grieving.
Cassandra:
O Apollo, Apollo! Oh god who guides, oh god who has destroyed me! This is the second and fatal time! Once, to give me the dire gift of prophecy and now this!
Chorus:
It seems she’s prophesying her own ill fortune.
A divine gift stays in your soul even if you become a slave.
1085
Cassandra:
Apollo! Apollo! Oh, Apollo, god who guides, god who has destroyed me!
Where have you brought me? Under what roof?
Chorus:
What roof? To the roof of the sons of Atreas. If you don’t know it, then let me tell you. That much is true.
Cassandra:(directing her speech to the house)
Ah! It’s a house that hates gods! A house that knows of familial murders and of slaughters of men! It is a place dripping with blood.
Chorus:(whispering to each other)
It seems the stranger has a keen sense of smell, like that of a hound. She is obviously close to discovering blood.
1095
Cassandra:
Ah, yes! Take a look at my witnesses: Infants who scream beneath the knife, screaming at their butchery! Babies whose roasted flesh is eaten by their father!
Chorus:
Ah, yes, yes, we know well of your ability to divine but we’ve no need for prophecies.
1100
Cassandra:(meaning Clytaemestra)
Gods! What is she up to? What dreadful deed, what new, dreadful deed is she preparing now? In there! A deed she’s preparing in there! Dreadful for friends, an incurable evil, deed.
Ah, and help is so far!
Chorus:
I can’t understand these divination you’ve just uttered but all the rest I know very well. The whole city echoes with them.
1107
Cassandra:
Evil woman! So you will go on with it then? You will perform the deed?
Your husband, woman! Your husband, the man in your bed… after you have made him happy with a bath, will you… Gods! How shall I tell the end?
Never mind. Soon it will come. A hand upon a hand, now this hand now the other, stretched hands…
Chorus:
I still can’t understand what she’s saying. Riddles one minute, incomprehensible oracles the next.
Cassandra:
Ah! What? What? What do I see? Is this the net of Hades? No, not so! No, it’s her, it’s his wife who’s the net, it’s her who’s the murderer, her who shares his bed and who shares in his murders. She is the insatiable curse of the house. Let her then cry out the shout of joy for her cursed victim! (She screams a frenzied scream of victory that will be echoed later by Clytaemestra)