Aeschylus — The Seven Tragedies

Contents — 11 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10
11. Part 11

Part 1

CHORUS: Here we are, the faithful Council of the Persians, who have gone to the land of Hellas, we who serve as warders of the royal abode, rich in bountiful store of gold, we whom Xerxes, our King, Darius’ royal son, himself selected, by virtue of our rank and years, to be the guardians of his realm. Yet as regards the return of our King and of his host, so richly decked out in gold, the soul within my breast is distressed and presages disaster. For the whole populace of the Asian nation has come and murmurs against its youthful King, nor does any courier or horseman arrive at the city of the Persians, who left behind them the walled defence of Susa and Agbatana and Cissa’s ancient ramparts, and went forth, some on horseback, some in galleys, others on foot presenting a dense array of war. Such are Amistres and Artaphrenes and Megabates and Astaspes, marshals of the Persians; kings themselves, yet vassals of the Great King, they press on, commanders of an enormous host, skilled in archery and horsemanship, formidable to look upon and fearful in battle through the valiant resolve of their souls. Artembares, too, who fights from his chariot, and Masistres, and noble Imaeus, skilled with the bow, and Pharandaces, and Sosthanes, who urges on his steeds. Others in addition the mighty, fecund Nile sent forth — Susiscanes, Pegastagon of Egyptian lineage, mighty Arsames, lord of sacred Memphis, Ariomardus, governor of ancient Thebes, and the marsh-dwelling oarsmen, well-skilled and countless in number. Behind them follows a throng of luxurious Lydians and thosewho hold in subjection all the people of the mainland, whom Metrogathes and brave Arcteus, their regal commanders, and Sardis rich in gold sent forth, riding in many a chariot, in ranks with three and four steeds abreast, a spectacle terrible to behold. They too who live by sacred Tmolus pledge themselves to cast the yoke of slavery upon Hellas—Mardon, Tharybis, anvils of the lance, and the Mysians, hurlers of the javelin. Babylon, also, teeming with gold, sends a mixed host arrayed in a long line, both mariners borne in galleys and those who rely on their skill in archery. The nation too which wears the sabre follows from every part of Asia in the fearful procession of the King. Such are the warriors, the flower of the Persian land, who have departed, and in fierce longing for them the whole land of Asia, their foster-nurse, laments, while parents and wives, as they count the days, shudder at the lengthening delay.

CHORUS: The royal army, dealing destruction to cities, has already passed to the neighboring land upon the facing shore, and this they did by crossing the Hellespont, named for the daughter of Athamas, on a bridge of boats made fast with cables, thereby casting a tightly constructed roadway as a yoke upon the neck of the sea.

CHORUS: The fiery lord of populous Asia is leading his wondrous warrior-flock against the whole earth in two divisions, on foot and by the sea, putting his trust in his stalwart and stern commanders; he himself, a god-like hero whose race is sprung from gold.

CHORUS: With eyes flashing with the dark glare of a deadly dragon, attended by soldiers and mariners in great numbers, and speeding his Syrian chariot, he leads against a people renowned for the spear a warlike host of archers.

CHORUS: And there is no man skilled to withstand the mighty stream of men, and with strong barriers keep out the sea’s invincible surge; for Persia’s host cannot be withstood, and her men are courageous.

CHORUS: For by the will of the gods Fate has held sway since ancient time, and has ordained for the Persians the pursuit of rampart-destroying war, the turmoil of fighting horsemen, and the storming of cities.

CHORUS: And they have learned to look upon the precinct of the deep when the broad-wayed sea whitens to foam beneath the tempest’s blast, trusting in their finely wrought cables and their devices which give passage to their army.

CHORUS: Yet the insidious guile of god—what mortal man can escape it? Who with agile foot can lightly overleap and escape its toils?

CHORUS: For Delusion, with her fair appearance, lures men astray into her snares, from which it is not possible to escape without meeting with disaster.

CHORUS: Therefore my heart is wrapped in gloom and is racked with fear for the Persian army lest the state learn that the mighty capital of Susa is empty of men.

CHORUS: Fearful I am too that as bands of women cry aloud woe, the Cissian stronghold will raise a resounding shout responsive to the beating of breasts, and that there will be a tearing of fine linen robes.

CHORUS: For all the men-at-arms, those who urge on steeds and those who march along the plain, have left the city and gone forth, like bees in a swarm, together with the captain of the host. They have crossed the headland, projecting into the sea and common to either continent, through which both shores are bridged.

CHORUS: And marriage-beds are filled with tears through longing for husbands; each Persian woman has sent to the field her warlike and fiery consort, and now in grief and longing for her beloved lord, is left forsaken by her mate.

CHORUS: But come, Persians, let us take our place on the steps of this ancient palace and devise some wise and deeply-pondered counsel—for need of this has come upon us—as to how Xerxes our King, Darius’ son, scion of our own race as his forefather’s name declares, is faring. Is it the drawing of the bow that has triumphed, or is it the might of the sharp spear-head which has prevailed? Enter Atossa, richly dressed, on a chariot and attended by a numerous retinue But look, here is a light like the eyes of the god, the mother of our king, my Queen. I bow low before her. It is fitting also that we all address her with words of salutation. The elders prostrate themselves and then rise to their feet. Their leader continues

CHORUS: O Queen, most exalted of Persia’s deep-girdled women, venerable mother of Xerxes, wife of Darius, all hail! You were the consort of the Persian’s god, and of another god the mother, that is, unless its former good fortune has now forsaken our host.

ATOSSA: For this very reason I have left the gold-decorated palace and the chamber which belongs to Darius and myself, and have come here. My heart, too, is racked with anxiety, and to you, my friends, will I make a disclosure. For I am by no means free from apprehension that wealth, grown great, will, raising a cloud of dust upon the ground, trip up the prosperity which Darius raised not without the favor of some god. It is for this reason that there is a double concern in my mind: neither to hold in honor vast wealth without men, and that the light of success does not shine, in proportion to their strength, on men without riches. Our wealth, at all events, is ample, but my anxiety is for the light, the salvation of the house, which I regard to be the presence of its lord. Therefore, since things stand as they do, lend me your counsel in this concern, Persians, my aged trusty servants. For all my hopes of good counsel depend on you.

CHORUS: Be assured, our country’s Queen, that you need not twice mention either word or deed regarding that in which it is possible for us to direct you. For we whom you summon as counsellors in these matters are well disposed towards you and your interests.

ATOSSA: I have been haunted by a multitude of dreams at night since the time when my son, having despatched his army, departed with intent to lay waste the land of the Ionians. But never yet have I beheld so distinct a vision as that of the last night. This I will describe to you. I dreamed that two women in beautiful clothes, one in Persian garb, the other in Dorian attire, appeared before my eyes; both far more striking in stature than are the women of our time, flawless in beauty, sisters of the same family. As for the lands in which they dwelt, to one had been assigned by lot the land of Hellas, to the other that of the barbarians. The two, as I imagined it, seemed to provoke each other to a mutual feud, and my son, when he had become aware of this, attempted to restrain and placate them. He yoked them both to his car and placed the collar-straps upon their necks. The one bore herself proudly in these trappings and kept her mouth obedient to the rein. The other struggled and with her hands tore apart the harness of the car; then, free of the curb, she dragged it violently along with her and snapped the yoke in two. My son was hurled to the ground and his father Darius stood by his side filled with pity. But Xerxes, when he caught sight of him, tore the garments covering his body. Such was the vision I beheld in the night. But when I had risen and dipped my hands in the clear-flowing water of a spring, I drew near to an altar with incense in my hand, intending to make an offering of sacrificial cake to the divinities that avert evil, those to whom these rites are due. But I saw an eagle fleeing for safety to the altar of Phoebus—and out of terror, my friends, I stood speechless. Thereupon I caught sight of a falcon rushing at full speed with outstretched wings and with his talons plucking at the head of the eagle, which did nothing but cower and yielded its body to his foe. These are the terrors I beheld, terrors too for you to hear. Be assured that if my son should suceeed, he would prove to be remarkable indeed, but if he fails, he does not have to answer to the state; if he returns safely, he will hold sway in this land as he did before.

CHORUS: Mother, we would neither alarm you unduly by our words nor raise your hopes too high. If, however, it is something inauspicious that you have seen, visit the gods with supplication and entreat them to avert the evil and to bring to pass what will be beneficial to you, your children, the kingdom, and all else that you hold dear. Next, it is appropriate that you should offer libations to Earth and the dead; and use auspicious words to address your husband Darius, whom you say you have seen in the night, and ask him to send into the light of day from beneath the earth blessings for you and your son; ask too that the reverse of this may be held in bondage beneath the earth and fade away in gloom. Such is the advice I, relying on my instincts, offer you with kind intent. According to our interpretation of these portents, the issue will in all respects prove prosperous to you.

ATOSSA: You, its first interpreter, have indeed read the meaning of my dream with goodwill, at least, toward my son and house. May the outcome then prove beneficial! When I return to the palace, I will perform for the gods and my dear ones beneath the earth all those rites which you recommend. Meanwhile, my friends, I would like to learn where Athens is located.

Part 2

CHORUS: Far from here, to the west where the last rays of our Lord the Sun set.

ATOSSA: Can it then really be that my son had the keen desire to make this city his prey?

CHORUS: Yes, for then all Hellas would be subject to the King.

ATOSSA: Does their army have such a multitude of men?

CHORUS: Yes, it is an army of such magnitude that it has caused great disaster for the Medes.

ATOSSA: And what else have they besides? Do they have sufficient wealth in their homes?

CHORUS: Of silver they possess a veritable fountain, a treasure chest in their soil.

ATOSSA: Is the bow-stretching arrow particularly suited to their hands?

CHORUS: Far from it; they have lances for close fight and shields that serve them for armor.

ATOSSA: And who is set over them as shepherd and is master of their host?

CHORUS: Of no man are they called the slaves or vassals.

ATOSSA: How then can they withstand the attack of an invading foe?

CHORUS: So well as to have destroyed Darius’ great and courageous host.

ATOSSA: In truth, your words have given the fathers and mothers of those who are now on their way there dire food for thought.

CHORUS: No, rather I think that you will soon learn the truth of the matter. For here comes one who is beyond a doubt a Persian courier. He bears clear tidings of some issue, be it good or bad.

MESSENGER: O cities of all the land of Asia, O realm of Persia, and bounteous haven of wealth, at a single stroke all your plenteous prosperity has been shattered, and the flower of the Persians has fallen and perished! Ah, it is a terrible task to be the first to deliver news of disaster. And yet, Persians, I must relate the entirety of the calamity —the whole barbarian host is lost.

CHORUS: Grievous, grievous disaster, strange and cruel. Alas, Persians, weep now that you hear of this calamity.

MESSENGER: Yes, weep, for you hear that the whole army is utterly destroyed; and I myself unexpectedly behold the day of my return.

CHORUS: The life which has been given to us elders is too long, for we have now heard of this unexpected misery.

MESSENGER: Since I myself was present and did not merely hear what happened from the report of others, I can tell you exactly what kind of disaster was wrought.

Part 3

CHORUS: Alas, alas! In vain did our vast and variously armed host go forth from the land of Asia against the hostile soil of Hellas.

MESSENGER: Full of the bodies of men who perished by a miserable fate are the shores of Salamis and all the neighboring coasts.

CHORUS: Alas, alas! You say that the bodies of our loved ones, battered by the brine and drenched, are tossing, washed back and forth among the reefs.

MESSENGER: Our bows were of no use, and the whole host has perished, overwhelmed when ship charged on ship.

CHORUS: Raise a doleful and mournful wail for the Persians, the wretched Persians, since they have met with complete and utter ruin. Alas for the destruction of our host!

MESSENGER: O name of Salamis most odious to my ears! Alas, how I groan when I recall the memory of Athens!

CHORUS: Ah, hateful indeed is Athens to her foes. Now must we remember how many Persian women she has deprived of sons and husbands, lost all in vain.

ATOSSA: Long have I kept silent in my misery, struck with dismay at our disaster; for this calamity is so great that it is not possible to say or even to ask about its extent. Nevertheless mortals must endure affliction when it is heaven-sent. Compose yourself, and even though you groan at our loss, relate the sum of our disaster and speak out! Who is there that is not dead? Whom of our leaders must we bewail? Who, appointed to wield command, by death left his post empty, without its chief?

MESSENGER: Xerxes himself lives and beholds the light.

ATOSSA: The words you utter bring a great light of joy into my house, and bright day after night wrapped in gloom.

MESSENGER: But Artembares, commander of ten thousand cavalrymen, is being battered now against Silenia’s cruel shore. And Dadaces, leader of a thousand men, leapt, struck by a spear, with a nimble bound from his ship. Tenagon, the true-born Bactrians’ chieftain, is ranging now around the surf-beaten isle of Ajax. Lilaeus and Arsames, and, third, Argestes, kept buffeting against its rugged shore, whirled around about the island,the breeding-place of doves. Arcteus, too, who lived by the waters of the Egyptian Nile, Adeues, and Pharnuchus of the mighty shield—all these were hurled out of one ship. Matallus of Chrysa, commander of ten thousand, leader of the Black Cavalry, thirty thousand strong, in death dyed red his thick and shaggy beard, changing its color with a deep crimson stain. Arabus, too, the Magian, perished there, and Bactrian Artabes, a settler now in a rugged land. Amistris, and Amphistreus, wielder of a painful spear, and brave Ariomardus, whose death brought grief to Sardis, and Seisames the Mysian, and Tharybis, admiral of five times fifty ships, a Lyrnaean by descent, a man of physical beauty, lies dead in a state of misery, no longer attended by good fortune. Syennesis, also, the governor of the Cilicians, foremost in courage, he whose prowess did the foe most harm, found there a glorious death. Such were the leaders about whom I was making my report. Although our losses were many, I announce but few.

ATOSSA: Alas! The words I hear put the very crown upon our woes; a disgrace to the Persians and cause for shrill lament. But retrace your tale and tell me this clearly: how great was the number of the Greek ships which gave them confidence enough to go into battle with their armed prows against the Persian army?

MESSENGER: If numbers had been the only factor, be assured that the barbarians would have gained the victory with their fleet. For the whole number of the ships of Hellas amounted to ten times thirty, and, in addition to these, there was a chosen squadron of ten. But Xerxes, this I know, had under his command a thousand, while those excelling in speed were twice a hundred, and seven more. This is the total of their respective numbers. Do you think that we were simply outnumbered in this contest? No, it was some divine power that tipped the scale of fortune with unequal weight and thus destroyed our host. The gods preserve the city of the goddess Pallas.

ATOSSA: Is then the city of Athens not yet despoiled?

MESSENGER: No, while her men still live, her ramparts are impregnable.

ATOSSA: But the beginning of the encounter of the fleets, tell me about it. Who began the onset? Was it the Hellenes? Or my son, exulting in the multitude of his ships?

MESSENGER: My Queen, some destructive power or evil spirit, appearing from somewhere or other, caused the beginning of our utter rout. A Hellene, from the Athenian host, came to your son Xerxes and told this tale: that, when the gloom of black night should set in, the Hellenes would not remain in place, but, springing upon the rowing benches of their ships, would seek, some here, some there, to preserve their lives by stealthy flight. But Xerxes, when he heard this, comprehending neither the cleverness of the Greek nor that the gods grudged him success, straightway gave all his captains orders to this effect—that, when the sun had ceased to illumine the earth with his beams, and darkness had covered the region of the sky, they should bring up in a tight group the main body of the fleet, disposed in triple line, to bar the exits and the sounding straits, and station other ships in a circle around the island of Ajax. He gave them a warning too that, should the Hellenes escape an evil doom, finding by stealth some means of flight for their fleet, it had been decreed that every captain should lose his head. These commands he made with complete confidence of heart, since he knew not the issue intended by the gods. Our crews then, with no lack of order but with an obedient spirit, prepared their evening meal, while each sailor looped his oar about its thole-pin so that it fitted well. But when the light of the sun had faded and night drew on, each master of an oar and each man versed in arms went on board. The long galleys cheered each other, line by line; and they held their course as each captain had been ordered, and all through the night the commanders of the fleet kept their whole force cruising to and fro across the strait. Night began to wane, yet the fleet of the Hellenes in no way attempted to put forth by stealth. When, however, radiant Day with her white horses shone over all the land, a loud cheer like a song of triumph first rang out from the Hellenes, and, at the same instant, clear from the island crags, an echo returned an answering cry. Terror fell on all the barbarians, balked of their purpose; for then the Hellenes chanted their solemn paean, not as in flight, but as men rushing to the onset with the courage of gallant hearts.

The trumpet with its blast set all their side afire, and instantly, at the word of command, with the even stroke of foaming oars they struck the briny deep. Swiftly they all came clear into view. Their right wing, well marshalled, led on in orderly advance, next their whole army pressed on against us, and at the same time a loud shout met our ears: On, you men of Hellas! Free your native land. Free your children, your wives, the temples of your fathers’ gods,and the tombs of your ancestors. Now you are fighting for all you have. Then from our side arose in response the mingled clamor of Persian speech, and straightaway the ships dashed together their bronze prows. It was a ship of Hellas that began the charge and chopped off in its entirety the curved stern of a Phoenician boat. Each captain drove his ship straight against some other ship. At first the stream of the Persian army held its own. When, however, the mass of our ships had been crowded in the narrows, and none could render another aid, and each crashed its bronze prow against each of its own line, they splintered their whole bank of oars. Then the Hellenic galleys, not heedless of their chance, hemmed them in and battered them on every side. The hulls of our vessels rolled over, and the sea was hidden from our sight, strewn as it was with wrecks and slaughtered men. The shores and reefs were crowded with our dead, and every ship that formed a part of the barbarian fleet plied its oars in disorderly flight. But, as if our men were tuna or some haul of fish, the foe kept striking and hacking them with broken oars and fragments of wrecked ships. Groans and shrieks together filled the open sea until the face of black night hid the scene. But as for the the full extent of our disasters, this, even if I had ten days in succession to do so, I could not describe to you. However, you can be sure that so great a multitude of men never perished in a single day.

ATOSSA: Alas! In truth a vast sea of troubles has burst upon the Persians and the entire barbarian race.

MESSENGER: Be assured of this, not even half of the disaster has as yet been told. A calamity so dreadful as to outweigh these ills twice over befell them.

Part 4

ATOSSA: But what greater misfortune than this could have befallen them? Speak! What is this other disaster you say came upon our force, sinking the scale to greater weight of ill?

MESSENGER: Those Persians who were in their life’s prime, bravest in spirit, pre-eminent for noble birth, and always among the foremost in loyalty to the King himself— these have fallen ignobly by a most inglorious doom.

ATOSSA: Ah, I am truly reduced to misery through this disaster! By what fate was it that you say they met their end?

MESSENGER: There is an islandlying before Salamis, a small one and dangerous anchorage for ships; its sea-washed shore is the haunt of Pan, who loves the dance. There Xerxes dispatched these, his choicest troops, in order that when the Hellenic enemy, wrecked from their ships, should flee in search of safety to the island, they might slaughter their force, an easy prey, and rescue their comrades from the straits of the sea. Grievously did he misjudge the issue. For when some god had given the glory to the Hellenes in the battle on the sea, on that same day, fencing their bodies in armor of bronze, they leapt from their ships and encircled the whole island, so that our men were at a loss which way to turn. Often they were struck by stones slung from their hands, and arrows sped from the bow-string kept falling upon them and doing them harm. At last the Hellenes, charging with one shout, struck them and hacked to pieces the limbs of the poor wretches, until they had utterly quenched the life of all. Xerxes groaned aloud when he beheld the extent of the disaster, for he occupied a seat commanding a clear view of the entire army—a lofty headland by the open sea. Tearing his robes and uttering a loud cry, he straightaway gave orders to his force on land and dismissed them in disorderly flight. This, besides the one already told, is the disaster you must bewail.

ATOSSA: O hateful divinity, how have you foiled the purpose of the Persians! Cruel was the vengeance which my son brought upon himself for his designs against illustrious Athens; the barbarians whom Marathon destroyed were not enough. It was in an effort to exact retribution for them that my son has drawn upon himself so great a multitude of woes. But the ships that escaped destruction—tell me about them. Where did you leave them? Can you give a clear report?

MESSENGER: The commanders of the ships which still remained fled with a rush in disorder wherever the wind bore them. As for the survivors of the army, they perished in Boeotian territory, some, faint from thirst, beside a refreshing spring, while some of us, exhausted and panting, made our way to the land of the Phocians, to Doris and the Melian gulf, where the Spercheus waters the plain with kindly stream. Coming from there, badly in need of food, we received welcome in the Achaean land and the cities of the Thessalians. There it was that many perished of thirst and hunger, for we were oppressed by both. And we came to the Magnesian land and to the country of the Macedonians, to the ford of the Axius and Bolbe’s reedy marsh, and to Mount Pangaeus, in the Edonian land. But on that night the god roused winter before its time and froze the stream of sacred Strymon from shore to shore. Many a man who before that had held the gods in no esteem, implored them then in supplication, doing obeisance to earth and heaven. But when our host had made an end of its fervent invocation of the gods, it ventured to pass across the ice-bound stream. And each of us who started on his way before the sun god dispersed his beams, found himself in safety, for the bright orb of the sun with its burning rays heated the middle section and pierced it with its flames. One after another our men sank in, and fortunate indeed was he who perished soonest. The survivors, after making their way through Thrace with great hardship, —and few they were indeed—escaped to the safety of the land of their homes; now the city of the Persians may make lament in regret for the beloved youth of the land. What I say is true, yet much remains untold of the ills launched by Heaven upon the Persians. Exit

CHORUS: O unearthly power, source of our cruel distress, with what crushing weight have you fallen upon the whole Persian race!

ATOSSA: How the utter destruction of our host distresses me! O vivid vision of my dreams at night, how clearly did you signify misfortune to me! And all too lightly did you in turn interpret it. However, since your explanation determined thus, first of all I wish to offer prayers to the gods, and then I will return after I have brought from the palace a sacrificial cake as a gift to Earth and the dead. I know indeed that it is for what cannot be undone, yet I do this in the hope that something more auspicious may come to pass in the future. But you should confer faithfully with the faithful counsellors in view of what has befallen. And as for my son, if he should come here before I return, comfort him and escort him to the palace, so that he will not inflict on himself some further ill to crown those already ours. Exit

CHORUS: O sovereign Zeus, by destroying the army of the haughty and multitudinous Persians, you have shrouded in the gloom of grief the city of Susa and of Agbatana! Many a woman, who has a share in this sorrow, tears her veil with tender hands and moistens with drenching tears the robe covering her bosom. And the Persian wives, indulging in soft wailing through longing to behold their lords and abandoning the daintily wrought coverlets of their couches, the delight of their youth, mourn with complainings that know no end. So I too sustain the truly woeful fate of those who are gone.

CHORUS: For now in truth the whole land of Asia, decimated, moans: Xerxes led forth (woe!), Xerxes laid low (woe!), Xerxes disposed all things imprudently with his sea-going vessels. Why then was Darius in his time so unscathed by disaster, he who was ruler of archers, to the men of Susa a beloved leader?

CHORUS: For infantry and seamen both, the ships, dark-eyedand linen-winged, led forth (woe!), the ships laid them low (woe!), the ships, under the deadly impact of the foe and by the hands of Ionians. The King himself, as we learn, has barely made his escape over the wintry paths which traverse the plains of Thrace.

CHORUS: And they who were first to meet their doom (alas!), left behind by dire necessity (alas!), are swept along the Cychrean strand (woe!). Groan and gnash your teeth; in grievous strain shout forth our woes till they reach the heavens (alas!), raise high your wailing clamor in cries of misery.

CHORUS: Lacerated by the swirling waters (alas!) they are gnawed (alas!) by the voiceless children of the undefiled sea (alas!). The home, bereaved of his presence, laments its head; and parents, bereft of their children, in their old age bewail their heaven- sent woes (alas!), now that they learn the full measure of their afflictions.

CHORUS: Not now for long will those who dwell throughout the length and breadth of Asia abide under the sway of the Persians, nor will they pay further tribute at the compulsion of their lord, nor will they prostrate themselves to the earth and do him reverence; for the royal power has perished utterly.

No longer will men keep a curb upon their tongues; for the people are set free to utter their thoughts at will, now that the yoke of power has been broken. The blood-stained soil of Ajax’ sea-washed isle holds all that once was Persia.

ATOSSA: My friends, whoever has experience of misery knows that when a sea of troubles comes upon mortal men, they view all things with alarm; but when fortune flows with prosperous tide, they believe that this same fortune will forever bring them success. Now in my case everything seems full of dread; before my eyes appears the enmity of the gods, and in my ears there rings a sound that has no note of joy; such is my consternation at the evil tidings which terrify my soul. It is for this reason that I have come here from the palace once again, without my chariot and my former pomp, and bring, as propitiatory libations for the father of my son, offerings that soothe the dead, both white milk, pleasant to drink, from an unblemished cow, and bright honey, distillation wrought from blossoms by the bee, together with lustral water from a virgin spring; and from a rustic source, this unmixed draught, the quickening juice of an ancient vine. Here too is the fragrant fruit of the pale-green olive that lives the entirety of its life in luxuriant foliage; and garlanded flowers, produce of the bounteous earth. But come, my friends, chant solemn songs as I make these libations to the dead, and summon forth the divine spirit of Darius, while I convey, in honor of the gods, these offerings for the earth to drink.

CHORUS: Royal lady, august queen of the Persians, pour these libations down to the chambers of the earth, while we, in solemn chant, beseech the guides of the dead beneath the earth to be gracious to our prayers. O holy divinities of the nether world, Earth and Hermes, and you, Lord of the dead, send up to the light the spirit from below; for if, beyond our prayers, he knows any further remedy for our distress, he alone of mortals can declare how to bring it to accomplishment.

CHORUS: Does our sainted and godlike king hear me as I utter, in obscure barbaric speech, my dismal and dolorous cries? Or must I shout aloud the utter misery of my anguish so that it pierces the earth? Does he hear me from below?

CHORUS: O Earth, and you other rulers of those who dwell in the nether world, ensure, I implore, that the glorious spirit, the god of the Persians, whom Susa bore, may quit his abode. Send to the upper world him the likes of whom the Persian earth has never entombed.

CHORUS: Beloved indeed was the hero, beloved is his burial mound; beloved are the qualities that lie buried there. O Aidoneus, Aidoneus, who convey shades to the upper air, permit our divine lord Darius to come forth!

Part 5

CHORUS: For since he did not ever cause the destruction of his people by senseless and ruinous wars, he bore the name of divine counsellor to the Persians; and a divine counsellor he was, since he guided his people well.

CHORUS: King, our king of old, come forth, draw near! Rise to the barrow’s topmost point, lift your saffron-dyed sandal, display the crest of your royal tiara! Come forth, O blameless father Darius.

CHORUS: That you may hear pitiable and unheard-of sorrows, O Lord of our lord, appear! For a gloom, like that of Styx, hovers over us, since all the youth of the land is now utterly destroyed. Come forth, O blameless father Darius!

CHORUS: Alas, alas! You whose death your friends bewailed with bitter tears, why, my king, my king, why is it that our land has lost all its three-tiered galleys, ships that are no more, no more?

GHOST OF DARIUS: O most faithful of the faithful, comrades of my youth, aged Persians, what is it that is troubling the state? The earth groans and is furrowed by the stamp of men. As I behold my wife by my tomb, I feel alarm, and I accept her libations in kindly mood; while you, standing near my tomb, make lament, and with shrill cries that summon the spirits of the dead, invoke me piteously. Not easy is the path out of the tomb, for this reason above all, that the gods beneath the earth are readier to seize than to release. Nevertheless, since I have obtained dominion among them, I have come. But make haste, so that I may not incur blame regarding the time of my sojourn. What is this unexpected ill that weighs the Persians down?

CHORUS: I shrink in awe from gazing upon you. I shrink in awe from speaking in your presence by reason of my former dread of you.

DARIUS: Since, in compliance with your moanings, I have come from the world below, lay aside your awe of me; make your tale not long, but brief; speak out and deliver your story in its entirety.

CHORUS: I fear to do your bidding; I fear to speak in your presence and deliver to those I love news hard to utter.

DARIUS: Since dread long ingrained in your mind restrains you, cease, noble woman, venerable partner of my bed, from your tears and laments, speak to me with all frankness. Afflictions ordained for human life must, we know, befall mankind. For many calamities from the sea, many from the land, arise to mortal men if their span of life is extended far.

ATOSSA: O you who in prosperity surpassed all mortal men by your happy destiny, since, so long as you gazed upon the beams of the sun, you lived a life of felicity, envied of all, in Persian eyes a god, so now too I consider you fortunate in that you died before you beheld the depth of our calamities. The whole tale, O Darius, you will hear in brief space of time: the power of Persia is ruined almost utterly.

DARIUS: How did it happen? Did some stroke of pestilence or factional strife come upon the State?

ATOSSA: Neither; but near Athens our whole host has been brought to ruin.

DARIUS: Tell me, what son of mine led our army there?

ATOSSA: Impetuous Xerxes, depopulating the whole surface of the continent.

DARIUS: Was it by land or sea that he made this mad expedition, the reckless man?

ATOSSA: By both. There was a twofold front of double armies.

DARIUS: But how was it that so vast a land force won a passage to the farther shore?

ATOSSA: By a clever device he yoked the Hellespont so as to gain a passage.

DARIUS: What! Did he succeed in closing the mighty Bosporus?

ATOSSA: Yes indeed. One of the divine powers must have assisted him in his purpose.

Part 6

DARIUS: Alas! Some mighty power came upon him so that he was not able to think clearly.

ATOSSA: Yes, since we can see the outcome, what ruin he wrought.

DARIUS: And how then did they fare that you now lament them?

ATOSSA: Disaster to the naval force brought ruin to the force on land.

DARIUS: And did the whole army utterly perish by the spear?

ATOSSA: Yes, and it is for this reason that the whole city of Susa groans at its desolation.

DARIUS: Alas for the loss of our warriors’ valiant force and defence!

ATOSSA: And the host of the Bactrians is lost, wholly destroyed: not even an old man is left.

DARIUS: Unhappy man, since he has brought to ruin the youth of our allies.

ATOSSA: But Xerxes, alone and forlorn, with scanty train, they say—

DARIUS: Met his end, how, tell me, and where? Of his safety is there any hope?

ATOSSA: To his joy he reached the bridge yoking the two continents.

DARIUS: And reached our continent in safety? Is this certain?

ATOSSA: Yes, a proven report establishes this. Doubt there is none.

DARIUS: Alas! The fulfilment of the oracles has indeed come swiftly, and it is my son upon whom Zeus has caused their issue to descend. Yet I was confident that, only after long lapse of time, the gods would in some way bring them to accomplishment; nevertheless, when man hastens to his own undoing, the god too participates with him. A fountain of misfortune has now, I think, been discovered for all I love. A son of mine it was who, in his ignorance, brought these things to pass through youthful recklessness; for he conceived the hope that he could by shackles, as if it were a slave, restrain the current of the sacred Hellespont, the Bosporus, a stream divine; he set himself to fashion a roadway of a new type, and, by casting upon it hammer-wrought fetters, made a spacious causeway for his mighty host. Mortal though he was, he thought in his folly that he would gain the mastery of all the gods, yes, even over Poseidon. Must this not have been a disease of the soul that possessed my son? I fear that the plenteous treasure amassed by my toil may become the prey of the spoiler.

ATOSSA: This lesson impetuous Xerxes learned through conversation with evil men. For they kept telling him that, whereas you won plentiful treasure for your children by your spear, he, on his part, through lack of manly spirit, played the warrior at home and did not increase his father’s wealth. Hearing such taunts many a time from evil counsellors, he planned this expedition and army against Hellas.

DARIUS: Therefore a calamity dreadful and unforgettable has been caused by him, a desolating calamity such as never before befell this city of Susa since our Lord Zeus first ordained that one ruler should bear sway over all Asia with its flocks and wield the sceptre of its government. For Medus was first to be the leader of its host; and another, his son, completed his work since wisdom ruled his spirit. Third, after him, Cyrus, blessed in good fortune, came to the throne and established peace for all his people. The Lydians and Phrygians he won to his rule, and the whole of Ionia he subdued by force; for he won the favor of the gods through his right-mindedness. Fourth in succession, the son of Cyrus ruled the host. Fifth in the list, Mardus came to power, a disgrace to his native land and to the ancient throne; but he was slain in his palace by the guile of noble Artaphrenes, with the help of friends whose duty this was. Sixth came Maraphis, and seventh Artaphrenes. And I in turn attained the lot I desired, and many a campaign I made with a valiant force; but disaster so dire as this I brought not upon the state. Yet Xerxes my son, youth that he is, has the mind of youth and does not remember my injunctions. Be sure of this, my age-mates: all of us who have held this sovereign power cannot be shown to have wrought ruin as great as this.

CHORUS: What then, O king Darius? What is the intention of your words? How, after this reverse, may we, the people of Persia, best prosper in time to come?

DARIUS: If you do not take the field against the Hellenes’ land, even if the forces of the Medes outnumber theirs. The land itself is their ally.

CHORUS: What do you mean? In what way their ally?

Part 7

DARIUS: It wastes with famine an enemy force which is too large.

CHORUS: But we will dispatch a force of select and easily managed troops.

DARIUS: Not even the host which now remains in Hellas will be able to return to safety.

CHORUS: How is that? Will not the whole barbarian army cross from Europe over the Hellespont?

DARIUS: Few indeed out of many, if it is right to put any faith in the oracles of Heaven, with regard to what has just been brought to pass; for they are fulfilled, not just some, while others fail. And if this is truth, it is through persuasion of vain hopes that he is leaving behind a body of picked troops. They are now lingering where the plain is watered by the stream of Asopus which nourishes Boeotia’s fields. Here they will meet their crowning disaster in requital for their presumptuous pride and impious thoughts. For, on reaching the land of Hellas, restrained by no religious awe, they ravaged the images of the gods and set fire to their temples. Altars have been destroyed, statues of the gods have been thrown from their bases in utter ruin and confusion. Therefore, since they wrought such evil, evil they suffer in no less measure; and other evils are still in store: the spring of their woes is not yet quenched, but it still wells forth. For so great will be the mass of clotted gore spilled by the Dorian lance upon Plataean soil that heaps of dead will reveal, even to the third generation, a voiceless record for the eyes of men that mortal man should not vaunt himself excessively. For presumptuous pride, when it has matured, bears as its fruit a crop of calamity, from which it reaps an abundant harvest of tears. Bear in mind that such are the penalties for deeds like these, and hold Athens and Hellas in your memory. Let no one of you, through disdain of present fortune and lust for more, squander his abundant wealth. Zeus, in truth, is a chastiser of overweening pride and corrects with heavy hand. Therefore, now that my son has been warned to be prudent by the voice of God, instruct him with admonitions of reason to cease from drawing the punishment of Heaven on himself by his vaunting rashness. And as for you, beloved and venerable mother of Xerxes, withdraw to the palace and bring from there clothing which is suitable for him, and prepare to meet your son. For through grief at his misfortunes, the embroidered apparel which he was wearing has been torn into tattered shreds. Soothe him with words of kindness; for it is to your voice alone, I know, that he will listen. As for me, I depart to the darkness beneath the earth. Farewell, Elders, and despite your troubles, rejoice while each day is yours; for wealth does not profit the dead at all. The ghost of Darius descends

CHORUS: I grieve as I hear the many misfortunes that are now, and are yet to be, the lot of the barbarians.

ATOSSA: O God! How much grief assails me! But most of all this sorrow wounds me, to hear of the shameful clothes which are now worn by my son. But I will depart, and when I have brought appropriate garments from the palace, I will make attempt to meet my son; for I will not forsake him whom I love so well in his affliction. Exit

CHORUS: Oh yes, it was in truth a glorious and good life under civil government that we enjoyed so long as our aged and all-powerful king, who did no wrong and did not favor war, god-like Darius, ruled the realm.

CHORUS: In the first place we showed to the world armies worthy of our fame, and civil institutions, like towers in strength, regulated all the state; and our return from war brought back our men, unworn and unsuffering, to happy homes.

CHORUS: And what a number of cities he captured!— without crossing the stream of Halys or even stirring from his own hearth: such as the Acheloancities on the Strymonian sea which is located beside the Thracian settlements.

CHORUS: And those outside the lake, the cities on the mainland, surrounded with a rampart, obeyed him as their king; those, too, that boast to be on both sides of the broad Hellespont and Propontis, deeply-recessed, and the outlet of Pontus.

CHORUS: The sea-washed islands, also, off the projecting arm of the sea, lying close to this land of ours, such as Lesbos, and olive-planted Samos, Chios and Paros, Naxos, Mykonos, and Andros which lies adjacent to Tenos.

CHORUS: And he held under his sway the sea-girt islands midway between the continents, Lemnos, and the settlement of Icarus, and Rhodes, and Cnidos, and the Cyprian cities Paphos, Soli, and Salamis, whose mother-city is now the cause of our lament.

CHORUS: And the rich and populous cities of the Hellenes in the Ionian heritage he controlled by his own will; and at his command he had an unwearied strength of men-at-arms and of allies from every nation. But now, worsted completely in war through disasters on the sea, we endure this change of fortune no doubt from the hand of god.

XERXES: Alas, wretched am I who have met this cruel doom which did not give the faintest sign of its coming! In what savage mood has Fortune trampled upon the Persian race? What misery is yet in store for me, unhappy wretch? The strength of my limbs is loosened as I look upon this aged group of citizens. Ah, Zeus,I wish that the doom of death had buried me, too, together with the men who have been laid low!

CHORUS: Alas, my king, for our noble army, for the high honor of Persia’s rule, and for the splendor of the men now cut off by Fate! The land bewails her native youth, slaughtered for Xerxes, who has crowded Hades with Persian slain. Many warriors, masters of the bow, our country’s pride, a great multitude of men, have perished. Alas, alas, for our trusty defence! The land of Asia, the leading power of the earth, has piteously, yes piteously, been bowed to her knees.

XERXES: Behold me, alas, a fitting subject for lamentation, born a source of ruin to my race and fatherland.

CHORUS: As a greeting for your return home I will lift up an ill-omened cry of woe, the voice, versed in lamentation, of a Mariandynian mourner, a wail attended by many a tear.

XERXES: Utter a strain of lamentation, plaintive and discordant. For Fortune has now veered and turned against me.

CHORUS: I will indeed utter the song of lamentation in commemoration of your sufferings and of our strongly-manned ships, buffeted by waves; the plaintive strain of our land which mourns its sons. And I will cry aloud in lamentation, shedding many a tear.

Part 8

XERXES: Yes, for the Ionian naval force, turning the tide of battle, swept them away, the Ionian host, ravaging the dark sea and the shore of doom.

CHORUS: Woe! woe! cry aloud, learn about the whole disaster. Where is the rest of the multitude of your comrades? Where are those who stood by your side, such as Pharandaces, Susas, Pelagon, Dotamas, and Agdabatas, Psammis, and Susiscanes of Agbatana?

XERXES: By the shores of Salamis, dashing against its rugged shore, I left them, fallen in death from a Tyrian ship.

CHORUS: Woe! woe! cry aloud! Where is your beloved Pharnuchus, and the courageous Ariomardus? Where is prince Seualces, or Lilaeus of noble lineage, Memphis, Tharybis and Masistras, Artembares and Hystaechmas? This I ask you.

XERXES: Woe, woe is me! They beheld ancient and hateful Athens and with one convulsive struggle (alas, alas !) poor wretches, they lie gasping on the shore.

CHORUS: Did you really lose your trusty eyethere, that which counted tens upon tens of thousands of the Persians, Batanochus’ son Alpistus . . . son of Sesames, Megabates’ son, Parthos and mighty Oebares, did you leave these behind? Alas, alas, the unhappy men! You speak of woe, surpassing woe, for noble Persians.

XERXES: In truth you stir yearning in me for my gallant comrades when you tell me of woe, surpassing woe, hateful and unforgettable. The heart within me cries out aloud for the wretched ones.

CHORUS: And yet there are others too whom we miss: Xanthis, commander of a myriad Mardian men, and warlike Anchares, Diaexis, too, and Arsaces, captains of the horse, Cegdadatas and Lythimnas, and Tolmus, insatiate in war. I marvel, that they do not follow behind around your wheeled tent.

XERXES: Gone are they who were leaders of the host.

CHORUS: Gone, alas, ingloriously.

XERXES: Alas, alas!

CHORUS: Alas, alas, you powers divine, you brought ruin upon us, unexpected, unmistakable to see, as is the glance of calamity.

XERXES: We have been stricken by misfortune such as will endure for ages.

CHORUS: We have been stricken; it is abundantly clear.

XERXES: By strange woe, strange woe!

CHORUS: It was with bad luck that we encountered Ionia’s mariners. Unfortunate in war, indeed, is Persia’s race.

XERXES: How true it is. In the loss of so great an army I have indeed been dealt a blow, wretched as I am.

CHORUS: What that belonged to Persia, unfortunate one, has not been destroyed?

XERXES: Do you see this remnant of my royal robe?

CHORUS: Yes, I do indeed.

Part 9

XERXES: And this quiver—

CHORUS: What is this you say has been saved?

XERXES: Treasury for shafts?

CHORUS: Truly a small remnant from an ample store.

XERXES: We have been deprived of defenders.

CHORUS: Ionia’s people shrink not from the spear.

XERXES: They are a war-like people. I have lived to behold a calamity I never expected.

CHORUS: Are you speaking of the routed multitude which manned your ships?

XERXES: And I rent my robe at the disastrous event.

CHORUS: Alas, alas!

XERXES: No, far worse than alas.

CHORUS: Yes, for twofold and threefold—

XERXES: Pain to us, but exultation to our enemies

CHORUS: Yes, and our strength has been maimed.

XERXES: I am stripped of my escort.

CHORUS: By the disasters of your comrades upon the sea.

XERXES: Weep, weep over our calamity, and depart to your homes.

CHORUS: Alas, alas, woe, woe!

XERXES: Cry aloud now in response to me.

CHORUS: A wretched offering from the wretched to the wretched.

Part 10

XERXES: Cry out, tuning your strain to mine.

CHORUS: Oh, oh! That which has happened is grievous indeed. Alas, for I too share in your sorrow.

XERXES: Strike, strike, and groan for my sake.

CHORUS: I weep in lamentation!

XERXES: Now cry aloud in response to me.

CHORUS: This care, my lord, is mine.

XERXES: Lift up your voice now in lamentation.

CHORUS: Oh, oh! And with our wailing, alas, will be mingled bruising blows and shrieks of pain.

XERXES: Beat your breast too, and raise the Mysian wail.

CHORUS: Anguish, anguish!

XERXES: And tear, I beg of you, the white hair from your beard.

CHORUS: With clenched nails, with clenched nails, with loud wailing.

XERXES: And utter shrill cries.

CHORUS: This too I will do.

XERXES: And with your fingers tear the robe which drapes you.

CHORUS: Anguish, anguish!

XERXES: Pluck out your locks, and lament our host.

CHORUS: With clenched nails, with clenched nails, with loud wailing.

XERXES: Let tears moisten your eyes.

CHORUS: I am drenched with tears.

Part 11

XERXES: Cry aloud now in response to me.

CHORUS: Alas, alas!

XERXES: With sounds of wailing go to your homes.

CHORUS: Alas, alas!

XERXES: Alas! through the city.

CHORUS: Alas, indeed!

XERXES: Pour forth your wails as you move along with soft steps.

CHORUS: Alas, alas, O Persian land, grievous now to walk upon!

XERXES: Ah me! Those that perished in three-tiered galleys, ah me!

CHORUS: I will escort you with dismal sounds of woe. Exeunt omnes

Contents — 10 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10

Part 1

ETEOCLES: Men of Cadmus’s city, he who guards from the stern the concerns of the State and guides its helm with eyes untouched by sleep must speak to the point. For if we succeed, the responsibility is heaven’s; but if—may it not happen—disaster is our lot, Eteocles would be the one name shouted many times throughout the city in the citizens’ resounding uproars and laments. From these evils may Zeus the Defender, upholding his name, shield the city of the Cadmeans! But now you—both he who is still short of his youthful prime, and he who, though past his prime, still strengthens the abundant growth of his body, and every man still in his prime, as is fitting—you must aid the State and the altars of your homeland’s gods so that their honors may never be obliterated. You must aid, too, your children, and Mother Earth, your beloved nurse. For welcoming all the distress of your childhood, when you were young and crept upon her kind soil, she raised you to inhabit her and bear the shield, and to prove yourselves faithful in this time of need. And so, until today, God has been favorably inclined, for though we have long been under siege, the war has gone well for the most part through the gods’ will. But now, as the seer, the herdsman of birds, informs us, using his ears and his mind to understand with unerring skill the prophetic birds unaided by sacrificial fire—he, master of such prophecy, declares that the greatest Argive attack is being planned in night assembly and that they will make plans to capture our city. Hurry each of you to the battlements and the gates of our towered walls! Rush with all your armor! Fill the parapets and take your positions on the platforms of the towers. Stand your ground bravely where the gates open out, and do not be afraid of this crowd of foreigners. God will bring it to a good end. I myself have dispatched scouts and men to observe their army, and I am confident that their going is not in vain. Once I have heard their report, I will not be taken by any trickery.

SCOUT: Eteocles, mighty prince of the Cadmeans, I have returned with a sure report of the army outside the walls; I myself am an eyewitness of their actions. Seven warriors, fierce regiment-commanders, slaughtered a bull over a black shield, and then touching the bull’s gore with their hands they swore an oath by Ares, by Enyo, and by Rout who delights in blood, that either they will level the city and sack the Cadmeans’ town by force, or will in death smear this soil with their blood. And on Adrastus’ chariot they were placing remembrances of themselves for their parents at home, and were shedding tears while so doing, but no piteous wailing escaped their lips. For their iron- hearted spirit heaved, blazing with courage, as of lions with war in their eyes. Your knowledge of these things was not delayed by fearfulness; for I left them casting lots to decide how each commander, his post assigned by chance, would lead his regiment against the gates. Therefore, choose the bravest men of the city and station them quickly at the outlets of the gates. For nearby already the Argive army in full armor is advancing in a flurry of dust, and glistening foam splatters the plain in drops from the horses’ pantings. So you, like the careful helmsman of a ship, secure the city before Ares’ blasts storm down upon it; for the wave of their army now crashes over the dry land. Seize the first opportune moment for doing this. For all else, I, on my part, will keep a reliable eye on the lookout, and you, by learning from my certain report what happens beyond the gates, shall remain unharmed. Exit.

ETEOCLES: O Zeus and Earth, and gods that guard our city, and Curse, potent agent of my father’s vengeance, do not destroy my city, ripping it up from its foundations, captive of the enemy, a city that speaks in Greece’s tongue, and do not destroy our hearths and homes. May they never hold the free land and city of Cadmus beneath the yoke of slavery! Be our protection! I am certain that what I ask is in our common interest; for a State that prospers pays honors to its gods. Exit Eteocles, with citizens. The Chorus enters in fearful agitation.

CHORUS: In terror I wail loud cries of sorrow. Their army is let loose! Leaving camp, —look!—the mounted throng floods swiftly ahead. The dust whirling in the air tells me this is so—its message is speechless, yet clear and true. And now the plains of my native land under the blows of hooves send a roar to my ears; the sound flies and rumbles like a resistless torrent crashing down a mountainside. Ah, ah, you gods and goddesses, raise your war cry over our walls to drive away the onrushing evil! The army of the white shield, ready for battle, rushes at full speed against the city. Who then will rescue us, which of the gods or goddesses will help? Or shall I fall in supplication at the feet of our ancestral gods’ statues? Ah, blessed gods, firmly enthroned, the time has come to hold fast to your statues. Why do we delay, who are much to be lamented? Do you hear the clash of shields, or does it escape you? When, if not now, shall we place sacred robes and wreaths on the statues to accompany our prayers? I see the clash—it is not the clatter of a single spear. What will you do? Will you betray your own land, Ares, where you have dwelt since long ago? God of the golden helmet, look, look upon the city that you once cherished!

CHORUS: Oh come all you gods who guard our city and its land! See this suppliant band of maidens praying to be saved from slavery. A torrent of men, their helmet plumes tossing, crashes around the city, sped on by the blasts of Ares. No! Father Zeus, all-accomplishing, fend from us altogether capture at the hands of the enemy. The Argives encircle the citadel of Cadmus. Terror of their weapons of war shakes us, as the bridles in the horse’s jaws rattle the sound of death. Seven bold captains, conspicuous among the army in spear-wielding harnesses, at the seven gates [...] take their stand each according to his lot.

CHORUS: Pallas, Zeus-born power delighting in battle, prove yourself the savior of the city! And you, lord of steeds, ruler of the deep, Poseidon, with your fish-striking weapon grant us release from our fears, grant us release! You too, Ares—pity us!—guard the city named for Cadmus and make evident your closeness to us! And Cypris, you who are the first mother of our race, defend us who are sprung from your blood. We come to you, crying out in prayers for your divine ears. And you, Apollo, lord of the Wolf, be a wolf to the enemy force and give them groan for groan! You too, maiden child of Leto, ready your bow!

CHORUS: Ah! Ah! I hear the rattle of chariots encircling the town. O lady Hera! The hubs are creaking beneath the axles’ load. Beloved Artemis! The air rages at the shaking of spears! What is happening to our city? What will the future bring? And where does God finally lead us?

CHORUS: Ah! Ah! A hail of stones strikes our battlements from afar. O beloved Apollo! There is the clang of bronze-bound shields at the gates. O son of Zeus, in whom dwells the sacred power to decide in battle war’s outcome! And you, blessed queen Onca, on behalf of the city, defend your seven- gated home!

CHORUS: All-powerful divinities, you gods and goddesses who wield the power to guard the towers of our land, do not betray our city that now toils under the spear to an alien-tongued army. Hear us, hear, as is right, the prayers we maidens offer with outstretched hands.

CHORUS: Beloved spirits, encompass the city to deliver it from ruin and show that you love it. Consider the people’s offerings, and as you consider, help us. Remember, I beg, our city’s worship, rich in sacrifice..

ETEOCLES: You intolerable things! I ask you, is this the best way to save the city? Does it hearten our army here besieged, when you fall before the images of the gods that guard the city and shout and shriek—behavior that moderate people despise? May I never share my home with the female race, neither in time of evil nor in pleasant prosperity! When things go well for her, her boldness is unbearable, but when she is afraid, she is an even greater evil for home and city. So now your cries as you rushed here and there in panicked flight have rattled the citizens into dispirited cowardice. The cause of the enemy outside our gates is excellently strengthened by your behavior, while we inside are ruined by our own people. This is the sort of trouble you will have if you dwell with women. Now if anyone fails to obey my authority—whether man or woman or something in between—a sentence of death will be decreed for him and by no means whatsoever will he escape destruction by stoning at the people’s hands. It is for the man to take care of business outside the house; let no woman make decrees in those matters. Keep inside and do no harm! Do you hear me or not? Am I speaking to the deaf?

CHORUS: Dear son of Oedipus, I grew afraid when I heard the clatter of the crashing chariots, when the hubs screamed as they whirled around the wheel, and when I heard the sound of the steering gear, fire-forged bits, in the horses’ mouths.

ETEOCLES: Well, then, has a helmsman ever found a way to safety by fleeing from stern to prow, when his ship is foundering in high seas?

CHORUS: But trusting in the gods I came in haste to their ancient statues, when the deadly blizzard of falling stones thundered against the gates. Just then I set out in fear to pray to the Blessed Ones that they spread their protection over the city.

ETEOCLES: Pray that the rampart withstand the enemy spear. Yes, the outcome is in the gods’ hands—but then, it is said that the gods of a captured city abandon it.

CHORUS: Never so long as I live may this divine assembly abandon us, nor may I live to see the city overrun and the army seizing it with hostile fire!

ETEOCLES: When you invoke the gods, do not be ill-advised. For Obedience is the mother of Success, wife of Salvation—as the saying goes.

CHORUS: So she is, but the power of god is supreme, and often in bad times it raises the helpless man out of harsh misery even when stormclouds are lowering over his eyes.

ETEOCLES: It is the man’s duty to offer victims and sacrifices to the gods when they test their enemy; your duty is to be silent and to remain inside the house.

CHORUS: By the will of the gods we inhabit an unconquered city, and the rampart withstands the enemy throng. What indignation makes you resent this?

Part 2

ETEOCLES: I do not begrudge your honor of the divine race; but lest you make the citizens cowardly, be calm and do not be overly fearful.

CHORUS: When I heard the strange and jumbled clashes, I came in trembling fear to this citadel, our seat of worship.

ETEOCLES: If, then, you hear that men are dying or wounded, do not seize on the news with loud wailing. For this is the food of Ares, human blood.

CHORUS: Oh, but I hear horses snorting!

ETEOCLES: Hear them, then, but not too clearly.

CHORUS: The city groans from deep in the earth, as though we are surrounded.

ETEOCLES: Surely it is enough that I am making plans for this?

CHORUS: I am terrified—the crashing at the gates is increasing.

ETEOCLES: Won’t you be silent, and speak none of this throughout the city?

CHORUS: Divine company, do not betray our fortifications!

ETEOCLES: Damn you! Will you not endure these events in silence?

CHORUS: Gods of our city! Do not let my fate be slavery!

ETEOCLES: You would enslave both me and all the city.

CHORUS: Almighty Zeus, turn your missile against the enemy!

ETEOCLES: O Zeus, what a breed you have made for us in women!

CHORUS: A breed steeped in misery, just like men whose city is captured.

ETEOCLES: Why are your words ill-omened, when you still grasp the gods’ statues?

CHORUS: In my weakness fear controls my tongue.

ETEOCLES: If only you would grant my plea for a small service.

CHORUS: Please state it as quickly as possible, and I will quickly know what to do.

Part 3

ETEOCLES: Be silent, wretched woman; do not terrify your own men.

CHORUS: I am silent. I will suffer what is destined together with the others.

ETEOCLES: I welcome this sentiment of yours over what you said before. And in addition, keep your distance from the gods’ images and make a stronger prayer, that the gods fight on our side. And once you have heard my prayers, then sing the victory song, the sacred cry of joy and goodwill, our Greek ritual of shouting in tribute, that brings courage to our friends and dissolves fear of the enemy. And now Here Eteocles makes his vow. to the gods who guard our city’s land, both those who dwell in the plain and those who watch over its meeting-place, to Dirce’s springs and the waters of Ismenus, I vow that, if things go well and the city is saved, the citizens shall redden the gods’ altars with the blood of sheep and sacrifice bulls to the gods—this is my vow—and offer trophies, while I will crown their holy temples with the spoil of the enemy’s spear-pierced garments. Make this kind of prayer to the gods, without your previous lamentation, nor with wild and useless panting; for you will not escape your destiny any the more. As for me, I will go station six men, with me as the seventh, as champions to oppose the enemy in proud fashion at the seven exits in the wall, even before speedy messengers or swift-rushing reports arrive and inflame us with urgent need. Exit.

CHORUS: I heed him, but through terror my heart finds no repose. Anxieties border upon my heart and kindle my fear of the army surrounding our walls, as a trembling dove fears for her children in the nest because of snakes that are dangerous bed-fellows. For against our fortifications some are advancing with all their men, all in formation. Ah, what will become of me? Others are hurling jagged boulders at the citizens on all sides. O Gods born of Zeus, by every means rescue our city and people, sprung from Cadmus!

CHORUS: What more fertile plain will you find in place of ours, if you abandon to the enemy this deep-soiled land and the water of Dirce which is the most nourishing of the streams that earth-encircling Poseidon and Tethys’ children pour forth? Therefore, divine guardians of the city, hurl murderous destruction on the men outside our walls and panic that makes them throw away their weapons, and so win glory for these citizens. Defend the city and remain in possession of your home and throne in answer to our shrill, wailing prayers!

CHORUS: It is a great cause for grief to hurl a primeval city to Hades in this way, quarry and slave of the spear, ravaged shamefully in the dusty ashes by an Argive man through divine will. And grief, too, to let the women be led away captive—ah me!—young and old, dragged by the hair, like horses, with their cloaks torn off them. A city, emptied, shouts out as the human booty perishes with mingled cries. A heavy fate, indeed, my fear anticipates.

CHORUS: It is a lamentable thing that modest girls should be plucked unripe, before the customary rites, and should make a loathsome journey from their homes. What? I declare that the dead will do better than the captives; for when a city is subdued—ah, ah!—many and miserable are its sufferings. Man drags off man, or kills, or sets fires; the whole city is defiled with smoke. Mad Ares storms, subduing the people and polluting reverence.

CHORUS: Tumults swell through the town, and against it a towering net is advancing. Man falls before man beneath the spear. Sobs and wails over gore-covered babes, just nursed at their mothers’ breasts, resound. Rape and pillage of those fleeing through the city are the deeds of one’s own blood. Plunderer joins up with plunderer; the empty-handed calls to the empty-handed, wishing to have a partner, each greedy for neither less nor equal share. Reason exists for imagining what will come after this.

CHORUS: The earth’s varied fruits, fallen to the ground, give pain, a bitter sight for the maid-servants. In jumbled confusion the abundant gifts of earth are carried away by reckless looting waves. Young women, enslaved, suffer a new evil: a bed of misery, prize of the conquering enemy’s spear, as though of a prospering husband— they can expect the coming of the nightly rite, which gives aid to tears and anguish!

LEADER OF THE FIRST HALF-CHORUS: The scout, I believe, is bringing some fresh news of the army to us, my friends, since the joints of his legs are hastily speeding as they carry him on his mission.

LEADER OF THE SECOND HALF-CHORUS: And, indeed, here is our lord himself, the son of Oedipus, at the right moment to hear the messenger’s report. Haste makes his stride uneven, too.

SCOUT: It is with certain knowledge that I will give my account of the enemy’s actions, how each man according to lot has been posted at the gates. Tydeus is already storming opposite the Proetid gates; but the seer will not allow him to ford the Ismenus because the omens from the sacrifices are not favorable. Yet Tydeus, raging and eager for battle, shouts like a serpent hissing at high noon, and lashes skilled Oecles’ son, with the taunt that he cringes in cowardice before death and battle. With such cries he shakes three overshadowing plumes, his helmet’s mane, while from under his shield, bells forged of bronze therein ring out a fearsome clang. He has this haughty symbol on his shield: a well-crafted sky, ablaze with stars, and the brightness of the full moon shining in the center of the shield, the moon that is the most revered of the stars, the eye of night. Raving so in his arrogant armor, he shouts beside the river-bank, craving battle, like some charger that fiercely champs at the bit as he waits in eagerness for the trumpet’s war-cry. Whom will you send against him? Who will be capable of standing as our champion at the Proetid gate when its bars are loosened?

ETEOCLES: I would not tremble before any mere ornaments on a man. Nor can signs and symbols wound and kill—crests and bell have no bite without the spear. And regarding this "night" which you describe on his shield, sparkling with heaven’s stars—perhaps the folly of it might yield to one some prophetic understanding. For should night fall on this man’s eyes as he dies, then to its bearer this arrogant symbol would prove rightly and justly named; and it is against himself that he will have prophesied this outrageous violence. Now as for me, against Tydeus I will station the trusty son of Astacus as defender of this gate, since he is full noble and reveres the throne of Honor and detests proud speech. He is slow to act disgracefully, and he has no cowardly nature. His race springs from the men sown of the dragon’s teeth, from one of those whom Ares spared, and so Melanippus is truly born of our land. Ares will decide the outcome with a throw of the dice; but Justice, his kin by blood, indeed sends this man forth to keep the enemy spear from the mother that gave him birth. Exit Melanippus.

CHORUS: May the gods grant success to our champion, since he rises up in a just cause, to battle for his city! But I shudder to watch the bloody deaths of men cut down for the sake of their own people.

SCOUT: Yes, may the gods so grant success to this man. Capaneus is stationed at the Electran gates, another giant of a man, greater than the one described before. But his boast is too proud for a mere human, and he makes terrifying threats against our battlements—which, I hope, chance will not fulfil! For he says he will utterly destroy the city with god’s will or without it, and that not even conflict with Zeus, though it should fall before him in the plain, will stand in his way. The god’s lightning and thunderbolts he compares to midday heat. For his shield’s symbol he has a man without armor bearing fire, and the torch, his weapon, blazes in his hands; and in golden letters he says I will burn the city. Against such a man make your dispatch—who will meet him in combat, who will stand firm without trembling before his boasts?

ETEOCLES: Here too gain follows with interest from gain. The tongue proves in the end to be an unerring accuser of men’s wicked thoughts. Capaneus makes his threats, ready to act, irreverent toward the gods, and giving his tongue full exercise in wicked glee, he, though a mere mortal, sends a loud and swollen boast to Zeus in heaven. But I trust that the fire-bearing thunderbolt will justly come to him, and when it comes it will not be anything like the sun’s mid-day heat. And against him, even though he is a big talker, a man of fiery spirit, mighty Polyphontes, is stationed, a dependable sentinel with the good will of guardian Artemis and the other gods. Now tell me about another one allotted to other gates! Exit Polyphontes.

CHORUS: Death to him who exults so arrogantly over the city! May the thunderbolt stop him before he leaps into my home and plunders me from my maiden chambers with his outrageous spear!

SCOUT: Now I will tell you about the man who next drew station at the gates. The third lot leaped out of the upturned bronze helmet for Eteoclus, to hurl his band against the Neistan gates. He whirls his horses as they snort through their bridles, eager to fall against the gate. Their muzzles whistle in a barbarian way, filled with the breath of their haughty nostrils. His shield is decorated in great style: an armored man climbs a ladder’s rungs to mount an enemy tower that he wants to destroy. This one, too, shouts in syllables of written letters that even Ares could not hurl him from the battlements. Send a dependable opponent against this man, too, to keep the yoke of slavery from our city.

ETEOCLES: I would send this man here, and with good fortune. Exit Megareus. Indeed, he has already been sent, his only boast in his hands, Megareus, Creon’s seed, of the race of the sown- men. He will not withdraw from the gate in fear of the thunder of the horses’ furious snorting; but either he will die and pay the earth the full price of his nurture, or will capture two men and the city on the shield, and then adorn his father’s house with the spoils. Tell me about another’s boasts and do not begrudge me the full tale!

CHORUS: O champion of my home, I pray that this man will have good fortune, and that there will be bad fortune for his enemies. As they boast too much against the city in their frenzied mind, so, too, may Zeus the Requiter look on them in anger!

Part 4

SCOUT: Another, the fourth, has the gate near Onca Athena and takes his stand with a shout, Hippomedon, tremendous in form and figure. I shuddered in fear as he spun a huge disk—the circle of his shield, I mean— I cannot deny it. The symbol-maker who put the design on his shield was no lowly craftsman: the symbol is Typhon, spitting out of his fire-breathing mouth a dark, thick smoke, the darting sister of fire. And the rim of the hollow-bellied shield is fastened all around with snaky braids. The warrior himself has raised the war-cry and, inspired by Ares he raves for battle like a maenad, with a look to inspire fear. We must put up a good defense against the assault of such a man, for already Rout is boasting of victory at the gate.

ETEOCLES: First Onca Pallas, who dwells near the city, close by the gate, and who loathes outrageousness in a man, will fend him off like a dangerous snake away from nestlings. Moreover, Hyperbius, Oenops’ trusty son, is chosen to match him, man to man, as he is eager to search out his fate in the crisis that chance has wrought—neither in form, nor spirit nor in the wielding of his arms does he bear reproach. Hermes has appropriately pitted them against each other. For the man is hostile to the man he faces in battle, and the gods on their shields also meet as enemies. The one has fire-breathing Typhon, while father Zeus stands upright on Hyperbius’ shield, his lightening bolt aflame in his hand. And no one yet has seen Zeus conquered. Such then is the favor of the divine powers: we are with the victors, they with the vanquished, if Zeus in fact proves stronger in battle than Typhon. And it is likely that the mortal adversaries will fare as do their gods; and so, in accordance with the symbol, Zeus will be a savior for Hyperbius since he resides on his shield. Exit Hyperbius.

CHORUS: I am sure that Zeus’ antagonist, since he has on his shield the unloved form of an earth-born deity, an image hated by both mortals and the long-lived gods, will drop his head in death before the gate.

SCOUT: Let it be so! Next I describe the fifth man who is stationed at the fifth, the Northern gate opposite the tomb of Amphion, Zeus’s son. He swears by his spear which, in his confidence, he holds more to be revered than a god and more precious than his eyes, that he will sack the city of the Cadmeans in spite of Zeus. He says this, the beautiful child of a mountain-bred mother—a warrior, half man, half boy, and his beard’s first growth is just now advancing on his cheeks, his youth in first bloom, thick, upspringing hair. But now he makes his advance with a savage heart and a terrifying look, not at all like the maidens he’s named for.Nor does he take his stand at the gate unboasting, but wields our city’s shame on his bronze-forged shield, his body’s circular defence, on which the Sphinx who eats men raw is cleverly fastened with bolts, her body embossed and gleaming. She carries under her a single Cadmean, so that against this man chiefly our missiles will be hurled. He does not seem to have come to do any petty trading in the battle, nor to shame the making of his long journey—he is Parthenopaeus of Arcadia. Such is the man, and aiming to make full payment for the fine support given him in Argos, his adopted land, he now threatens our fortifications—may God not fulfil his threats!

ETEOCLES: If only they would get from the gods what they wish for, because of those unholy boasts of theirs, then surely they would perish in utter ruin and misery. There is a man for this one, too, whom you name an Arcadian, a man who does not boast, but who knows the thing to do— Actor, brother of him I named before. He will not allow words that lack deeds to overrun his gate and increase fear, nor will he let in a man who carries on his hostile shield the image of the ravenous, detested beast. That beast outside his shield will blame the man who carries her into the gate, when she has taken a heavy beating beneath the city’s walls. If the gods are willing, what I speak may prove true! Exit Actor.

CHORUS: His words penetrate to my heart, my hair stands on end as I hear the loud threats of these loud-boasting, impious men. May the gods destroy them here in our land!

SCOUT: The sixth man I will name is of the highest moderation and a seer brave in combat, mighty Amphiaraus. Stationed at the Homoloid gate, he repeatedly rebukes mighty Tydeus with evil names Murderer, maker of unrest in the city, principal teacher of evils to the Argives, summoner of vengeance’s Curse, servant of Slaughter, counselor to Adrastus in these evil plans. And next, with eyes looking upward, he addressed your own brother, mighty Polynices who shares your blood, and called him by name, dwelling twice upon its latter part. These were his words: Will such a deed as this be pleasing to the gods, fine to hear of and to relate to those in the future—that you sacked the city of your ancestors and your native gods and launched a foreign army against them? What justice is it to drain dry the font of your existence? And how shall your fatherland, captured by the spear for the sake of your ambition, be won over to your cause? As for me, I will enrich this earth, a seer interred beneath enemy soil. Let us fight! I anticipate no dishonorable death. So the seer spoke as untroubled he held his all-bronze shield. No symbol was fixed to his shield’s circle. For he does not wish to appear the bravest, but to be the bravest, as he harvests the fruit of his mind’s deep furrow, where his careful resolutions grow. I advise you to send wise and brave opponents against him. He who reveres the gods is to be feared.

ETEOCLES: Ah, the pity of fate’s omen when it makes a just man associate with the irreverent! In all things, nothing is more evil than evil partnership. Its fruit should not be gathered in: the field of recklessness yields a harvest of death. For it may be that a pious man, embarked shipboard with sailors hot for some crime, perishes along with the sort of men hated by the gods; or, a man, though upright himself, when among fellow-citizens who hate all strangers and neglect the gods, may fall undeserving into the same trap as they, and be subdued, struck by the scourge of God that strikes all alike. Just so the seer, Oecles’ son, although a moderate, just, noble, reverent man and a great prophet, mixes with impious, rash-talking men against his own judgment, men stretching out in a procession that is long to retrace, and, if it is Zeus’s will, he will be be dragged down in ruin along with them. So then, I expect that he will not even charge the gates: not because he lacks courage or is weak-willed, but because he knows that he must meet his end in battle, if the prophecies of Loxias are to come to fruition—the god usually either holds silent or speaks to the point. Just the same, I will station a man against him, mighty Lasthenes, a gate-keeper who hates foreigners. He has the wisdom of an old man, but his body is at its prime: his eyes are quick, and he does not let his hand delay for his spear to seize what is left exposed by the shield. Still it is God’s gift when mortals succeed. Exit Lasthenes.

CHORUS: Gods, hear our just prayers and fulfil them, that the city may have good fortune! Turn aside the evils suffered in war onto those who invade our land! May Zeus strike them with his thunderbolt outside the walls and slay them!

SCOUT: Last I will tell of the seventh champion, him at the seventh gate, your own brother, and of what fate he prays for and calls down on the city. His prayer is that after he mounts the battlements and is proclaimed king in the land, and shouts the paian in triumph over its capture, he may then meet you in combat, and once he kills you, that he may perish at your side, or, if you survive, make you pay with banishment in the same way as you dishonored him with exile. Mighty Polynices shouts such threats and invokes his native gods, the gods of his fatherland, to watch over his prayers in every way. He holds a shield, a perfect circle, newly-made, with a double symbol cleverly fastened on it: a woman modestly walking in the fore leads a man in arms made, it appears, of hammered gold. She claims to be Justice, as the lettering indicates, I will bring this man back and he will have his city and move freely in his father’s halls. Such are the inventions fixed to their shields. Know that you will find no fault with me in the substance of my report, but you yourself determine on what course to pilot the city. Exit.

ETEOCLES: O my family sired by Oedipus, steeped in tears, driven to madness by the gods and by the gods detested! Ah, now indeed our father’s curses are brought to fulfillment. But neither weeping nor wailing is proper for me now, lest a grief even harder to bear is brought to life. As for him whose name is so very fitting, Polynices, we shall know soon enough what the symbol on his shield will accomplish, whether the babbling letters shaped in gold on his shield, together with his mind’s wanderings, will bring him back. If Justice, Zeus’s maiden daughter, were attending his actions and his thoughts, this might be so. But as it is, neither when he escaped the darkness of his mother’s womb, nor in childhood, nor at any point in his early manhood, nor when the beard first thickened on his cheek, did Justice acknowledge him and consider him worthy. And even now I do not think that she is standing by his side to aid the destruction of his fatherland. Indeed, Justice would truly be false to her name, if she should ally herself with a man so utterly audacious in his plans. Trusting in this fact I will go and stand against him—I myself in person. Who else has a more just claim? Commander against commander, brother against brother, enemy against enemy, I will take my stand. Quick, bring my greaves to protect against spears and stones!

CHORUS: No, son of Oedipus, most dear of our men, do not be like in temperament to him who is called by such an evil name. It is enough that Cadmeans are advancing to close combat with Argives. That bloodshed can be expiated. But when men of the same blood kill each other as you desire, the pollution from this act never grows old.

ETEOCLES: If indeed a man should suffer evil, let it be without dishonor, since that is the only benefit for the dead. But you cannot speak of any glory for happenings that are at once evil and held in dishonor.

CHORUS: For what are you so eager, child? Do not let mad lust for battle fill your soul and carry you away. Reject this evil passion while it is still young.

ETEOCLES: Since God hastens the deed so urgently, let the whole race of Laius, hated by Phoebus, be swept on the wind to Cocytus’ destined flood!

CHORUS: A savage desire eats away at you, drives you to murder, blood-sacrifice proscribed by divine law, whose only fruit is bitterness.

ETEOCLES: True, my own beloved father’s hateful, ruinous curse hovers before my dry, unweeping eyes, and informs me of benefit preceding subsequent death.

CHORUS: No, do not let yourself be driven to it. You will not be called a coward if you retain life nobly. Will not the avenging Erinys in her dark aegis leave your house, when the gods receive sacrifice from your hands?

ETEOCLES: The gods, it seems, have already banished us from their care, yet they admire the grace we offer them when we perish. So then, why should we cringe and shy away from deadly fate?

CHORUS: It is only at this moment that death stands close by you, for the divine spirit may change its purpose even after a long time and come on a gentler wind. But now it still seethes.

Part 5

ETEOCLES: Yes, the curses of Oedipus have made it seethe in fury. Too true were the phantoms in my sleeping visions, predicting the division of our father’s wealth!

CHORUS: Obey us women, although you do not like to.

ETEOCLES: Recommend something that can be accomplished; your request need not be lengthy.

CHORUS: Do not yourself take the road to the seventh gate!

ETEOCLES: Let me assure you, you will not blunt my sharpened purpose with words.

CHORUS: And yet any victory, even a cowardly one, is nonetheless held in honor by God.

ETEOCLES: A soldier must not embrace that maxim.

CHORUS: But are you willing to harvest the blood of your own brother?

ETEOCLES: When it is the gods who give you evils, you cannot flee them. Exit.

CHORUS: I shudder in terror at the goddess who lays ruin to homes, a goddess unlike other divinities, who is an unerring omen of evil to come. I shudder that the Erinys invoked by the father’s prayer will fulfil the over-wrathful curses that Oedipus spoke in madness. This strife that will destroy his sons drives the Erinys to fulfillment.

CHORUS: A stranger distributes their inheritance, a Chalybian immigrant from Scythia, a bitter divider of wealth, savage-hearted iron that apportions land for them to dwell in, as much as they can occupy in death when they have lost their share in these wide plains.

CHORUS: But when both have died, each killing the other in mutual slaughter, and the earth’s dust has swallowed the black streams of their blood, who could offer sacrifice that might make purification? Who could cleanse them of their pollution? O, the new troubles of this house mixed with its evils of before!

CHORUS: Indeed I speak of the ancient transgression, now swift in its retribution. It remains even into the third generation, ever since Laius—in defiance of Apollo who, at his Pythian oracle at the earth’s center, said three times that the king would save his city if he died without offspring—

CHORUS: Ever since he, overcome by the thoughtlessness of his longing, fathered his own death, the parricide Oedipus, who sowed his mother’s sacred field, where he was nurtured, and endured a bloody crop. Madness united the frenzied bridal pair.

CHORUS: Now it is as if a sea of evils pushes its swell onward. As one wave sinks, the sea raises up another, triple-crested, which crashes around the city’s stern. In between a narrow defense stretches—no wider than a wall. I fear that the city will be overthrown along with its kings.

CHORUS: For the compensation is heavy when curses uttered long ago are fulfilled, and once the deadly curse has come into existence, it does not pass away. When the fortune of seafaring merchants has grown too great, it must be thrown overboard.

CHORUS: For whom have the gods and divinities that share their altar and the thronging assembly of men ever admired so much as they honored Oedipus then, when he removed that deadly, man-seizing plague from our land?

CHORUS: But when, his sanity regained, he grew miserable in his wretched marriage, then carried away by his grief and with maddened heart he accomplished a double evil. With the hand that killed his father he struck out his eyes, which were dearer to him than his children.

CHORUS: Next he launched brutal, wrathful words against the sons he had bred—ah! curses from a bitter tongue—that wielding iron in their hands they would one day divide his property. So now I tremble in fear that the swift-running Erinys will bring this to fulfillment.

MESSENGER: Take heart, you daughters who were nurtured by your mother. Our city has escaped the yoke of slavery; the boasts of the powerful men have fallen to the ground. The city enjoys fair weather and has taken on no water even though it has been buffeted by many waves. The walls hold, and we have fortified the gates with champions fully capable in single-handed combat. For the most part all is well, at six of the gates. But lord Apollo, the reverend leader of the seventh, took for himself the seventh gate, accomplishing upon the children of Oedipus the ancient follies of Laius.

Part 6

CHORUS: What novel happening will further affect the city?

MESSENGER: The city is saved, but the kings born of the same seed—

CHORUS: Who? What did you say? I am out of my mind with fear of your report.

MESSENGER: Control yourself now and listen. The sons of Oedipus—

CHORUS: Ah, miserable me, I am prophet of these evils.

MESSENGER: In truth, beyond all question, struck down in the dust—

CHORUS: Are they lying out there? This is hard to bear, but say it just the same.

MESSENGER: The men are dead, murdered by their very own hands.

CHORUS: Then with hands so fraternal did they each kill the other together?

MESSENGER: Yes, so all too equal was their destiny to them both. All alone, in truth, it consumes the ill-fated family. We have cause in this for joy and tears— the one because the city fares well, the other because the leaders, the two generals, have divided the whole of their property with hammered Scythian steel. They will possess only that land they take in burial, swept away as they were in accordance with their father’s curses. Exit.

CHORUS: O great Zeus and the divine powers that guard our city, you who indeed protect these walls of Cadmus, should I rejoice and shout in triumph for the unharmed safety of the city, or should I lament our leaders in war, now wretched, ill-fated and childless? Indeed, in exact accordance with their name and as men of much strife, they have perished through their impious intent.

CHORUS: O black curse on the family, Oedipus’ curse, now brought to fulfillment! A chill of horror falls about my heart. In frenzy like a maenad I make my song for the grave as I hear of their corpses dripping with blood, how they died through the workings of cruel fate. This song of the spear, sung to the flute, is indeed born of an ill omen.

CHORUS: The curseful utterance of their father has done its work and not fallen short. Laius’ plans, made in disobedience, have kept their force. I am anxious for our city; divine decrees do not lose their edge. The funeral procession with the bodies of the brothers comes into view.

CHORUS: O bringers of immense grief, you have done in this a deed beyond belief, yet lamentable troubles have indeed come.

The events are self-evident; the messenger’s report is plain to see. Twofold is our distress—double disaster of kindred murder, this double suffering has come to fulfillment. What shall I say? What else indeed than that sorrow born of sorrows surround this house’s hearth? But sail upon the wind of lamentation, my friends, and about your head row with your hands’ rapid stroke in conveyance of the dead, that stroke which always causes the sacred slack-sailed, black-clothed ship to pass over Acheron to the unseen land where Apollo does not walk, the sunless land that receives all men. But here come Antigone and Ismene to do their bitter duty, the dirge over their brothers both. With all sincerity, I think, will they pour forth their fitting grief from their lovely, deep-bosomed breasts. But it is right for us, before their singing, to cry out the awful hymn of the Erinys and thereafter sing the hated victory song of Hades. Ah, sisters most unfortunate in your kin of all women who clasp their girdle about their robes, I weep, I groan, and there is no feigning in the shrill cries that come straight from my heart.

CHORUS: Ah, pity you senseless men, whom friends could not persuade and evils could not wear down! To your misery you have captured your father’s house with the spear.

CHORUS: To their misery, indeed, they found a miserable death in the outrage done their house.

Ah, you brothers who were poised to cast over the walls of your home and looked—to your sorrow—for sole rule, now you have been reconciled by the iron sword. The great Erinys of your father Oedipus has fulfilled it all truly.

CHORUS: Pierced through your left sides, pierced indeed— through those sides that were born from one womb! Ah, strange ones! Ah, the curses that demand death for death! Right through, as you say, were they struck, with blows to house and body by an unspeakable wrath and by the doom, called down by their father’s curse, which they shared without discord.

CHORUS: Groaning spreads throughout the city, too: the walls groan; the land that loves its sons groans. But for those who come after them there remains their property, on which account the strife of those terrible-fated men came to fulfillment in death. In their haste to anger they apportioned their property so that each has an equal share. To those who loved them their reconciler is not blameless, nor is Ares agreeable.

Part 7

CHORUS: Under strokes of iron they are come to this, and under strokes of iron there await them—what, one might perhaps ask—shares in their father’s tomb. Our shrill, heart-rending wail goes with them—product of lamentation and pain felt of its own accord—a wail from a distressed mind, joyless, pouring forth tears from a heart that wastes away as I weep for these two princes.

CHORUS: Over these poor men it can be said that they did much to harm our citizens and also the ranks of all the foreigners who died in abundance in the fighting. Ill-fated beyond all women who are called by the name of mother is she who bore them. After she made her own child her own husband, she gave birth to these sons, who have thus ended their lives with kindred hands giving death for death.

CHORUS: Of the same seed, in truth, they were utterly destroyed in unloving divisions, in maddened discord, in the ending of their strife. Their hatred has ceased. Their life has been mingled in the blood-soaked earth. Now truly their blood is one. Ruthless is that which resolved their strife, the stranger from across the sea, sharpened iron rushed from the fire. Ruthless, too, was Ares, the cruel divider of their property, who made their father’s curses come true.

CHORUS: They hold in misery their allotted portion of god-given sorrows. Beneath their corpses there will be boundless wealth of earth. Ah, you have wreathed your race with many troubles! In the final outcome the Curses have raised their piercing cry, now that the family is turned to flight in all directions. A trophy to Ruin now stands at the gate where they struck each other and where, having conquered them both, the divine power stayed its hand.

ANTIGONE: You were struck as you struck.

ISMENE: You died as you killed.

ANTIGONE: By the spear you killed—

ISMENE: By the spear you died—

ANTIGONE: Your deed made you wretched.

ISMENE: You suffering made you wretched.

ANTIGONE: Let the lament come.

ISMENE: Let the tears come.

ANTIGONE: You are laid out for mourning—

ISMENE: Though you did the killing.

ANTIGONE: Ah me!

ISMENE: Ah me!

ANTIGONE: My heart is mad with wailing.

ISMENE: My heart groans within me.

ANTIGONE: Ah, the grief, brother all-lamentable.

ISMENE: And you also, brother all-wretched.

Part 8

ANTIGONE: You perished at the hands of your nearest and dearest.

ISMENE: And you killed your nearest and dearest.

ANTIGONE: Twofold to tell of—

ISMENE: Twofold to look upon—

ANTIGONE: Are these sorrows so close to those.

ISMENE: Fraternal sorrows stand close by fraternal sorrows.

CHORUS: O Fate, giver of grievous troubles, and awful shade of Oedipus, black Erinys, you are indeed a mighty force.

ANTIGONE: Ah, me

ISMENE: Ah, me

ANTIGONE: Sorrows hard to behold—

ISMENE: He showed me when he returned from exile.

ANTIGONE: But he made no return after he had killed.

ISMENE: He was saved, but lost his life.

ANTIGONE: He lost it, all too truly.

ISMENE: And took this one’s life away.

ANTIGONE: Wretched family!

ISMENE: Wretched suffering!

ANTIGONE: Kindred sorrows full of groans!

ISMENE: Sorrows steeped in tripled griefs.

CHORUS: O Fate, giver of grievous troubles, and awful shade of Oedipus, black Erinys, you are indeed a mighty force.

Part 9

ANTIGONE: Now you know of the Erinys by experience—

ISMENE: And you are made aware no later—

ANTIGONE: When you came back to our city,

ISMENE: Yes, to face him with your spear.

ANTIGONE: A tale of destruction!

ISMENE: Destruction to look upon!

ANTIGONE: Oh, the grief—

ISMENE: Oh, the evils—

ANTIGONE: For home and land.

ISMENE: Above all for me,

ANTIGONE: And more also for me.

ISMENE: Ah I pity your grievous suffering, my king.

ANTIGONE: Pity for you both, most lamentable of all men.

ISMENE: You were possessed by delusion.

ANTIGONE: Where shall we lay them in the earth?

ISMENE: Ah, where their honor is greatest.

ANTIGONE: To lie beside their father, a cause for him of sorrow.

HERALD: It is my duty to announce the will and decrees of the council on behalf of the people of this our Cadmean city. It is decreed, first, that Eteocles here, on account of his goodwill towards the city, is to be buried in a kindly grave in its soil; for hating the enemy he chose death in the city and driven by piety towards his ancestral shrines, he died without reproach where it is an honor for the young to die. This is how I was commanded to speak regarding him. But as for his brother, it is decreed that this corpse of Polyneices is to be cast out of the city unburied to be torn by dogs, since he would have been the destroyer of the land of the Cadmeans, if one of the gods had not used his brother’s spear to prevent him. Even in death he will retain the stain of his guilt against his fathers’ gods, whom he dishonored when he launched a foreign army against the city to take it. For this reason it is decreed that he will receive his reward by being buried without honor beneath the winged birds; and that no labor of the hands shall attend him by building up a burial mound nor shall anyone offer him reverence in shrill-sung laments. He is to be refused the honor of being carried in funeral procession by his loved ones. Such is the decree of the Cadmean authorities.

ANTIGONE: I at least will say something to the rulers of the Cadmeans: even if no one else is willing to share in burying him, I will bury him alone and risk the peril of burying my own brother. Nor am I ashamed to act in defiant opposition to the rulers of the city. A thing to be held in awe is the common womb from which we were born, of a wretched mother and unfortunate father. Therefore, my soul, willingly share his evils, even though they are unwilling, and live in kindred spirit with the dead. No hollow-bellied wolves will tear his flesh—let no one decree that! Even though I am a woman, I will myself find the means to give him burial and a grave, carrying the earth in the fold of my linen robe. With my own hands I will cover him over—let no one decree it otherwise. Take heart, I will have the means to do it.

HERALD: I forbid you to act thus in violation of the city.

Part 10

ANTIGONE: I forbid you to make useless proclamations to me.

HERALD: And yet a citizenry that has escaped evil can be harsh.

ANTIGONE: Let it be harsh! This man will not be unburied.

HERALD: What! Will you honor with burial a man whom the city detests?

ANTIGONE: For a long time now the gods have ceased to hold him in honor.

HERALD: No, he was honored until he put this land in jeopardy.

ANTIGONE: He suffered evil and gave evil in return.

HERALD: But this act was against all the citizens, not only one man.

ANTIGONE: Discord is the last of the gods to close an argument. I will bury him. Put an end to your big talk.

HERALD: Well then, follow your own rash plan, but I forbid it. Exit.

CHORUS: Ah, misery! O Erinyes, far-famed destroyers of families, goddesses of death who have thus laid ruin to the family of Oedipus, digging it up from the roots! What will happen to me? What should I do? What plan shall I devise? How can I have the heart neither to weep for you nor escort you to your tomb? But I am afraid and turn away in terror of the citizens. You, at least, Eteocles, will have many mourners, while he, wretched man, departs without lamentation and has a dirge sung only by one sister. Now who could comply with that?

FIRST HALF-CHORUS: Let the city take action or not take action against those who lament for Polynices. We, at all events, will go and bury him with her, following the funeral procession. For this grief is shared by all our race, and the city approves as just different things at different times.

SECOND HALF-CHORUS: We will go with this other corpse, as the city and justice, too, approves. For after the blessed gods and powerful Zeus, he it was who saved the city of the Cadmeans from being capsized and flooded by a wave of foreign men—he beyond all others. Exeunt omnes.

Contents — 12 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10
11. Part 11
12. Part 12

Part 1

CHORUS: May Zeus who guards suppliants look graciously upon our company, which boarded a ship and put to sea from the outlets of the fine sand of the Nile. For we have fled Zeus’ land whose pastures border Syria, and are fugitives, not because of some public decree pronounced against blood crime, but because of our own act to escape the suit of man, since we abhor as impious all marriage with the sons of Aegyptus. It was Danaus, our father, adviser and leader, who, considering well our course, decided, as the best of all possible evils, that we flee with all speed over the waves of the sea and find a haven on Argos’ shore. For from there descends our race , sprung from the caress and breath of Zeus on the gnat-tormented heifer. To what kinder land than this could we come with these wool-wreathed branches in our hands, sole weapons of the suppliant? O realm, O land, and clear water; gods on high and earth-bound powers, grievous in your vengeance, which inhabit the tomb; and you, Zeus the Savior, invoked third, the guardian of the habitations of righteous men: receive as suppliants this band of women with the compassionate spirit of the land. But the thronging swarm of violent men born of Aegyptus, should they set foot upon this marshy land, drive them seaward—and with them their swift ship—and there may they encounter a cruel sea with thunder, lightning, and rain-charged winds, and perish by the tempest’s buffeting blasts, if they ever lay their hands on us, their cousins, and mount unwilling beds from which Right holds them aloof.

CHORUS: And now I invoke, as our champion from beyond the sea, the calf born of Zeus, the offspring of the flower-grazing cow, our ancestress, the caress of Zeus’ breath. The appointed period confirmed itself in a name suited to the event—Epaphus, to whom she gave birth.

CHORUS: To him I cry for help. And now in the region wherein our first mother pastured, by recounting the story of her distress of long ago, I shall now set forth reliable proofs to the inhabitants of the land; and other evidence, though unexpected, will yet appear. Men will come to know the truth as my tale proceeds.

CHORUS: Now if by chance there be some neighbor in the land who knows the song of birds, when our complaint greets his ear, he will fancy that he hears the voice of Metis, Tereus’ piteous wife, the hawk-chased nightingale.

CHORUS: For she, constrained to leave her green leaves, laments pitifully her accustomed haunts, and composes the tale of her own child’s doom—how he perished, destroyed by her own hand, victim of the wrath of an unnatural mother.

CHORUS: Even so I, indulging my grief in Ionian strains, pain my tender face summered by Nile’s sun and my heart unexercised in tears; and I gather the flowers of grief, anxious whether there is any friendly kinsman here to champion our band which has fled from the haze-shrouded land.

CHORUS: But, gods of our race, hear, and regard with favor the cause of righteousness; if you refuse youth fulfillment of its arrogant desires, and readily abhor violence, you would be righteous toward marriage. Even for those who flee hard-pressed from war there is an altar, a shelter against harm through respect for the powers of heaven.

CHORUS: But may Zeus grant that it go well with us. For Zeus’ desire is hard to trace: it shines everywhere, even in gloom, together with fortune obscure to mortal men.

CHORUS: Safely it falls, and not upon its back, whatever deed comes to pass at Zeus’ nod; for the pathways of his understanding stretch dark and tangled, beyond comprehension.

CHORUS: From their high-towering hopes he hurls mankind to utter destruction; yet he does not marshal any armed violence— all that is wrought by the powers divine is free from toil. Seated on his holy throne, unmoved, in mysterious ways he accomplishes his will.

CHORUS: So let him look upon human outrageousness —in what way it shoots up men in their wooing of us, sprouted from thoughts of evil intent, having a frenzied purpose as its irresistible spur, and deluded, turning its thoughts to folly.

CHORUS: Such piteous strains of woe I utter in my pain, now shrill, now deep, blended with falling tears—Alas, alas! groans appropriate to funeral wails; though I live, I chant my own dirge.

CHORUS: I invoke Apia’s hilly land—for well, O land, you understand my barbarous speech—, and many times I lay my hands upon my Sidonian veil and tear its linen fabric to shreds.

CHORUS: Sacrifices in satisfaction of vows are given freely to the gods when all fares well, if only there be escape from death. Alas, alas, perplexing troubles! Where will this wave of trouble bear me away?

CHORUS: I invoke Apia’s hilly land—for well, O land, you understand my barbarous speech—, and many times I lay my hands upon my Sidonian veil and tear its linen fabric to shreds.

CHORUS: Our oars, indeed, and our timbered ship, bound with yellow rope to withstand the sea, sped me on by help of favoring winds, unharmed by all tempests; nor have I reason for complaint. But may the all-seeing Father establish a kindly issue in due time—

CHORUS: That the mighty race of our honorable mother escape the embrace of man (ah me), unwedded, unvanquished.

CHORUS: And may Zeus’ pure daughter, she who holds securely the sacred wall, willingly, meeting my will, look upon me; and, grieved at our pursuit, come with all her might, a virgin to a virgin’s aid, to deliver me—

CHORUS: That the mighty race of our honorable mother may escape the embrace of man (ah me), unwedded, unvanquished.

CHORUS: Yet, if she will not, we, a dark, sun-burned race, with suppliant boughs will invoke the underworld Zeus, Zeus the great host of the dead; for if the gods of Olympus hear us not, we will hang ourselves.

Part 2

CHORUS: Ah Zeus! On account of the poisonous hate of Io vengeance from the gods pursues us.I know your consort’s sky-conquering spite; for a stormy sea follows a harsh wind.

CHORUS: And Zeus shall then be liable to the charge of injustice that he hates the child of the heifer, the child whom he himself begat long ago, his very own, and now he holds his face averted from our prayers. May he from above hear our call!

CHORUS: Ah Zeus! On account of the poisonous hate of Io vengeance from the gods pursues us. I know your consort’s sky-conquering spite; for a stormy sea follows a harsh wind.

DANAUS: My children, you must be prudent. A prudent captain of your voyage was your reliable old father here with whom you came. And now that I have considered with foresight what may befall us here on land, I charge you, record my injunctions on the tablets of your minds and guard them. I see dust, the voiceless herald of an army; the axle-driven wheels are not silent in their sockets. I behold a throng, armed with shields and holding spears, with steeds and curved chariots. Perhaps they are the princes of the land come to look on us, informed by messengers. But whether a harmless man or one driven by savage wrath rouses this expedition, it is better, damsels, in any case, to seat yourselves at that mound sacred to the assembled gods. Stronger than a castle is an altar—an impenetrable shield. As quick as you can, gather in your left hands your white-wreathed suppliant boughs, sacred emblems of Zeus the merciful. Reply to the strangers, as is fitting for aliens, in piteous and plaintive language of necessity, telling them clearly of your flight, how it was unstained by deed of blood. Above all let no arrogance accompany your speech, and reveal nothing impious in your peaceful eyes, from your respectful face. In your speech neither interrupt, nor hesitate—for this would offend these people. And remember to be submissive: you are an alien, a fugitive, and in need. Bold speech does not suit the weak.

CHORUS: Father, your words are prudent, and they fall on prudent ears. I will take heed of your wise words, and hold them in memory. May Zeus, the author of our race, behold us!

DANAUS: May he indeed behold you, and with a gracious eye.

CHORUS: I would like even now to be seated by your side.

DANAUS: Then do not delay, but put your purpose into action.

CHORUS: O Zeus, have pity upon our troubles lest we are ruined.

DANAUS: If he wishes it so, all will end well.

CHORUS: [...]

DANAUS: Invoke now also that bird of Zeus

CHORUS: We invoke the saving beams of the sun.

DANAUS: Pure Apollo, too, who, though a god, was exiled once from heaven.

CHORUS: Knowing our lot, he may well have pity on mortals.

DANAUS: May he have pity indeed, and stand by ready to defend.

CHORUS: Whom, further, of these divinities must I invoke?

DANAUS: I behold a trident here, the token of its god.

CHORUS: Well did he send us here and well may he receive us in this land.

DANAUS: Here, too, is Hermes, according to the Hellenic custom.

Part 3

CHORUS: May he then announce good tidings to the free!

DANAUS: Honor to the mutual altar of all these protecting powers; and seat yourselves on holy ground like a flock of doves in dread of hawks of the same feathered tribe— kindred, yet foes, who would defile their race. If bird prey on bird, how can it be pure? And how can man be pure who would seize from an unwilling father an unwilling bride? For such an act, not even in Hades, after death, shall he escape arraignment for outrage. There also among the dead, so men tell, another Zeus holds a last judgment upon misdeeds. Take heed and reply in this manner, that victory may attend your cause.

KING: From where comes this band we address, clothed in foreign attire and luxuriating in closely-woven and barbaric robes? For your apparel is not that of the women of Argos, nor yet of any part of Hellas. How you have gained courage thus fearlessly to come to this land, unheralded and friendless and without guides, this makes me wonder. And yet, truly, I see that branches usually carried by suppliants are laid by your side before the gods assembled here—as to this alone can Hellas guess with confidence.As for the rest, there is still much I should with reason leave to conjecture, if your voice were not here to inform me.

CHORUS: You have not spoken falsely about our clothing. But, for my part, how am I to address you? As commoner, as spokesman, bearer of the sacred wand,or as ruler of the realm?

KING: As for that, answer and speak to me with confidence. For I am Pelasgus, offspring of Palaechthon, whom the earth brought forth, and lord of this land; and after me, their king, is rightly named the race of the Pelasgi, who harvest the land. Of all the region through which the pure Strymon flows, on the side toward the setting sun, I am the lord. There lies within the limits of my rule the land of the Perrhaebi, the parts beyond Pindus close to the Paeonians, and the mountain ridge of Dodona; the edge of the watery sea borders my kingdom. I rule up to these boundaries. The ground where we stand is Apian land itself, and has borne that name since antiquity in honor of a healer. For Apis, seer and healer, the son of Apollo, came from Naupactus on the farther shore and purified this land of monsters deadly to man, which Earth, defiled by the pollution of bloody deeds of old, caused to spring up—plagues charged with wrath, an ominous colony of swarming serpents. Of these plagues Apis worked the cure by sorcery and spells to the content of the Argive land, and for reward thereafter earned for himself remembrance in prayers. Now that you have my testimony, declare your lineage and speak further—yet our people do not take pleasure in long discourse.

CHORUS: Our tale is brief and clear. Argives we claim to be by birth, offspring of a cow blest in its children. And the truth of this I shall confirm in full.

KING: Foreign maidens, your tale is beyond my belief—how your race can be from Argos. For you are more similar to the women of Libya and in no way similar to those native to our land. The Nile, too, might foster such a stock, and like yours is the Cyprian impress stamped upon female images by male craftsmen. And of such aspect, I have heard, are nomad women, who ride on camels for steeds, having padded saddles, and dwell in a land neighboring the Aethiopians. And had you been armed with the bow, certainly I would have guessed you to be the unwed, flesh-devouring Amazons. But inform me, and I will better comprehend how it is that you trace your race and lineage from Argos.

CHORUS: Is there a report that once in this land of Argos Io was ward of Hera’s house?

KING: Certainly she was; the tradition prevails far and wide.

CHORUS: And is there some story, too, that Zeus was joined in love with a mortal?

KING: This entanglement was not secret from Hera.

CHORUS: What then was the result of this royal strife?

KING: The goddess of Argos transformed the woman into a cow.

CHORUS: And while she was a horned cow, did not Zeus approach her?

KING: So they say, making his form that of a bull lusting for a mate.

CHORUS: What answer then did Zeus’ stubborn consort give?

KING: She placed the all-seeing one to stand watch over the cow.

CHORUS: What manner of all-seeing herdsman with a single duty do you mean?

KING: Argus, a son of Earth, whom Hermes slew.

CHORUS: What else did she contrive against the unfortunate cow?

Part 4

KING: A sting, torment of cattle, constantly driving her on.

CHORUS: They call it a gadfly, those who dwell by the Nile.

KING: Well then, it drove her by a long course out of the land.

CHORUS: Your account agrees with mine in all respects.

KING: So she came to Canobus and to Memphis.

CHORUS: And Zeus begot a son by the touching of his hand.

KING: Who is it then that claims to be the cow’s Zeus-begotten calf?

CHORUS: Epaphus, and truly named from laying on of hands.

KING: And who was begotten of Epaphus?

CHORUS: Libya, who reaps the fruit of the largest portion of the earth.

KING: What offspring, then, did Libya have?

CHORUS: Agenor was her first child born.

KING: And who was his offspring?

CHORUS: Belus, who had two sons and was father of my father here.

KING: Now tell me his wisely-given name.

CHORUS: Danaus: and he has a brother with fifty sons.

KING: Reveal his name ungrudgingly.

CHORUS: Aegyptus; and now that you know my ancient lineage, I pray you to helpa band that is Argive by descent.

KING: I think you indeed have some share in this land from old. But how did you bring yourselves to leave the home of your fathers? What stroke of fortune befell you?

CHORUS: Lord of the Pelasgians, of varying color are the ills of mankind, and nowhere can you find trouble of the same plume. For who dreamed that a kindred race, sprung of old, would thus in unexpected flight find haven at Argos, fleeing in terror through loathing of the marriage-bed?

Part 5

KING: Why have you come as suppliants of these gods congregated here, holding in your hands those white-wreathed, fresh-plucked boughs?

CHORUS: So as not to be made slave to Aegyptus’ race.

KING: By reason of hatred? Or do you speak of unlawfulness ?

CHORUS: Who would purchase their lords from among their kin?

KING: In this way families have enhanced their power.

CHORUS: And it is easy then, if things go ill, to separate from a wife.

KING: How then am I to deal with you in accordance with my sacred duty?

CHORUS: By not surrendering us at the demand of Aegyptus’ sons.

KING: A serious request—to take upon myself a dangerous war.

CHORUS: But Justice protects her champions.

KING: True, if she had a share in the matter from the beginning.

CHORUS: Show reverence for the ship of state thus crowned.

KING: I shrink as I gaze upon these shaded shrines.

CHORUS: Yet heavy is the wrath of Zeus, god of the suppliant.

Son of Palaechthon, lord of the Pelasgians, hear me with a benign heart. Behold me, your suppliant, a fugitive, running around like a heifer chased by wolves upon precipitous crags, where, confident in his help, she lows to tell the herdsman of her distress.

KING: I see a company of assembled gods assenting beneath the shade of fresh-plucked boughs. Nevertheless may this affair of claimants to the friendship of our city bring no mischief in its wake! And let no feud come upon the state from causes unforeseen and unforestalled; for the state has no need of such trouble.

CHORUS: Indeed, may Justice, daughter of Zeus the Apportioner, Justice who protects the suppliant, look upon our flight that it bring no mischief in its wake. But you, aged in experience, learn from one of younger birth. If you show mercy to a suppliant ... from a man of holiness.

KING: It is not my own house at whose hearth you sit. If the state is stained by pollution in its commonalty, in common let the people strive to work out the cure. For myself, I will pledge no promise before I have communicated these events to all the citizens.

CHORUS: You are the state, you are the people. Being subject to no judge, you rule the altar, your country’s hearth by your will’s sole ordinance; and, enthroned in sole sovereignty, you determine every issue. Beware pollution!

KING: Pollution on my enemies! But without harm I do not know how to help you. And yet again, it is not well advised to slight these supplications. I am perplexed, and fear possesses my soul whether to act, or not to act and take what fortune sends.

Part 6

CHORUS: Look to him who looks down from above, to him, the guardian of mortals sore-distressed, who appeal to their neighbors, yet do not obtain the justice that is their right. The wrath of Zeus, the suppliant’s god, remains, and will not be softened by a sufferer’s complaints.

KING: If the sons of Aegyptus have authority over you by the law of your country claiming that they are nearest of kin, who would wish to contest it? You must plead in accordance with the laws of the land you have fled, that they have no authority over you.

CHORUS: Never, oh never, may I fall subject to the power and authority of these men. I am determined to flee to escape this marriage that offends my soul, piloting my course by the stars. Take Justice as your ally, and render judgment for the cause deemed righteous by the gods.

KING: The judgment is not easy—do not make me the judge. I have declared already that, though I am ruler, I will not do this thing without the consent of my people, lest hereafter, if any evil befall, the people should say, You honored aliens and brought ruin upon your own land.

CHORUS: Kindred to both in blood, Zeus surveys both sides alike in this dispute with an impartial scale, apportioning, as is due, to the wicked their wrongdoing and to the godly their works of righteousness. When these things are thus equally balanced, why do you fear to act justly?

KING: Surely there is need of deep and salutary counsel; need for a keen-sighted eye, not confused, to descend, like some diver, into the depths; that to the state above all things this matter may not work mischief, but may end well for us; that strife may not seize you for its prize, nor yet that we surrender you from these seats of sanctuary, and bring upon ourselves the dire, abiding vengeance of the all-destroying god, who, even in the realm of Death, does not set his victim free. Surely you cannot think there is no need of salutary counsel?

CHORUS: Take counsel, and, as is your sacred duty, prove yourself our sacred champion. Do not betray the fugitive who has been impiously cast out and driven from afar.

And see me not ravished from this sanctuary of many gods, oh you who hold sovereign power over the land. Recognize men’s wantonness, and guard against wrath.

Do not see your suppliant dragged, in spite of justice, from the images of the gods, like a horse by the bridle, and see rude hands laid upon my fine-woven robes.

For be assured of this—whichever end you bring to pass, to your children and house does it remain to make full payment.Consider these just ordinances of God.

KING: I have considered them; and I am driven to this cruel predicament. I must take upon myself a mighty war against one side or the other. There is no escape, it is as firmly fixed as a ship’s hull drawn tight by windlasses. There is no result without grievous hurt. Now when goods are plundered from a homestead, other goods may come by grace of Zeus, guardian of household wealth; as a tongue that has shot arrows beside the mark, one speech may be the healer of another. But to avoid the shedding of kindred blood, surely there is need of sacrifice and that many a victim fall to many a god as a deliverance from impending harm. For truly, it is to my undoing that I have come into this quarrel; and yet I prefer to be unskilled rather than practised in the lore of foretelling ill. But may my judgment belie itself and all go well!

CHORUS: Hear now the end of my appeals for compassion.

KING: I hear; say on. It shall not escape me.

CHORUS: I have breast-bands and girdles to gather up my robes.

KING: Such things are proper, no doubt, for women.

CHORUS: In these then, be sure, I have a beautiful instrument—

KING: Tell me what speech you plan to utter.

CHORUS: If you will not give some pledge to this group—

KING: What will the contrivance of the sashes do for you?

CHORUS: To adorn these images with tablets of strange sort.

Part 7

KING: Your words are riddling; come, explain in simple speech.

CHORUS: To hang ourselves from the statues of these gods.

KING: I detect a threat that is a lash upon my heart.

CHORUS: You have grasped my intention, for I have cleared your vision.

KING: And on many sides there are difficulties hard to wrestle with; for, like a flood, a multitude of ills bursts on me. It is a sea of ruin, fathomless and impassable, which I am launched upon, and nowhere is there a haven from distress. For should I not pay the debt due to you, the pollution you name is beyond all range of speech; yet if I take my stand before the walls and try the issue of battle with the sons of Aegyptus, your kinsmen, how will the cost not mount to a cruel price—men’s blood to stain the ground for women’s sake? And yet the wrath of Zeus who guards the suppliant compels my reverence; for supreme among mortals is the fear of him. Aged father of these maidens, take these boughs straightway in your arms and place them upon other altars of the country’s gods, that all the natives may see the sign that you have come in suppliance. And let no random word fall against me; for the people could complain against authority. It may well be that some, stirred to compassion at the sight, will hate the wantonness of the troop of males, and that the people will be more friendly towards you; for all men are well disposed to the weaker cause.

DANAUS: We consider it worth much to have gained a champion who is compassionate. Yet send escorts and guides of the country’s people with me so we may find where the gods who protect your city have their altars at the temple porches and their . . . seats, and that we may go safely through the town. My shape is unlike yours, for Nile and Inachus rear a different race. Beware lest boldness give birth to fear; for through ignorance men have slain those they love.

KING: Come, men, the stranger speaks well. Be his guides to the altars of the city and to the sanctuaries of the gods. Do not speak at length with whomever you meet on the way while you are bringing this seafarer to be a suppliant at the hearths of the gods. Exit Danaus with attendants

CHORUS: You told him, and let him go as directed. But what of me? What am I to do? Where do you assign security to me?

KING: Leave your boughs here, tokens of your distress.

CHORUS: Behold, I leave them at your signal and command.

KING: Go now along this level space about the sanctuary.

CHORUS: But it is not holy ground. How can it keep me safe?

KING: Be assured, we will not surrender you to winged creatures’ ravishment.

CHORUS: But what about those whom we dread worse than evil serpents?

KING: Speak with good omen, as I have spoken auspiciously to you.

CHORUS: No wonder I am fretful through alarm of mind.

KING: Excessive fear is always uncontrolled.

CHORUS: Cheer my heart by deeds as well as words.

KING: Your father will not leave you here alone for long. I am going now to call together the people of the land, that I may make the masses friendly; and I will instruct your father in what things he should say. Now stay here and beseech the gods of the land with prayers to grant what you desire, while I go to advance your cause. May persuasion and efficacious fortune attend me! Exit with attendants

CHORUS: Lord of lords, most blessed among the blessed, power most perfect among the perfect, O blessed Zeus, hear! And from your offspring ward off in utter abhorrence the lust of men, and into the purple sea cast their black-benched madness!

Part 8

CHORUS: Look benignly upon the women’s cause, look upon our race ancient in story, and recall the happy tale of our ancestress, the woman of your love. Show that you remember all, you who laid your hand upon Io. It is from Zeus that we claim descent, and it is from this, our homeland, that we went forth.

CHORUS: I have come here to the prints of ancient feet, my mother’s, even to the region where she was watched while she browsed among the flowers— into that pasture, from which Io, tormented by the gad-fly’s sting, fled in frenzy, traversing many tribes of men, and according to fate, cut in two the surging strait, marking off the land upon the farther shore.

CHORUS: And through the land of Asia she gallops, straight through sheep-pasturing Phrygia, and she passes the city of Teuthras among the Mysians, and the hollow vales of Lydia, across the mountains of the Cilicians and the Pamphylians, speeding over ever-flowing rivers and earth deep and rich, and the land of Aphrodite that teems with wheat.

CHORUS: Harassed by the sting of the winged herdsman she gains at last the fertile groves sacred to Zeus, that snow-fed pasture assailed by Typho’s fury, and the water of the Nile that no disease may touch—maddened by her ignominious toils and frenzied with the pain of Hera’s torturing goad.

CHORUS: And mortals, who in those days dwelled in the land, shook with pallid terror at the terrible sight as they beheld a being fearsome, half-human, part cow and part of woman; and they were astonished at the monstrous thing. And then, at last, who was it who calmed the far-wandering, the wretched, the sting-tormented Io?

CHORUS: Zeus, it was, through endless time, the lord, . . . and by the unharming might of his hand, and by his divine breath, she gained rest, and let fall the sorrowing shame of tears. And, taking Zeus as her support, according to a true story, she bore a blameless son—

CHORUS: Throughout long ages blessed. All the earth cries aloud, This is in very truth the offspring of life-giving Zeus; for who else could have endured the suffering plotted by Hera? Call this the work of Zeus and this his race sprung from Epaphus and you will hit the truth.

CHORUS: Which of the gods has accomplished deeds which, with good reason, warrant more justly my appeal to him? Father himself and lord, he planted us with his own hand; he is the mighty fashioner of our race, ancient in wisdom, who devises everything, whose breath makes all things prosper, Zeus himself.

CHORUS: He does not sit upon his throne by mandate of another and hold his dominion beneath a mightier. No one sits above him whose power he holds in awe. He speaks, and it is done—he hastens to execute whatever his counselling mind conceives.

DANAUS: Be of good cheer, my children, all goes well on the part of the citizens. Decrees, carrying full authority, have been passed.

CHORUS: Hail, our envoy, harbinger of tidings most welcome, But tell us—to what end has the decision been carried, and to what course does the majority of the people’s votes incline?

DANAUS: Action was taken by the Argives, not by any doubtful vote but in such a way as to make my aged heart renew its youth. For the air bristled with right hands held aloft as, in full vote, they ratified this resolution into law: That we are settlers in this land, and are free, subject to no seizure, and secure from robbery of man; that no one, native or alien, lead us captive; but, if they turn to violence, any landholder who refuses to rescue us, should both forfeit his rights and suffer public banishment. Such was the persuasive speech that the king of the Pelasgians delivered on our behalf, uttering the solemn warning that never in the future should the city feed the great wrath of Zeus, protector of the suppliant; and declaring that, should a twofold defilement—from strangers and from natives at once—arise before the city, it would become fodder for distress past all relief. Hearing these words, the Argive people, waiting for no proclamation of crier, voted by uplifted hand that this should be so. It was the Pelasgian people, won readily to assent, who heard the subtle windings of his speech; but it was Zeus who brought the end to pass.

CHORUS: Come, let us invoke blessings upon the Argives in return for blessings. And may Zeus, god of strangers, behold the offerings of gratitude voiced by a stranger’s lips, that they may in true fulfilment reach their perfect goal.

CHORUS: Divinely-born gods! Hear now as I pour forth libations for blessings upon our kindred. Never may the wanton lord of war, insatiate of battle-cry, Ares, who reaps a human harvest in alien fields, destroy this Pelasgian land by fire; for they had compassion for us, and cast a vote in our favor, respecting our pitiable flock, suppliants in the name of Zeus.

CHORUS: Nor did they cast their votes for the side of the males, disregarding the women’s cause, since they honored the avenging eye of Zeus, against which there is no battling, and what house would have it defiling its roof?For he sits heavily upon it. They take reverent heed of their kin, petitioners of holy Zeus; therefore with pure altars shall they please the gods.

CHORUS: Therefore let there fly forth from our overshadowedlips a prayer of gratitude. Never may pestilence empty this city of its men nor strife stain the soil of the land with the blood of slain inhabitants. But may the flower of its youth be unplucked, and may Ares, the partner of Aphrodite’s bed, he who makes havoc of men, not shear off their bloom.

CHORUS: And may the altars, where the elders gather, blaze in honor of venerable men. Thus may their state be regulated well, if they hold in awe mighty Zeus, and, most of all, Zeus the warden of the guest, who by venerable enactment guides destiny straight. We pray that other guardians be always renewed, and that Artemis-Hecatewatch over the childbirth of their women.

CHORUS: And let no murderous havoc come upon the realm to ravage it, by arming Ares—foe to the dance and lute, parent of tears—and the shout of civil strife. And may the joyless swarm of diseases settle far from the heads of the inhabitants, and to all the young people may Lyceusbe graciously disposed.

CHORUS: May Zeus cause the earth to bring forth its tribute of fruit by the produce of every season; may their grazing cattle in the fields have abundant increase, and may they obtain all things from the heavenly powers. May minstrels sing hymns of praise at the altars; and from pure lips let there proceed the phorminx-loving chant.

CHORUS: May the people who control the state guard its privileges free from fear— a prudent government counselling wisely for the public prosperity. And should they have recourse to arms may they inflict no loss, but grant just rights of covenant to the stranger within their gates.

Part 9

CHORUS: And may they worship forever the gods who possess the land with native honors of laurel bough held aloft, and oxen slain, even as their fathers did before their time. Since reverence for parents stands written third among the statutes of Justice, to whom honor supreme is due.

DANAUS: I commend these sensible prayers, dear children; but do not be troubled yourselves when you hear the unexpected and startling tidings your father has to tell. From my post of look-out here on the sanctuary of suppliants I see that ship; for it is well-marked and does not escape me: the trimming of its sail, its side-guards, and the prow that with its eyes scans its onward course, obeying—all too well for those to whom it is unfriendly—the guiding rudder at the stern. The men on board are plainly seen, their black limbs showing from their white attire. The rest of the ships and all the assisting fleet stand clear in view: but the leading ship herself has furled her sail and draws near the shore with full sweep of sounding oars. Yet you must face the matter calmly and with self-control, and not be unmindful of these gods. For my part, I will secure allies and advocates to urge our cause, and return. Perhaps some herald or envoys may come, eager to seize you as a prize and drag you away, but nothing will happen: do not fear them. Yet in the event that we should be slow in bringing aid, it would be better not to forget for a moment the means of help you have here at hand. Courage! In good time, assuredly, and on the day ordained, he who dishonors the gods will suffer punishment.

CHORUS: Father, I am afraid. With what swift wings the ships approach! There is not much time left.

CHORUS: I am possessed by dreadful fear if truly my long flight has been of no profit. Father, I am consumed with fright.

DANAUS: Since the vote of the Argives was final, be of good cheer, my children; they will fight in your defence, I know this well.

CHORUS: Abominable is the lustful race of Aegyptus and insatiate of battle; and you know that all too well.

In ships, stout-timbered and dark-prowed, they have sailed here, attended by a mighty black host, and in their wrath overtaken us.

DANAUS: But they will find here a force with arms well-seasoned by the noonday heat.

CHORUS: Do not leave me forlorn, I implore you, father. A woman abandoned to herself is nothing. There is no Ares in her.

They are of evil mind, and guileful of purpose, with impure hearts, thinking no more of altars than carrion birds.

DANAUS: This would profit us well, my children, should they incur both Heaven’s hate and yours.

CHORUS: Father, no fear of tridents or of things held sacred in the sight of Heaven will ever keep their hands from us.

They are overweening, maddened, with unholy rage, shameless dogs that do not respect the gods.

DANAUS: Yet there is a saying that wolves are stronger than dogs; the papyrus-fruit does not conquer the wheat-ear.

CHORUS: Since they have the tempers of lewd and impious beasts, we must guard against them quickly.

DANAUS: A fleet in getting under way is not so speedy, nor yet in anchoring, when the securing cables must be brought ashore; and even at anchorage shepherds of ships do not feel immediately secure, above all if they have arrived on a harborless coast when the sun is sinking into night. In a cautious pilot night is likely to beget anxiety. Then, too, the disembarking of an army cannot be effected with success before a ship has gained confidence in her moorings. But, for all your terror, remember not to neglect the gods. I will return when I have secured aid. The city will find no fault with a messenger, old in years, but with youth in his heart and on his tongue. Exit

CHORUS: O land of hills, land of our righteous veneration, what is to be our lot? To what region in the Apian land are we to flee, if anywhere there be some dark hiding-place? Ah that I might become black smoke that draws near to the clouds of Zeus; or, soaring aloft without wings, vanish out of sight like viewless dust and dissolve into nothingness!

CHORUS: The evil is no longer escapable; my heart is darkened and trembling; the look-out my father held has brought me ruin. I am undone with terror. Rather would I meet my doom in a noose than suffer the embraces of a man I loathe. Death before that, with Hades for my lord and master!

CHORUS: Ah that somewhere in the upper air I might find a seat against which the dank clouds turn into snow, or some bare, inaccessible crag, beyond sight, brooding in solitude, beetling, vulture-haunted, to bear witness to my plunge into the depths before I am ever forced into a marriage that would pierce my heart!

CHORUS: Thereafter I refuse not to become a booty for dogs and a banquet for the local birds; for death is freedom from misery-loving evils. Come death, death be my doom, before the marriage-bed! How can I yet find some means of escape to deliver me from marriage?

Part 10

CHORUS: Shriek aloud, with a cry that reaches heaven, strains of supplication to the gods; O father, give heed that they are somehow accomplished to my safety and tranquility. Behold deeds of violence with no kind glance in your just eyes! Have respect for your suppliants, O Zeus, omnipotent upholder of the land!

CHORUS: For the males of the race of Aegyptus, intolerable in their wantonness, chase after me, a fugitive, with clamorous lewdness and seek to lay hold of me with violence. But yours alone is the beam of the balance, and without you what is accomplished for mortals?

Ho! Ha! Here on the land is the pirate from the ship! Before that, pirate, may you perish . . . I see in this the prelude of suffering wrought by violence. Oh! Oh! Fly for protection! Savagery beyond bearing by its insolence on sea and land alike. Lord of the land, protect us!

HERALD: Away with you, away to the ship, as fast as your feet can carry you! If you won’t, your hair shall be torn out; you’ll be pricked with goads, and off will come your heads with abundant letting of gory blood. Away with you, away—and curses on you!—to the ships.

CHORUS: Would that you had perished on your course over the great briny flood along with your lordly arrogance and your riveted ship! ...

HERALD: I order you to stop your shrieking. ... Ho there! leave the sanctuary: be off to the ship! I do not respect one without honor and city.

CHORUS: Never again may my eyes behold the cattle-nurturing stream from which increase comes to men and vigor of the blood of life. I am a native here, of ancient nobility . . . old man.

HERALD: You will get yourself speedily on board, on board, I say, whether you will or not, by force, by force. . . .

CHORUS: Alas, alas! So may you perish past all help, driven from your course over the surging waves by eastern breezes off the sandy tomb of Sarpedon!

HERALD: Wail and shout and call upon the gods—you will not escape the Egyptian ship. Cry out, utter a strain of woe more bitter still.

CHORUS: Alas, alas the brutal outrage with which, you crocodile, you boast arrogantly, bellowing on the sea. May the mighty Nile, who watches you, overwhelm your arrogance and destroy you.

HERALD: Go to the double-prowed ship as quickly as possible. Let no one delay, for dragging by force has no mercy on locks of hair.

CHORUS: Alas, father; the help of the sacred images deludes me. Like a spider, he is carrying me seaward step by step—a nightmare, a black nightmare! Oh! Oh! Mother Earth, mother Earth, avert his fearful cries! O father Zeus, son of Earth!

HERALD: I do not fear the native gods, be assured. They did not rear me, nor by their nurture did they bring me to old age.

CHORUS: He rages close to me, the two-footed serpent. Like some viper he lays hold of me and bites my foot. Alas, alas! Mother Earth, mother Earth, avert his fearful cries! O father Zeus, son of Earth!

HERALD: If you will not resign yourself and get to the ship, rending will have no pity on the fabric of your garments.

CHORUS: We are lost! O King, we are suffering impious violence!

HERALD: Oh, you will soon see many kings in Aegyptus’ sons. Be of good cheer: you will not have to blame lack of government.

CHORUS: Listen! Chiefs and rulers of the city, I am threatened with violence!

HERALD: I think I will have to seize you by the hair and drag you off since you are slow to heed my orders.

Part 11

KING: You there! What are you doing? What kind of arrogance has incited you to do such dishonor to this realm of Pelasgian men? Indeed, do you think you have come to a land of women? For a barbarian dealing with Hellenes, you act insolently. Many are the misses of your wits, and your hits are none.

HERALD: And in this case where have I gone wrong and transgressed my right?

KING: First of all, you do not know how to act as a stranger.

HERALD: I not know? How so, when I simply find and take my own that I had lost?

KING: To what patrons of your land was your notice given?

HERALD: To Hermes, the Searcher, greatest of patrons.

KING: For all your notice to the gods, you do them no reverence.

HERALD: I revere the deities by the Nile.

KING: While ours are nothing, as I understand you?

HERALD: I shall carry off these maids unless someone tears them away.

KING: If you so much as touch them, you will regret it, and right soon.

HERALD: I hear you; and your speech is far from hospitable.

KING: No, since I have no hospitality for despoilers of the gods.

HERALD: I will go and tell Aegyptus’ sons about this.

KING: My proud spirit will not ponder on this threat.

HERALD: But that I may know and tell a plainer tale —for it is fitting that a herald make exact report on each detail—what message am I to deliver? Who is it, am I to tell on my return, that has despoiled me of this band of women, their own cousins? It is not, I suppose, by voice of witnesses that the god of battle judges cases like this; nor is it by the gift of silver that he settles dispute; no! If that be the case, many a one shall fall and shuffle off his life.

KING: My name? Why should I tell you? In due course of time you will learn it, you and your companions. As for these maids, if, convinced by god-fearing argument, they consent of their own free will and heartily, you may take them. But to this purpose a decree has been passed by the unanimous resolve of the people of the State, never, under compulsion, to surrender this association of women. Through their resolve the rivet has been driven home, to remain fixed and fast. Not on tablets is this inscribed, nor has it been sealed in folds of books: you hear the truth from free-spoken lips. Now get out of my sight immediately!

HERALD: I think we are about to involve ourselves in a new war. But may victory and authority rest with the men!

KING: It is men, I believe, you will find in the dwellers of this land; and they are no drinkers of diluted wine. Exit Herald. But take courage, all of you, and together with your handmaidens, proceed to our well-fenced town, encircled by sturdy devices of towers. As for places inside to lodge, there are plenty of the public sort. For on no modest scale do I myself live, where, in company with many others, you may occupy abodes suitably prepared; or, if it is more pleasing to you, it is free for you also to make your home in dwellings of separate sort. Of these select what is best and most to your desires. A protector you have in me and in all the inhabitants, whose resolve this is that now takes effect. Why wait for others of higher authority?

CHORUS: In blessings may you abound, noble Pelasgian, in requital for your blessings! But, if it pleases you, send our brave father Danaus here to be our adviser and leader of our counsels. For it befits him, rather than ourselves, to advise us where we should establish our home and what neighborhood is friendly. All the world is ready to cast reproach on those who speak a foreign tongue. But may all be for the best! Exit the King. And you, dear handmaidens, preserving your fair fame and provoking no angry utterances on the part of the native folk, take up your stations even as Danaus has allotted her duty of attendance unto each.

Part 12

DANAUS: My children, it is right to offer prayers to the Argives and to sacrifice and pour libations to them as to Olympian gods; for they are our saviors in no doubtful manner. They heard from my lips the conduct of your cousins toward their own kinfolk, and were moved to bitterness against them; but to me they assigned this escort of spearmen, that I might have rank and honor, and might not be ambushed and perish by the death of the spear, and so an ever-living burden come upon the land. Recipients of such favors as these, it becomes us to hold gratitude in yet higher honor from the bottom of our hearts. And in addition to the many other wise injunctions of your father recorded in your memory, inscribe this too—that an unknown company is proved by time. For in an alien’s case, all the world bears an evil tongue in readiness, and it is easy lightly to utter defiling slander. Therefore I would have you bring no shame upon me, now when your youthful loveliness attracts men’s gaze. The tender ripeness of summer fruit is in no way easy to protect; beasts despoil it—and men, why not?— and brutes that fly and those that walk the earth. Love’s goddess spreads news abroad of fruit bursting ripe. . . . So all men, as they pass, mastered by desire, shoot an alluring arrow of the eye at the delicate beauty of virgins. See to it, therefore, that we do not suffer that in fear for which we have endured great toil and ploughed the great waters with our ship; and that we bring no shame to ourselves and exultation to our enemies. Housing of two kinds is at our disposition, the one Pelasgus offers, the other, the city, and to occupy free of cost. These terms are easy. Only pay heed to these behests of your father, and count your chastity more precious than your life.

CHORUS: May the Olympian gods grant us good fortune in all the rest! But, concerning the bloom of my virginity, father, be of good cheer, for, unless some evil has been devised of Heaven, I will not swerve from the former pathway of my thoughts.

CHORUS OF THE DANAIDS: Come now away, glorifying the blessed gods, lords of the city both those who guard the town and those who dwell about Erasinus’ ancient stream. And you handmaidens take up the song. Let the theme of our praise be this city of the Pelasgians, and no longer let the homage of our hymns be paid to Nile’s floods where they seek the sea,

CHORUS OF THE DANAIDS: But to the rivers that pour their gentle draught through the land and increase the birth of children, soothing its soil with their fertilizing streams. May pure Artemis look upon this band in compassion, and may marriage never come through Cytherea’s compulsion. May that prize belong to my enemies!

CHORUS OF HANDMAIDENS: Yet there is no disdain of Cypris in this our friendly hymn; for she, together with Hera, holds power nearest to Zeus, and for her solemn rites the goddess of varied wiles is held in honor. And in the train of their mother are Desire and she to whom nothing is denied, winning Persuasion; and to Harmonia has been given a share of Aphrodite, and to the whispering touches of the Loves.

CHORUS OF HANDMAIDENS: But for the fugitives I have boding fears of blasts of harm and cruel distress and bloody wars. How did they make such a smooth voyage when pursuit followed fast upon their track? Whatever is fated, that will come to pass. The mighty, untrammelled will of Zeus cannot be transgressed. Marriage has been the destiny of many women before our time.

A DANAID: May mighty Zeus defend me from marriage with Aegyptus’ race!

A HANDMAIDEN: That would indeed be best.

A DANAID: But you would move the immovable.

A HANDMAIDEN: And you do not know what the future has in store.

A DANAID: How should I scan the mind of Zeus, a sight unfathomable?

A HANDMAIDEN: Let the words of your prayer be moderate.

A DANAID: What sense of proportion would you now teach me?

A HANDMAIDEN: Do not ask too much of the gods.

CHORUS OF DANAIDS AND HANDMAIDENS: May sovereign Zeus spare me cruel marriage with a man I hate, that very Zeus who mercifully freed Io from pain, restoring her with healing hand by kindly force.

CHORUS OF DANAIDS AND HANDMAIDENS: And may he award victory to the women! I praise that which is better than evil, two parts of good mixed with one of bad; and I praise that, through god-given means of deliverance, conflicting rights, in accordance with my prayers, should follow the course of justice. Exeunt omnes

Contents — 11 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10
11. Part 11

Part 1

POWER: To earth’s remotest limit we come, to the Scythian land, an untrodden solitude. And now, Hephaestus, yours is the charge to observe the mandates laid upon you by the Father—to clamp this miscreant upon the high craggy rocks in shackles of binding adamant that cannot be broken. For your own flower, flashing fire, source of all arts, he has purloined and bestowed upon mortal creatures. Such is his offence; for this he is bound to make requital to the gods, so that he may learn to bear with the sovereignty of Zeus and cease his man-loving ways.

HEPHAESTUS: Power and Force, for you indeed the behest of Zeus is now fulfilled, and nothing remains to stop you. But for me—I do not have the nerve myself to bind with force a kindred god upon this rocky cleft assailed by cruel winter. Yet, come what may, I am constrained to summon courage to this deed; for it is perilous to disregard the commandments of the Father. Lofty-minded son of Themis who counsels straight, against my will, no less than yours, I must rivet you with brazen bonds no hand can loose to this desolate crag, where neither voice nor form of mortal man shall you perceive; but, scorched by the sun’s bright beams, you shall lose the fair bloom of your flesh. And glad you shall be when spangled-robed night shall veil his brightness and when the sun shall scatter again the frost of morning. Evermore the burden of your present ill shall wear you out; for your deliverer is not yet born. Such is the prize you have gained for your championship of man. For, god though you are, you did not fear the wrath of the gods, but you bestowed honors upon mortal creatures beyond their due. Therefore on this joyless rock you must stand sentinel, erect, sleepless, your knee unbent. And many a groan and unavailing lament you shall utter; for the heart of Zeus is hard, and everyone is harsh whose power is new.

POWER: Well, why delay and excite pity in vain? Why do you not detest a god most hateful to the gods, since he has betrayed your prerogative to mortals?

HEPHAESTUS: A strangely potent tie is kinship, and companionship as well.

POWER: I agree; yet to refuse to obey the commands of the Father; is this possible? Do you not fear that more?

HEPHAESTUS: Yes, you are ever pitiless and steeped in insolence.

POWER: Yes, for it does not good to bemoan this fellow. Stop wasting your labor at an unprofitable task.

HEPHAESTUS: Oh handicraft that I hate so much!

POWER: Why hate it? Since in truth your craft is in no way to blame for these present troubles.

HEPHAESTUS: Nevertheless, i wish it had fallen to another’s lot!

POWER: Every job is troublesome except to be the commander of gods; no one is free except Zeus.

HEPHAESTUS: I know it by this task; I cannot deny it.

POWER: Hurry then to cast the fetters about him, so that the Father does not see you loitering.

HEPHAESTUS: Well, there then! The bands are ready, as you may see.

POWER: Cast them about his wrists and with might strike with your hammer; rivet him to the rocks.

HEPHAESTUS: There! The work is getting done and not improperly.

POWER: Strike harder, clamp him tight, leave nothing loose; for he is wondrously clever at finding a way even out of desperate straits.

HEPHAESTUS: This arm, at least, is fixed permanently.

POWER: Now rivet this one too and securely, so that he may learn, for all his cleverness, that he is a fool compared to Zeus.

HEPHAESTUS: None but he could justly blame my work.

Part 2

POWER: Now drive the adamantine wedge’s stubborn edge straight through his chest with your full force.

HEPHAESTUS: Alas, Prometheus, I groan for your sufferings.

POWER: What! Shrinking again and groaning over the enemies of Zeus? Take care, so that the day does not come when you shall grieve for yourself.

HEPHAESTUS: You see a spectacle grievous for eyes to behold.

POWER: I see this man getting his deserts. Come, cast the girths about his sides.

HEPHAESTUS: I must do this; spare me your needless ordering.

POWER: Indeed, I’ll order you, yes and more—I’ll hound you on. Get down below, and ring his legs by force.

HEPHAESTUS: There now! The work’s done and without much labor.

POWER: Now hammer the piercing fetters with your full force; for the appraiser of our work is severe.

HEPHAESTUS: The utterance of your tongue matches your looks.

POWER: Be softhearted then, but do not attack my stubborn will and my harsh mood.

HEPHAESTUS: Let us be gone, since he has got the fetters on his limbs. Exit

POWER: There now, indulge your insolence, keep on wresting from the gods their honors to give them to creatures of a day. Are mortals able to lighten your load of sorrow? Falsely the gods call you Prometheus,for you yourself need forethought to free yourself from this handiwork. Exeunt Power and Force

PROMETHEUS: O you bright sky of heaven, you swift-winged breezes, you river-waters, and infinite laughter of the waves of ocean, O universal mother Earth , and you, all-seeing orb of the sun, to you I call! See what I, a god, endure from the gods. Look, with what shameful torture I am racked and must wrestle throughout the countless years of time apportioned me. Such is the ignominious bondage the new commander of the blessed has devised against me. Woe! Woe! For present misery and misery to come I groan, not knowing where it is fated that deliverance from these sorrows shall arise. And yet, what am I saying? All that is to be I know full well and in advance, nor shall any affliction come upon me unforeseen. I must bear my allotted doom as lightly as I can, knowing that the might of Necessity permits no resistance.Yet I am not able to speak nor be silent about my fate. For it is because I bestowed good gifts on mortals that this miserable yoke of constraint has been bound upon me. I hunted out and stored in fennel stalk the stolen source of fire that has proved a teacher to mortals in every art and a means to mighty ends. Such is the offence for which I pay the penalty, riveted in fetters beneath the open sky. Ha! Behold! What murmur, what scent wings to me, its source invisible, heavenly or human, or both? Has someone come to this crag at the edge of the world to stare at my sufferings—or with what motive? Behold me, an ill-fated god, chained, the foe of Zeus, hated of all who enter the court of Zeus, because of my very great love for mankind. Ha! What’s this? What may be this rustling stir of birds I hear again nearby? The air whirs with the light rush of wings. Whatever approaches causes me alarm. The Daughters of Oceanus enter on a winged car

CHORUS: Do not fear! For our group has come in swift rivalry of wings to this crag as friend to you, having won our father’s consent as best we might. The swift-coursing breezes bore me on; for the reverberation of the clang of iron pierced the depths of our caves and drove my grave modesty away in fright; unsandalled I have hastened in a winged car.

PROMETHEUS: Alas! Alas! Offspring of fruitful Tethys and of him who with his sleepless current encircles the whole earth, children of your father Oceanus, behold, see with what fetters, upon the summit crag of this ravine, I am to hold my unenviable watch.

CHORUS: I see, Prometheus; and over my eyes a mist of tears and fear spread as I saw your body withering ignominiously upon this rock in these bonds of adamant. For there are new rulers in heaven, and Zeus governs with lawless customs; that which was mighty before he now brings to nothing.

PROMETHEUS: Oh if only he had hurled me below the earth, yes beneath Hades, the entertainer of the dead, into impassable Tartarus, and had ruthlessly fastened me in fetters no hand can loose, so that neither god nor any other might have gloated over this agony I feel! But, now, a miserable plaything of the winds, I suffer pains to delight my enemies.

CHORUS: Who of the gods is so hard of heart as to exult in this? Who does not sympathize with your woes—save only Zeus? But he in malice, has set his soul inflexibly and keeps in subjection the race sprung from Uranus; nor will he stop, until he has satiated his soul or another seizes his impregnable empire by some device of guile.

PROMETHEUS: Truly the day shall come when, although I am tortured in stubborn fetters, the prince of the blessed will need me to reveal the new design whereby he shall be stripped of his sceptre and his dignities. Not by persuasion’s honeyed enchantments will he charm me; and I will never, cowering before his dire threats, divulge this secret, until he releases me from my cruel bonds and provides compensation for this outrage.

Part 3

CHORUS: You are bold, and do not yield to your bitter pangs; you give too much license to your tongue. But my soul is agitated by piercing fear, and I am in dread about your fate, wondering to what haven you must steer your ship to see an end of your voyage of sorrow. For the heart of Cronus’ son is hardened against entreaty and his ways are inexorable.

PROMETHEUS: I know that Zeus is harsh and keeps justice in his own hands; but nevertheless one day his judgement will soften, when he has been crushed in the way that I know.Then, calming down his stubborn wrath, he shall at last bond with me in union and friendship, as eager as I am to welcome him.

CHORUS: Unfold the whole story and tell us upon what charge Zeus has caught you and painfully punishes you with such dishonor. Instruct us, unless, indeed, there is some harm in telling.

PROMETHEUS: It is painful to me to tell the tale, painful to keep it silent. My case is unfortunate every way. When first the heavenly powers were moved to wrath, and mutual dissension was stirred up among them—some bent on casting Cronus from his seat so Zeus, in truth, might reign; others, eager for the contrary end, that Zeus might never win mastery over the gods—it was then that I, although advising them for the best, was unable to persuade the Titans, children of Heaven and Earth; but they, disdaining counsels of craft, in the pride of their strength thought to gain the mastery without a struggle and by force. Often my mother Themis, or Earth (though one form, she had many names), had foretold to me the way in which the future was fated to come to pass. That it was not by brute strength nor through violence, but by guile that those who should gain the upper hand were destined to prevail. And though I argued all this to them, they did not pay any attention to my words. With all that before me, it seemed best that, joining with my mother, I should place myself, a welcome volunteer, on the side of Zeus; and it is by reason of my counsel that the cavernous gloom of Tartarus now hides ancient Cronus and his allies within it. Thus I helped the tyrant of the gods and with this foul payment he has responded; for it is a disease that is somehow inherent in tyranny to have no faith in friends. However, you ask why he torments me, and this I will now make clear. As soon as he had seated himself upon his father’s throne, he immediately assigned to the deities their several privileges and apportioned to them their proper powers. But of wretched mortals he took no notice, desiring to bring the whole race to an end and create a new one in its place. Against this purpose none dared make stand except me— I only had the courage; I saved mortals so that they did not descend, blasted utterly, to the house of Hades. This is why I am bent by such grievous tortures, painful to suffer, piteous to behold. I who gave mortals first place in my pity, I am deemed unworthy to win this pity for myself, but am in this way mercilessly disciplined, a spectacle that shames the glory of Zeus.

CHORUS: Iron-hearted and made of stone, Prometheus, is he who feels no compassion at your miseries. For myself, I would not have desired to see them; and now that I see them, I am pained in my heart.

PROMETHEUS: Yes, to my friends indeed I am a spectacle of pity.

CHORUS: Did you perhaps transgress even somewhat beyond this offence?

PROMETHEUS: Yes, I caused mortals to cease foreseeing their doom.

CHORUS: Of what sort was the cure that you found for this affliction?

PROMETHEUS: I caused blind hopes to dwell within their breasts.

CHORUS: A great benefit was this you gave to mortals.

PROMETHEUS: In addition, I gave them fire.

CHORUS: What! Do creatures of a day now have flame-eyed fire?

PROMETHEUS: Yes, and from it they shall learn many arts.

CHORUS: Then it was on a charge like this that Zeus—

PROMETHEUS: Torments me and in no way gives me respite from pain.

CHORUS: And is there no end assigned to your ordeal?

PROMETHEUS: No, none except when it seems good to him.

CHORUS: But how will it seem good to him? What hope is there? Do you not see that you have wronged? And yet it is not pleasant for me to talk about how you have wronged, and for you it is pain. So, let us quit this theme; and may you seek some release from your ordeal.

PROMETHEUS: It is easy for him who keeps his foot free from harm to counsel and admonish him who is in misery. I have known this all the while. Of my own will, yes, of my own will I erred—I will not deny it. By helping mortals I found suffering for myself; nevertheless I did not think I would be punished in this way—wasting away upon cliffs in mid-air, my portion this desolate and dreary crag. And now, bewail no more my present woes; alight on the ground and listen to my oncoming fortunes so that you may be told them from end to end. Consent, I beg you, oh consent. Take part in the trouble of him who is now in sore distress. In truth, affliction wanders impartially abroad and alights upon all in turn.

Part 4

CHORUS: Not to unwilling ears have you made this appeal, Prometheus. And so now with light foot I will quit my swift-speeding seat and the pure air, the pathway of birds and draw near to this rugged ground; for I want to hear the whole story of your sorrows.

OCEANUS: I have come to the end of a long journey in my passage to you, Prometheus, guiding by my own will, without a bridle, this swift-winged bird. For your fate, you may be sure, I feel compassion. Kinship, I think, constrains me to this; and, apart from blood ties, there is none to whom I should pay greater respect than to you. You shall know this for simple truth and that it is not in me to utter vain and empty words; come, tell me; what aid can I render you? For you shall never say that you have a friend more loyal than Oceanus.

PROMETHEUS: Ha! What have we here? So then you too have come to stare upon my sufferings? How did you summon courage to quit the stream that bears your name and the rock-roofed caves you yourself have made and come to this land, the mother of iron? Is it that you have come to gaze upon my state and join your grief to my distress? Look upon me here—a spectacle, the friend of Zeus, who helped him to establish his sovereign power, by what anguish I am bent by him!

OCEANUS: I see, Prometheus; and I want to give you the best advice, although you yourself are wily. Learn to know yourself and adapt yourself to new ways; for new also is the ruler among the gods. If you hurl forth words so harsh and of such whetted edge, perhaps Zeus may hear you, though throned far off, high in the heavens, and then your present multitude of sorrows shall seem but childish sport. Oh wretched sufferer! Put away your wrathful mood and try to find release from these miseries. Perhaps this advice may seem to you old and dull; but your plight, Prometheus, is only the wages of too boastful speech. You still have not learned humility, nor do you bend before misfortune, but would rather add even more miseries to those you have. Therefore take me as your teacher and do not add insult to injury, seeing that a harsh monarch now rules who is accountable to no one. So now I will depart and see whether I can release you from these sufferings. And may you hold your peace and be not too blustering of speech. Or, can it be that for all your exceeding wisdom, you do not know that chastisement is inflicted on a wagging tongue?

PROMETHEUS: I envy you because you have escaped blame for having dared to share with me in my troubles.So now leave me alone and let it not concern you. Do what you want, you cannot persuade him; for he is not easy to persuade. Beware that you do not do yourself harm by the mission you take.

OCEANUS: In truth, you are far better able to admonish others than yourself. It is by fact, not by hearsay, that I judge. So do not hold back one who is eager to go. For I am confident, yes, confident, that Zeus will grant me this favor, to free you from your sufferings.

PROMETHEUS: I thank you for all this and shall never cease to thank you; in zeal you lack nothing, but do not trouble yourself; for your trouble will be vain and not helpful to me—if indeed you want to take the pain. No, keep quiet and keep yourself clear of harm. For even if I am in sore plight, I would not wish affliction on everyone else. No, certainly, no! since, besides, I am distressed by the fate of my brother Atlas, who, towards the west, stands bearing on his shoulders the pillar of heaven and earth, a burden not easy for his arms to grasp. Pity moved me, too, at the sight of the earth-born dweller of the Cilician caves curbed by violence, that destructive monster of a hundred heads, impetuous Typhon. He withstood all the gods, hissing out terror with horrid jaws, while from his eyes lightened a hideous glare, as though he would storm by force the sovereignty of Zeus. But the unsleeping bolt of Zeus came upon him, the swooping lightning brand with breath of flame, which struck him, frightened, from his loud-mouthed boasts; then, stricken to the very heart, he was burnt to ashes and his strength blasted from him by the lightning bolt. And now, a helpless and a sprawling bulk, he lies hard by the narrows of the sea, pressed down beneath the roots of Aetna; while on the topmost summit Hephaestus sits and hammers the molten ore. There, one day, shall burst forth rivers of fire,with savage jaws devouring the level fields of Sicily, land of fair fruit—such boiling rage shall Typho, although charred by the blazing lightning of Zeus, send spouting forth with hot jets of appalling, fire-breathing surge. But you are not inexperienced, and do not need me to teach you. Save yourself, as you know best; while I exhaust my present lot until the time comes when the mind of Zeus shall abandon its wrath.

OCEANUS: Do you not know then, Prometheus, that words are the physicians of a disordered temper?

PROMETHEUS: If one softens the soul in season, and does not hasten to reduce its swelling rage by violence.

OCEANUS: What lurking mischief do you see when daring joins to zeal? Teach me this.

PROMETHEUS: Lost labor and thoughtless simplicity.

OCEANUS: Leave me to be affected by this, since it is most advantageous, when truly wise, to be deemed a fool.

PROMETHEUS: This fault will be seen to be my own.

OCEANUS: Clearly the manner of your speech orders me back home.

PROMETHEUS: So that you won’t win enmity for yourself by lamenting for me.

OCEANUS: In the eyes of the one who is newly seated on his omnipotent throne?

PROMETHEUS: Beware lest the time come when his heart is angered with you.

OCEANUS: Your plight, Prometheus, is my instructor.

PROMETHEUS: Go away, depart, keep your present purpose.

OCEANUS: Your urging meets my eagerness; for my four-footed winged beast fans with his wings the smooth pathway of the air; and truly he will be glad to rest his knees in his stall at home. Exit

Part 5

CHORUS: I mourn your unfortunate fate, Prometheus. Shedding from my eyes a coursing flood of tears I wet my tender cheeks with their moist streams. For Zeus, holding this unenviable power by self-appointed laws, displays towards the gods of old an overweening spirit.

CHORUS: Now the whole earth cries aloud in lamentation; . . . lament the greatness of the glory of your time-hallowed honor, the honor that was yours and your brother’s; and all mortals who make their dwelling place in holy Asia share the anguish of your most lamentable suffering;

CHORUS: And those who dwell in the land of Colchis, the maidens fearless in fight; and the Scythian multitude that inhabits the most remote region of the earth bordering the Maeotic lake;

CHORUS: And the warlike flower of Arabia, which hold the high-cragged citadel near the Caucasus, a hostile host that roars among the sharp-pointed spears.

CHORUS: One other Titan god before this I have seen in distress, enthralled in torment by adamantine bonds—Atlas, pre-eminent in mighty strength, who moans as he supports the vault of heaven on his back.

CHORUS: The waves of the sea utter a cry as they fall, the deep laments, the black abyss of Hades rumbles in response, and the streams of pure-flowing rivers lament your piteous pain.

PROMETHEUS: No, do not think it is from pride or even from wilfulness that I am silent. Painful thoughts devour my heart as I behold myself maltreated in this way. And yet who else but I definitely assigned their prerogatives to these upstart gods? But I do not speak of this; for my tale would tell you nothing except what you know. Still, listen to the miseries that beset mankind—how they were witless before and I made them have sense and endowed them with reason. I will not speak to upbraid mankind but to set forth the friendly purpose that inspired my blessing. First of all, though they had eyes to see, they saw to no avail; they had ears, but they did not understand ; but, just as shapes in dreams, throughout their length of days, without purpose they wrought all things in confusion. They had neither knowledge of houses built of bricks and turned to face the sun nor yet of work in wood; but dwelt beneath the ground like swarming ants, in sunless caves. They had no sign either of winter or of flowery spring or of fruitful summer, on which they could depend but managed everything without judgment, until I taught them to discern the risings of the stars and their settings, which are difficult to distinguish. Yes, and numbers, too, chiefest of sciences, I invented for them, and the combining of letters, creative mother of the Muses’ arts, with which to hold all things in memory. I, too, first brought brute beasts beneath the yoke to be subject to the collar and the pack-saddle, so that they might bear in men’s stead their heaviest burdens; and to the chariot I harnessed horses and made them obedient to the rein, to be an image of wealth and luxury. It was I and no one else who invented the mariner’s flaxen-winged car that roams the sea. Wretched that I am—such are the arts I devised for mankind, yet have myself no cunning means to rid me of my present suffering.

CHORUS: You have suffered sorrow and humiliation. You have lost your wits and have gone astray; and, like an unskilled doctor, fallen ill, you lose heart and cannot discover by which remedies to cure your own disease.

PROMETHEUS: Hear the rest and you shall wonder the more at the arts and resources I devised. This first and foremost: if ever man fell ill, there was no defence—no healing food, no ointment, nor any drink—but for lack of medicine they wasted away, until I showed them how to mix soothing remedies with which they now ward off all their disorders. And I marked out many ways by which they might read the future, and among dreams I first discerned which are destined to come true; and voices baffling interpretation I explained to them, and signs from chance meetings. The flight of crook-taloned birds I distinguished clearly— which by nature are auspicious, which sinister—their various modes of life, their mutual feuds and loves, and their consortings; and the smoothness of their entrails, and what color the gall must have to please the gods, also the speckled symmetry of the liver-lobe; and the thigh-bones, wrapped in fat, and the long chine I burned and initiated mankind into an occult art. Also I cleared their vision to discern signs from flames,which were obscure before this. Enough about these arts. Now as to the benefits to men that lay concealed beneath the earth—bronze, iron, silver, and gold—who would claim to have discovered them before me? No one, I know full well, unless he likes to babble idly. Hear the sum of the whole matter in the compass of one brief word—every art possessed by man comes from Prometheus.

CHORUS: Do not benefit mortals beyond reason and disregard your own distress; although, I am confident that you will be freed from these bonds and will have power in no way inferior to Zeus.

PROMETHEUS: Not in this way is Fate, who brings all to fulfillment, destined to complete this course. Only when I have been bent by pangs and tortures infinite am I to escape my bondage. Skill is weaker by far than Necessity.

CHORUS: Who then is the helmsman of Necessity?

PROMETHEUS: The three-shaped Fates and mindful Furies.

CHORUS: Can it be that Zeus has less power than they do?

PROMETHEUS: Yes, in that even he cannot escape what is foretold.

CHORUS: Why, what is fated for Zeus except to hold eternal sway?

PROMETHEUS: This you must not learn yet; do not be over-eager.

CHORUS: It is some solemn secret, surely, that you enshroud in mystery.

PROMETHEUS: Think of some other subject, for it is not the proper time to speak of this. No matter what, this must be kept concealed; for it is by safeguarding it that I am to escape my dishonorable bonds and outrage.

CHORUS: May Zeus, who apportions everything, never set his power in conflict with my will, nor may I be slow to approach the gods, with holy sacrifices of oxen slain, by the side of the ceaseless stream of Oceanus, my father; and may I not offend in speech; but may this rule abide in my heart and never fade away.

Part 6

CHORUS: Sweet it is to pass all the length of life amid confident hopes, feeding the heart in glad festivities. But I shudder as I look on you, racked by infinite tortures. You have no fear of Zeus, Prometheus, but in self-will you reverence mortals too much.

CHORUS: Come, my friend, how mutual was your reciprocity? Tell me, what kind of help is there in creatures of a day? What aid? Did you not see the helpless infirmity, no better than a dream, in which the blind generation of men is shackled? Never shall the counsels of mortal men transgress the ordering of Zeus.

CHORUS: I have learned this lesson from observing the luck, Prometheus, that has brought about your ruin. And the difference in the song stole into my thought —this song and that, which, about your bridal bed and bath, I raised to grace your marriage, when you wooed with gifts and won my sister Hesione to be your wedded wife.

IO: What land is this? What people? By what name am I to call the one I see exposed to the tempest in bonds of rock? What offence have you committed that as punishment you are doomed to destruction? Tell me to what region of the earth I have wandered in my wretchedness?

Oh, oh! Aah! Aah! A gad-fly, phantom of earth-born Argus is stinging me again! Keep him away, O Earth! I am fearful when I behold that myriad-eyed herdsman. He travels onward with his crafty gaze upon me; not even in death does the earth conceal him, but passing from the shades he hounds me, the forlorn one, and drives me famished along the sands of the seashore.

IO: The waxen pipe drones forth in accompaniment a clear-sounding slumberous strain. Alas, alas! Where is my far-roaming wandering course taking me? In what, O son of Cronus, in what have you found offence so that you have bound me to this yoke of misery—aah! are you harassing a wretched maiden to frenzy by this terror of the pursuing gadfly? Consume me with fire, or hide me in the earth, or give me to the monsters of the deep to devour; but do not grudge, O Lord, the favor that I pray for. My far-roaming wanderings have taught me enough, and I cannot discern how to escape my sufferings. Do you hear the voice of the horned virgin?

PROMETHEUS: How can I fail to hear the maiden frenzied by the gadfly, the daughter of Inachus? It is she who fires the heart of Zeus with passion, and now, through Hera’s hate, is disciplined by force with interminable wandering.

IO: Why do you call my father’s name? Tell me, the unfortunate maid, who you are, unhappy wretch, that you thus correctly address the miserable maiden, and have named the heaven-sent plague that wastes and stings me with its maddening goad. Ah me! In frenzied bounds I come, driven by torturing hunger, victim of Hera’s vengeful purpose. Who of the company of the unfortunate endures—aah! aah!—sufferings such as mine? Oh make it clear to me what misery I am fated to suffer, what remedy is there, what cure, for my affliction. Reveal it, if you have the knowledge. Oh speak, declare it to the unfortunate, wandering virgin.

PROMETHEUS: I will tell you plainly all that you would like to know, not weaving riddles, but in simple language, since it is right to speak openly to friends. Look, I whom you see am Prometheus, who gave fire to mankind.

IO: O you who have shown yourself a common benefactor of mankind, wretched Prometheus, why do you suffer so?

PROMETHEUS: I have only just now finished lamenting my own calamities.

IO: You will not then do this favor for me?

PROMETHEUS: Say what it is you wish; for you can learn all from me.

IO: Tell me who has bound you fast in this ravine.

PROMETHEUS: Zeus by his will, Hephaestus by his hand.

IO: And for what offence do you pay the penalty?

PROMETHEUS: It suffices that I have made clear to you this much and no more.

IO: No, also tell me the end of my wandering—what time is set for wretched me.

PROMETHEUS: It would be better not to know than to know, in your case.

IO: I beg you, do not hide from me what I am doomed to suffer.

Part 7

PROMETHEUS: No, it is not that I do not want to grant your request.

IO: Why then your reluctance to tell me everything?

PROMETHEUS: I am not unwilling; but I hesitate to crush your spirit.

IO: Do not be more kind to me than I myself desire.

PROMETHEUS: Since you insist, I must speak. Listen, then.

CHORUS: No, not yet. Grant us too a portion of the pleasure. Let us first inquire the story of her affliction and let her with her own lips relate the events that brought horrid calamity upon her. Then let her be instructed by you as to the toils still to come.

PROMETHEUS: It is for you, Io, to grant them this favor, especially since they are your father’s sisters. For it is worthwhile to indulge in weeping and in wailing over evil fortunes when one is likely to win the tribute of a tear from the listener.

IO: I do not know how to refuse you. You shall learn in truthful speech all that you would like to know. Yet I am ashamed to tell about the storm of calamity sent by Heaven, of the marring of my form, and of the source from which it swooped upon me, wretched that I am. For visions of the night, always haunting my maiden chamber, sought to beguile me with seductive words, saying: O damsel greatly blessed of fortune, why linger in your maidenhood so long when it is within your power to win a union of the highest? Zeus is inflamed by passion’s dart for you and is eager to unite with you in love. Do not, my child, spurn the bed of Zeus, but go forth to Lerna’s meadow land of pastures deep and to your father’s flocks and where his cattle feed, so that the eye of Zeus may find respite from its longing. By such dreams was I, to my distress, beset night after night, until at last I gained courage to tell my father of the dreams that haunted me. And he sent many a messenger to Pytho and Dodona so that he might discover what deed or word of his would find favor with the gods. But they returned with report of oracles, riddling, obscure, and darkly worded. Then at last there came an unmistakable utterance to Inachus, charging and commanding him clearly that he must thrust me forth from home and native land to roam at large to the remotest confines of the earth; and, if he would not, a fiery thunderbolt would come from Zeus that would utterly destroy his whole race. Yielding obedience to such prophetic utterances of Loxias, he drove me away and barred me from his house, against his will and mine; but the constraint of Zeus forced him to act by necessity. Immediately my form and mind were distorted, and with horns, as you see, upon my forehead, stung by a sharp-fanged gadfly I rushed with frantic bounds to Cerchnea’s sweet stream and Lerna’s spring. But Argus, the earth-born herdsman, untempered in his rage, pursued me, peering with his many eyes upon my steps. A sudden death robbed him of life unexpectedly; while I, still tormented by the gadfly, am driven on from land to land before the heaven-sent plague. That is what happened ; and if you can declare what toils still remain, reveal them. Do not, from pity, seek to soothe me with untrue words ; for I consider false words to be the foulest sickness.

CHORUS: Oh, ah, go away, alas! Never, oh never, did I dream that words so strange would greet my ears; or that sufferings so grievous to look upon, yes, and so grievous to endure, a tale of outrage, would strike my soul as if with double-pronged goad. Alas, O Fate, O Fate, I shudder to behold the plight that has befallen Io.

PROMETHEUS: You lament and are full of fear all too soon. Wait until you have learned the rest as well.

CHORUS: Proceed, tell all. It is comforting for the sick to know clearly beforehand what pain still awaits them.

PROMETHEUS: You gained your former request easily from me; for you first desired the story of her ordeal from her own lips. Hear now the sequel, the sufferings this maid is fated to endure at Hera’s hand. And may you, daughter of Inachus, lay to heart my words so that you may learn the end of your wanderings. First, from this spot, turn yourself toward the rising sun and make your way over untilled plains; and you shall reach the Scythian nomads, who dwell in thatched houses, perched aloft on strong-wheeled wagons and are equipped with far-darting bows. Do not approach them, but keeping your feet near the rugged shore, where the sea breaks with a roar, pass on beyond their land. On the left hand dwell the workers in iron, the Chalybes, and you must beware of them, since they are savage and are not to be approached by strangers. Then you shall reach the river Hybristes, which does not belie its name. Do not cross this, for it is hard to cross, until you come to Caucasus itself, loftiest of mountains, where from its very brows the river pours out its might in fury. You must pass over its crests, which neighbor the stars, and enter upon a southward course, where you shall reach the host of the Amazons, who loathe all men. They shall in time to come inhabit Themiscyra on the Thermodon, where, fronting the sea, is Salmydessus’ rugged jaw, evil host of mariners, step-mother of ships. The Amazons will gladly guide you on your way. Next, just at the narrow portals of the harbor, you shall reach the Cimmerian isthmus. This you must leave with stout heart and pass through the channel of Maeotis; and ever after among mankind there shall be great mention of your passing, and it shall be called after you the Bosporus.Then, leaving the soil of Europe, you shall come to the Asian continent. Does it not seem to you that the tyrant of the gods is violent in all his ways? For this god, desirous of union with this mortal maid, has imposed upon her these wanderings. Maiden, you have gained a cruel suitor for your hand. As to the tale you now have heard— understand that it has not even passed the introduction.

IO: Ah me, ah me, alas!

PROMETHEUS: What! You are crying and groaning again? What will you do, I wonder, when you have learned the sufferings still in store for you?

CHORUS: What! Can it be that you have sufferings still left to recount to her?

PROMETHEUS: Yes, a tempestuous sea of calamitous distress.

IO: What gain have I then in life? Why did I not hurl myself straightaway from this rugged rock, so that I was dashed to earth and freed from all my sufferings? It is better to die once and for all than linger out all my days in misery.

PROMETHEUS: Ah, you would hardly bear my agonies to whom it is not foredoomed to die; for death would have freed me from my sufferings. But now no limit to my tribulations has been appointed until Zeus is hurled from his sovereignty.

IO: What! Shall Zeus one day be hurled from his dominion?

PROMETHEUS: You would rejoice, I think, to see that happen.

Part 8

IO: Why not, since it is at the hand of Zeus that I suffer?

PROMETHEUS: Then you may assure yourself that these things are true.

IO: By whom shall he be despoiled of the sceptre of his sovereignty?

PROMETHEUS: By himself and his own empty-headed purposes.

IO: In what way? Oh tell me, if there be no harm in telling.

PROMETHEUS: He shall make a marriage that shall one day cause him distress.

IO: With a divinity or with a mortal? If it may be told, speak out.

PROMETHEUS: Why ask with whom? I may not speak of this.

IO: Is it by his consort that he shall be dethroned?

PROMETHEUS: Yes, since she shall bear a son mightier than his father.

IO: And has he no means to avert this doom?

PROMETHEUS: No, none—except me, if I were released from bondage.

IO: Who then is to release you against the will of Zeus?

PROMETHEUS: It is to be one of your own grandchildren.

IO: What did you say? A child of mine will release you from your misery?

PROMETHEUS: The third in descent after ten generations.

IO: Your prophecy is not easy to understand.

PROMETHEUS: Yes, so do not seek to learn the full extent of your own sufferings.

IO: Do not offer me a favor and then withdraw it.

PROMETHEUS: I will present you with one or other of two tales.

Part 9

IO: Which two? Set them forth and offer me the choice.

PROMETHEUS: I am making the offer: choose whether I shall reveal the sufferings still in store for you or the one who will be my deliverer.

CHORUS: Consent to bestow on her one of these favors, and on me the other; do not deny me the tale. Tell her about her further wanderings; tell me who will deliver you—for I would like to know this.

PROMETHEUS: Well, since you are bent on this, I will not refuse to proclaim all that you still crave to know. First, to you, Io, will I declare your much-vexed wandering, and may you engrave it on the recording tablets of your mind. When you have crossed the stream that bounds the two continents, toward the flaming east, where the sun walks,...... crossing the surging sea until you reach the Gorgonean plains of Cisthene, where the daughters of Phorcys dwell, ancient maids, three in number, shaped like swans, possessing one eye amongst them and a single tooth; neither does the sun with his beams look down upon them, nor ever the nightly moon. And near them are their three winged sisters, the snake-haired Gorgons, loathed of mankind, whom no one of mortal kind shall look upon and still draw breath. Such is the peril that I bid you to guard against. But now listen to another and a fearsome spectacle. Beware of the sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that do not bark, the gryphons, and the one-eyed Arimaspian folk, mounted on horses, who dwell about the flood of Pluto’sstream that flows with gold. Do not approach them. Then you shall come to a far-off country of a dark race that dwells by the waters of the sun, where the river Aethiop is. Follow along its banks until you reach the cataract, where, from the Bybline mountains, Nile sends forth his hallowed and sweet stream. He will conduct you on your way to the three-angled land of Nilotis, where, at last, it is ordained for you, O Io, and for your children to found your far-off colony. If anything of this is confusing to you and hard to understand, may you question me yet again, and gain a clear account; for I have more leisure than I crave.

CHORUS: If there is anything still remaining or passed over of her direful wandering that you have to tell, oh speak. But if you have told all, grant us in turn the favor we request—you probably have it still in memory.

PROMETHEUS: She has now heard the full end of her travels; yet so she may know that she has heard no vain tale from me, I will describe the toils she has endured before she came here, giving this as a sure proof of my account. Most of the weary tale I shall leave out and come to the very close of your wanderings. For when you reached the Molossian plains and the sheer ridge that encircles Dodona, where lies the prophetic seat of Thesprotian Zeus and that marvel, passing all belief, the talking oaks, by which you clearly, and in no riddling terms, were saluted as the renowned bride-to-be of Zeus (is any of this pleasing to you?), then, stung by the gadfly, you rushed along the pathway by the shore to the great gulf of Rhea, from where you are tossed in backward-wandering course; and for all time to come a recess of the sea, be well assured, shall bear the name Ionian, as a memorial of your crossing for all mankind. These, then, are the tokens to you of my understanding, to show that it discerns more than has been made manifest. The rest I shall declare both to you and her, returning to the track of my former tale. There is a city, Canobus, on the extremity of the land at the very mouth and silt-bar of the Nile. There at last Zeus restores you to your senses by the mere stroke and touch of his unterrifying hand. And you shall bring forth dark Epaphus,thus named from the manner of Zeus’ engendering; and he shall gather the fruit of all the land watered by the broad-flowing Nile. Fifth in descent from him, fifty maidens shall return to Argos, not of their own free choice, but fleeing marriage with their cousin kin; while these, their hearts ablaze with passion, like falcons eagerly pursuing doves, shall come in pursuit of wedlock unlawful to pursue; but God shall grudge them enjoyment of their brides. Pelasgian soil shall offer the maids a home, when, in the watches of the night, their husbands have been slain by a deed of daring wrought by the women’s murderous blows. For each bride shall take the life of her lord, dyeing a two-edged sword in his blood—in such ways may Love come upon my enemies! However, love’s desire shall charm one of the maidens not to slay her mate; rather, her resolve will lose its edge; for she will make her choice between two evil names to be called coward rather than murderess. She it is who shall give birth in Argos to a royal line— a long story is necessary to explain this clearly; of her seed, however, shall be born a man of daring, renowned with the bow, who shall deliver me from these toils.Such is the oracle recounted to me by my mother, Titan Themis, born long ago. The manner and the means—these need lengthy speech to tell, and to learn them all would not be of any benefit.

IO: Oh! Oh! Alas! Once again convulsive pain and frenzy, striking my brain, inflame me. I am stung by the gadfly’s barb, unforged by fire. My heart knocks at my ribs in terror; my eyeballs roll wildly round and round. I am carried out of my course by a fierce blast of madness; I’ve lost all mastery over my tongue, and a stream of turbid words beats recklessly against the billows of dark destruction. Exit

CHORUS: Ah, sage, sage indeed, was he who first pondered this truth in his mind and with his tongue gave it utterance— that to marry in one’s own class is far the best—a poor man should not desire to marry among those who are pampered by riches, or who are mighty in pride of birth.

CHORUS: Never, oh never, immortal Fates, may you see me the partner of the bed of Zeus, and may I be wedded to no bridegroom who descends to me from heaven. For I shudder when I behold the loveless maidenhood of Io, cruelly crushed like this by her toilsome wanderings sent by Hera.

CHORUS: When marriage is on equal terms, in my opinion it is no cause for dread; so never may the love of the mightier gods cast on me its irresistible glance. That would indeed be a war that cannot be fought, a source of resourceless misery; and I do not know what would be my fate, for I do not see how I could escape the designs of Zeus.

PROMETHEUS: Yes, truly, the day will come when Zeus, although stubborn of soul, shall be humbled, seeing that he plans a marriage that shall hurl him into oblivion from his sovereignty and throne; and then immediately the curse his father Cronus invoked as he fell from his ancient throne, shall be fulfilled to the uttermost. Deliverance from such ruin no one of the gods can show him clearly except me. I know the fact and the means. So let him sit there in his assurance, putting his trust in the crash reverberating on high and brandishing his fire-breathing bolt in his hands. For these shall not protect him from falling in ignominious and unendurable ruin. Such an adversary is he now preparing despite himself, a prodigy irresistible, even one who shall discover a flame mightier than the lightning and a deafening crash to outroar the thunder; a prodigy who shall shiver the trident, Poseidon’s spear, that scourge of the sea and shaker of the land.Then, wrecked upon this evil, Zeus shall learn how different it is to be a sovereign and a slave.

CHORUS: Surely, it is only your own desire that you utter as a curse against Zeus.

PROMETHEUS: I speak what shall be brought to pass and, moreover, my own desire.

CHORUS: Must we really look for one to gain mastery over Zeus?

PROMETHEUS: Yes, and he shall bear upon his neck pangs more galling than these of mine.

CHORUS: How is it that you are not afraid to utter such taunts?

PROMETHEUS: Why should I fear since I am fated not to die?

CHORUS: But he might inflict on you an ordeal even more bitter than this.

PROMETHEUS: Let him, for all I care! I am prepared for anything.

CHORUS: Wise are they who do homage to Necessity.

Part 10

PROMETHEUS: Worship, adore, and fawn upon whoever is your lord. But for Zeus I care less than nothing. Let him do his will, let him hold his power for his little day— since he will not bear sway over the gods for long. But wait, for over there I see his messenger, the servant of our new lord and master. Certainly he has come to announce some news.

HERMES: To you, the clever and crafty, bitter beyond all bitterness, who has sinned against the gods in bestowing honors upon creatures of a day—to you, thief of fire, I speak. The Father commands that you tell what marriage you boast of, whereby he is to be hurled from power—and this, mark well, set forth in no riddling fashion, but point by point, as the case exactly stands; and do not impose upon me a double journey, Prometheus—you see Zeus is not appeased by dealings such as yours.

PROMETHEUS: Bravely spoken, in truth, and swollen with pride is your speech, as befits a minion of the gods. Young you are, as young your power, and you think indeed that you inhabit heights beyond the reach of grief. Have I not seen two sovereigns cast out from these heights? A third, the present lord, I shall live to see cast out in ruin most shameful and most swift. Do you think I quail, perhaps, and cower before these upstart gods? Far from it—no, not at all. But scurry back the way you came; for you shall learn nothing about which you question me.

HERMES: Yet it was by such proud wilfulness before, too, that you brought yourself to this harbor of distress.

PROMETHEUS: For your servitude, rest assured, I’d not barter my hard lot, not I.

HERMES: Better, no doubt, to serve this rock than be the trusted messenger of Father Zeus!

PROMETHEUS: Such is the proper style for the insolent to offer insult.

HERMES: I think you revel in your present plight.

PROMETHEUS: I revel? Oh, I wish that I might see my enemies revelling in this way! And you, too, I count among them.

HERMES: What! You blame me in some way for your calamities?

PROMETHEUS: In one word, I hate all the gods that received good at my hands and with ill requite me wrongfully.

HERMES: Your words declare you stricken with no slight madness.

PROMETHEUS: Mad I may be—if it is madness to loathe one’s enemies.

HERMES: You would be unbearable if you were prosperous.

PROMETHEUS: Alas!

HERMES: Alas? That is a word unknown to Zeus.

PROMETHEUS: But ever-ageing Time teaches all things.

HERMES: Yes, but you at least have not yet learned to keep a sober mind.

PROMETHEUS: Or else I would not have addressed you, an underling.

HERMES: It seems you will answer nothing that the Father demands.

Part 11

PROMETHEUS: Yes, truly, I am his debtor and I should repay favor to him.

HERMES: You taunt me as though, indeed, I were a child.

PROMETHEUS: And are you not a child and even more witless than a child if you expect to learn anything from me? There is no torment or device by which Zeus shall induce me to utter this until these injurious fetters are loosed. So then, let his blazing lightning be hurled, and with the white wings of the snow and thunders of earthquake let him confound the reeling world. For nothing of this shall bend my will even to tell at whose hands he is fated to be hurled from his sovereignty.

HERMES: Look now whether this course seems to profit you.

PROMETHEUS: Long ago has this my course been foreseen and resolved.

HERMES: Bend your will, perverse fool, oh bend your will at last to wisdom in face of your present sufferings.

PROMETHEUS: In vain you trouble me, as though it were a wave you try to persuade. Never think that, through terror at the will of Zeus, I shall become womanish and, with hands upturned, aping woman’s ways, shall importune my greatly hated enemy to release me from these bonds. I am far, far from that.

HERMES: I think that by speaking much I will only speak in vain; for you are not soothed nor are you softened by my entreaties. You take the bit in your teeth like a new-harnessed colt and struggle against the reins. Yet it is a paltry device that prompts your vehemence, for in the foolish-minded mere self-will of itself avails less than anything at all. But if you will not be won to belief by my words, think of what a tempest and a towering wave of woe shall break upon you past escape. First, the Father will shatter this jagged cliff with thunder and lightning-flame, and will entomb your frame, while the rock shall still hold you clasped in its embrace. But when you have completed a long stretch of time, you shall come back again to the light. Then indeed the winged hound of Zeus, the ravening eagle, coming an unbidden banqueter the whole day long, with savage appetite shall tear your body piecemeal into great rents and feast his fill upon your liver until it is black with gnawing. Look for no term of this your agony until some god shall appear to take upon himself your woes and of his own free will descend into the sunless realm of Death and the dark deeps of Tartarus. Therefore be advised, since this is no counterfeited vaunting but utter truth; for the mouth of Zeus does not know how to utter falsehood, but will bring to pass every word. May you consider warily and reflect, and never deem stubbornness better than wise counsel.

CHORUS: To us, at least, Hermes seems not to speak untimely; for he bids you to lay aside your stubbornness and seek the good counsel of wisdom. Be advised! It is shameful for the wise to persist in error.

PROMETHEUS: No news to me, in truth, is the message this fellow has proclaimed so noisily.Yet for enemy to suffer ill from enemy is no disgrace. Therefore let the lightning’s forked curl be cast upon my head and let the sky be convulsed with thunder and the wrack of savage winds; let the hurricane shake the earth from its rooted base, and let the waves of the sea mingle with their savage surge the courses of the stars in heaven; and let him lift me on high and hurl me down to black Tartarus with the swirling floods of stern Necessity: do what he will, me he shall never bring to death.

HERMES: Such indeed are the thoughts and the words one hears from men deranged. Where does his prayer fall short of raving? Where does he abate his frenzy?—But, at all events, may you who sympathize with his anguish, withdraw in haste from this spot so that the relentless roar of the thunder does not stun your senses.

CHORUS: Use some other strain and urge me to some other course in which you are likely to convince me. This utterance in your flood of speech is, I think, past all endurance. How do you charge me to practise baseness? With him I am content to suffer any fate; for I have learned to detest traitors, and there is no pest I abhor more than this.

HERMES: Well then, bear my warning in memory and do not blame your fortune when you are caught in the toils of calamity; nor ever say that it was Zeus who cast you into suffering unforeseen. Not so, but blame yourselves. For well forewarned, and not suddenly or secretly shall you be entangled in the inextricable net of calamity by reason of your folly. Exit

PROMETHEUS: Indeed, now it has passed from word to deed—the earth rocks, the echoing thunder-peal from the depths rolls roaring past me; the fiery wreathed lightning-flashes flare forth, and whirlwinds toss the swirling dust; the blasts of all the winds leap forth and set in hostile array their embattled strife; the sky is confounded with the deep. Behold, this stormy turmoil advances against me visibly, sent by Zeus to frighten me. O holy mother mine, O you firmament that revolves the common light of all, you see the wrongs I suffer! Amid thunder and lightning Prometheus vanishes from sight; and with him disappear the daughters of Oceanus

Contents — 12 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10
11. Part 11
12. Part 12

Part 1

WATCHMAN: Watchman Release from this weary task of mine has been my plea to the gods throughout this long year’s watch, in which, lying upon the palace roof of the Atreidae, upon my bent arm, like a dog, I have learned to know well the gathering of the night’s stars, those radiant potentates conspicuous in the firmament, bringers of winter and summer to mankind . So now I am still watching for the signal-flame, the gleaming fire that is to bring news from Troy and tidings of its capture. For thus commands my queen, woman in passionate heart and man in strength of purpose. And whenever I make here my bed, restless and dank with dew and unvisited by dreams—for instead of sleep fear stands ever by my side, so that I cannot close my eyelids fast in sleep—and whenever I care to sing or hum (and thus apply an antidote of song to ward off drowsiness), then my tears start forth, as I bewail the fortunes of this house of ours, not ordered for the best as in days gone by. But tonight may there come a happy release from my weary task! May the fire with its glad tidings flash through the gloom! The signal fire suddenly flashes out Oh welcome, you blaze in the night, a light as if of day, you harbinger of many a choral dance in Argos in thanksgiving for this glad event! Hallo! Hallo! To Agamemnon’s queen I thus cry aloud the signal to rise from her bed, and as quickly as she can to lift up in her palace halls a shout of joy in welcome of this fire, if the city of Ilium truly is taken, as this beacon unmistakably announces. And I will make an overture with a dance upon my own account; for my lord’s lucky roll I shall count to my own score, now that this beacon has thrown me triple six. Ah well, may the master of the house come home and may I clasp his welcome hand in mine! For the rest I stay silent; a great ox stands upon my tongue—yet the house itself, could it but speak, might tell a plain enough tale; since, for my part, by my own choice I have words for those who know, and to those who do not know, I’ve lost my memory. He descends by an inner stairway; attendants kindle fires at the altars placed in front of the palace. Enter the chorus of Argive Elders

CHORUS: This is now the tenth year since Priam’s mighty adversary, king Menelaus, and with him king Agamemnon, the mighty pair of Atreus’ sons, joined in honor of throne and sceptre by Zeus, set forth from this land with an army of a thousand ships manned by Argives, a warrior force to champion their cause. Loud rang the battle-cry they uttered in their rage, just as eagles scream which, in lonely grief for their brood, rowing with the oars of their wings, wheel high over their bed, because they have lost the toil of guarding their nurslings’ nest. But some one of the powers supreme—Apollo perhaps or Pan, or Zeus—hears the shrill wailing scream of the clamorous birds, these sojourners in his realm, and against the transgressors sends vengeance at last though late. Even so Zeus, whose power is over all, Zeus, lord of host and guest, sends against Alexander the sons of Atreus, that for the sake of a woman with many husbandshe may inflict many and wearying struggles (when the knee is pressed in the dust and the spear is splintered in the onset) on Danaans and on Trojans alike. The case now stands where it stands—it moves to fulfilment at its destined end. Not by offerings burned in secret, not by secret libations, not by tears, shall man soften the stubborn wrath of unsanctified sacrifices. But we, incapable of service by reason of our aged frame, discarded from that martial mustering of long ago, wait here at home, supporting on our canes a strength like a child’s. For just as the vigor of youth, leaping up within the breast, is like that of old age, since the war-god is not in his place; so extreme age, its leaves already withering, goes its way on triple feet, and, no better than a child, wanders, a dream that is dreamed by day. But, O daughter of Tyndareos, Queen Clytaemestra, what has happened? What news do you have? On what intelligence and convinced by what report do you send about your messengers to command sacrifice? For all the gods our city worships, the gods supreme, the gods below, the gods of the heavens and of the marketplace, have their altars ablaze with offerings. Now here, now there, the flames rise high as heaven, yielding to the soft and guileless persuasion of holy ointment, the sacrificial oil itself brought from the inner chambers of the palace. Of all this declare whatever you can and dare reveal, and be a healer of my uneasy heart. This now at one moment bodes ill, while then again hope, shining with kindly light from the sacrifices, wards off the biting care of the sorrow that gnaws my heart.

CHORUS: I have the power to proclaim the augury of triumph given on their way to princely men—since my agestill breathes Persuasion upon me from the gods, the strength of song—how the twin-throned command of the Achaeans, the single-minded captains of Hellas’ youth, with avenging spear and arm against the Teucrian land, was sent off by the inspiring omen appearing to the kings of the ships—kingly birds, one black, one white of tail, near the palace, on the spear-hand, in a conspicuous place, devouring a hare with offspring unborn caught in the last effort to escape. Sing the song of woe, the song of woe, but may the good prevail!

CHORUS: Then the wise seer of the host, noticing how the two warlike sons of Atreus were two in temper, recognized the devourers of the hare as the leaders of the army, and thus interpreted the portent and spoke: In time those who here issue forth shall seize Priam’s town, and fate shall violently ravage before its towered walls all the public store of cattle. Only may no jealous god-sent wrath cast its shadow upon the embattled host, the mighty bit forged for Troy’s mouth, and strike it before it reaches its goal! For, in her pity, holy Artemis is angry at the winged hounds of her father, for they sacrifice a wretched timorous thing, together with her young, before she has brought them forth. An abomination to her is the eagles’ feast. Sing the song of woe, the song of woe, but may the good prevail!

CHORUS: Although, O Lovely One, you are so gracious to the tender whelps of fierce lions, and take delight in the suckling young of every wild creature that roams the field, promise that the issue be brought to pass in accordance with these signs, portents auspicious yet filled with ill. And I implore Paean, the healer, that she may not raise adverse gales with long delay to stay the Danaan fleet from putting forth, by urging another sacrifice, one that knows no law, unsuited for feast, worker of family strife, dissolving wife’s reverence for husband. For there abides wrath— terrible, not to be suppressed, a treacherous guardian of the home, a wrath that never forgets and that exacts vengeance for a child. Such utterances of doom, derived from auguries on the march, together with many blessings, did Calchas proclaim to the royal house; and in harmony with this, Sing the song of woe, the song of woe, but may the good prevail!

CHORUS: Zeus, whoever he may be,—if by this name it pleases him to be invoked, by this name I call to him—as I weigh all things in the balance, I have nothing to compare save Zeus, if in truth I must cast aside this vain burden from my heart.

He who once was mighty, swelling with insolence for every fight, he shall not even be named as having ever existed; and hewho arose later, he has met his overthrower and is past and gone. But whoever willingly sings a victory song for Zeus, he shall gain wisdom altogether,—

CHORUS: Zeus, who sets mortals on the path to understanding, Zeus, who has established as a fixed law that wisdom comes by suffering. But even as trouble, bringing memory of pain, drips over the mind in sleep, so wisdom comes to men, whether they want it or not. Harsh, it seems to me, is the grace of gods enthroned upon their awful seats.

CHORUS: So then the captain of the Achaean ships, the elder of the two— holding no seer at fault, bending to the adverse blasts of fortune, when the Achaean folk, on the shore over against Chalcis in the region where Aulis’ tides surge to and fro, were very distressed by opposing winds and failing stores.

CHORUS: The breezes that blew from the Strymon, bringing harmful leisure, hunger, and tribulation of spirit in a cruel port, idle wandering of men, and sparing neither ship nor cable, began, by doubling the season of their stay, to rub away and wither the flower of Argos; and when the seer, pointing to Artemis as cause, proclaimed to the chieftains another remedy, more oppressive even than the bitter storm, so that the sons of Atreus struck the ground with their canes and did not stifle their tears—

CHORUS: Then the elder king spoke and said: It is a hard fate to refuse obedience, and hard, if I must slay my child, the glory of my home, and at the altar-side stain a father’s hand with streams of virgin’s blood. Which of these courses is not filled with evil? How can I become a deserter to my fleet and fail my allies in arms? For that they should with all too impassioned passion crave a sacrifice to lull the winds—even a virgin’s blood—stands within their right. May all be for the best.

CHORUS: But when he had donned the yoke of Necessity, with veering of mind, impious, unholy, unsanctified, from that moment he changed his intention and began to conceive that deed of uttermost audacity. For wretched delusion, counsellor of ill, primal source of woe, makes mortals bold. So then he hardened his heart to sacrifice his daughter so that he might further a war waged to avenge a woman, and as an offering for the voyage of a fleet!

CHORUS: For her supplications, her cries of Father, and her virgin life, the commanders in their eagerness for war cared nothing. Her father, after a prayer, bade his ministers lay hold of her as, enwrapped in her robes, she lay fallen forward, and with stout heart to raise her, as if she were a young goat, high above the altar; and with a gag upon her lovely mouth to hold back the shouted curse against her house—

CHORUS: by the bit’s strong and stifling might. Then, as she shed to earth her saffron robe, she struck each of her sacrificers with a glance from her eyes beseeching pity, looking as if in a picture, wishing she could speak; for she had often sung where men met at her father’s hospitable table, and with her virgin voice would lovingly honor her dear father’s prayer for blessing at the third libation—

CHORUS: What happened next I did not see and do not tell. The art of Calchas was not unfulfilled. Justice inclines her scales so that wisdom comes at the price of suffering. But the future, that you shall know when it occurs; till then, leave it be—it is just as someone weeping ahead of time. Clear it will come, together with the light of dawn. Enter Clytaemestra But as for what shall follow, may the issue be happy, even as she wishes, our sole guardian here, the bulwark of the Apian land, who stands nearest to our lord.

CHORUS: I have come, Clytaemestra, in obedience to your royal authority; for it is fitting to do homage to the consort of a sovereign prince when her husband’s throne is empty. Now whether the news you have heard is good or ill, and you do make sacrifice with hopes that herald gladness, I wish to hear; yet, if you would keep silence, I make no complaint.

CLYTAEMESTRA: As herald of gladness, with the proverb, may Dawn be born from her mother Night! You shall hear joyful news surpassing all your hopes—the Argives have taken Priam’s town!

CHORUS: What have you said? The meaning of your words has escaped me, so incredible they seemed.

CLYTAEMESTRA: I said that Troy is in the hands of the Achaeans. Is my meaning clear?

CHORUS: Joy steals over me, and it challenges my tears.

Part 2

CLYTAEMESTRA: Sure enough, for your eye betrays your loyal heart.

CHORUS: What then is the proof? Have you evidence of this?

CLYTAEMESTRA: I have, indeed; unless some god has played me false.

CHORUS: Do you believe the persuasive visions of dreams?

CLYTAEMESTRA: I would not heed the fancies of a slumbering brain.

CHORUS: But can it be some pleasing rumor that has fed your hopes?

CLYTAEMESTRA: Truly you scorn my understanding as if it were a child’s.

CHORUS: But at what time was the city destroyed?

CLYTAEMESTRA: In the night, I say, that has but now given birth to this day here.

CHORUS: And what messenger could reach here with such speed?

CLYTAEMESTRA: Hephaestus, from Ida speeding forth his brilliant blaze. Beacon passed beacon on to us by courier-flame: Ida, to the Hermaean crag in Lemnos; to the mighty blaze upon the island succeeded, third, the summit of Athos sacred to Zeus; and, soaring high aloft so as to leap across the sea, the flame, travelling joyously onward in its strength [...] the pinewood torch, its golden-beamed light, as another sun, passing the message on to the watchtowers of Macistus. He, delaying not nor carelessly overcome by sleep, did not neglect his part as messenger. Far over Euripus’ stream came the beacon-light and signalled to the watchmen on Messapion. They, kindling a heap of withered heather, lit up their answering blaze and sped the message on. The flame, now gathering strength and in no way dimmed, like a radiant moon overleaped the plain of Asopus to Cithaeron’s ridges, and roused another relay of missive fire. Nor did the warders there disdain the far-flung light, but made a blaze higher than their commands. Across Gorgopus’ water shot the light, reached the mount of Aegiplanctus, and urged the ordinance of fire to make no delay. Kindling high with unstinted force a mighty beard of flame, they sped it forward so that, as it blazed, it passed even the headland that looks upon the Saronic gulf; until it swooped down when it reached the lookout, near to our city, upon the peak of Arachnaeus; and next upon this roof of the Atreidae it leapt, this very fire not undescended from the Idaean flame. Such are the torch-bearers I have arranged, completing the course in succession one to the other; and the victor is he who ran both first and last. This is the kind of proof and token I give you, the message of my husband from Troy to me.

CHORUS: Lady, my prayers of thanksgiving to the gods I will offer soon. But as I would like to hear and satisfy my wonder at your tale straight through to the end, so may you tell it yet again.

CLYTAEMESTRA: This day the Achaeans hold Troy. Within the town there sounds loud, I believe, a clamor of voices which will not blend. Pour vinegar and oil into the same vessel and you will say that, as foes, they keep apart; so the cries of vanquished and victors greet the ear, distinct as their fortunes are diverse. Those, flung upon the corpses of their husbands and their brothers, children upon the bodies of their aged fathers who gave them life, bewail from lips no longer free the death of their dearest ones, while these— a night of restless toil after battle sets them down famished to break their fast on such fare as the town affords; not faring according to rank, but as each man has drawn his lot by chance. And even now they are quartered in the captured Trojan homes, delivered from the frosts and dew of the naked sky, and like happy men will sleep all the night without a guard. Now if they keep clear of guilt towards the gods of the town—those of the conquered land—and towards their shrines, the captors shall not be made captives in their turn. Only may no mad impulse first assail the army, overmastered by greed, to pillage what they should not! For to win safe passage home they need to travel back the other length of their double course. But even if, without having offended the gods, our troops should reach home, the grievous suffering of the dead might still remain awake—if no fresh disaster transpires. These are my woman’s words; but may the good prevail clearly for all to see! For, choosing thus, I have chosen the enjoyment of many a blessing.

CHORUS: Lady, you speak as wisely as a prudent man. And, for my part, now that I have listened to your certain proofs, I prepare to address due prayers of thanksgiving to the gods; for a success has been achieved that well repays the toil.

Hail, sovereign Zeus, and you kindly Night, you who have given us great glory, you who cast your meshed snare upon the towered walls of Troy, so that neither old nor young could overleap the huge enslaving net of all-conquering Destruction. Great Zeus it is, lord of host and guest, whom I revere—he has brought this to pass. He long kept his bow bent against Alexander until his bolt would neither fall short of the mark nor, flying beyond the stars, be launched in vain.

CHORUS: The stroke of Zeus they may call it; his hand can be traced there. As he determines, so he acts. Someone said that the gods do not trouble themselves to remember mortals who trample underfoot the grace of things not to be touched. But that man was impious! Now it stands revealed! The penalty for reckless crime is ruin when men breathe a spirit of pride above just measure, because their mansions teem with more abundance than is good for them. But let there be such wealth as brings no distress, enough to satisfy a sensible man. For riches do not protect the man who in wantonness has kicked the mighty altar of Justice into obscurity.

CHORUS: Perverse Temptation, the overmastering child of designing Destruction, drives men on; and every remedy is futile. His evil is not hidden; it shines forth, a baleful gleam. Like base metal beneath the touchstone’s rub, when tested he shows the blackness of his grain (for he is like a child who chases a winged bird) and upon his people he brings a taint against which there is no defence. No god listens to his prayers. The man associated with such deeds, him they destroy in his unrighteousness. And such was Paris, who came to the house of the sons of Atreus and dishonoured the hospitality of his host by stealing away a wedded wife.

CHORUS: But she, bequeathing to her people the clang of shield and spear and army of fleets, and bringing to Ilium destruction in place of dowry, with light step she passed through the gates—daring a deed undareable. Then loud wailed the seers of the house crying, Alas, alas, for the home, the home, and for the princes! Alas for the husband’s bed and the impress of her form so dear! He sits apart in the anguish of his grief, silent, dishonored but making no reproach. In his yearning for her who sped beyond the sea, a phantom will seem to be lord of the house. The grace of fair-formed statues is hateful to him; and in the hunger of his eyes all loveliness is departed.

CHORUS: Mournful apparitions come to him in dreams, bringing only vain joy; for vainly, whenever in his imagination a man sees delights, straightaway the vision, slipping through his arms, is gone, winging its flight along the paths of sleep. Such are the sorrows at hearth and home, but here are sorrows surpassing these; and at large, in every house of all who went forth together from the land of Hellas, unbearable grief is seen. Many things pierce the heart. Each knows whom he sent forth. But to the home of each come urns and ashes, not living men.

CHORUS: Ares barters the bodies of men for gold; he holds his balance in the contest of the spear; and back from Ilium to their loved ones he sends a heavy dust passed through his burning, a dust cried over with plenteous tears, in place of men sending well made urns with ashes. So they lament, praising now this one: How skilled in battle! now that one: Fallen nobly in the carnage,—for another’s wife— some mutter in secret, and grief charged with resentment spreads stealthily against the sons of Atreus, champions in the strife. But there far from home, around the city’s walls, those in their beauty’s bloom have graves in Ilium— the enemy’s soil has covered its conquerors.

Part 3

CHORUS: Dangerous is a people’s voice charged with wrath—it acts as a curse of publicly ratified doom. In anxious fear I wait to hear something shrouded still in gloom. The gods are not blind to men with blood upon their hands. In the end the black Spirits of Vengeance bring to obscurity that one who has prospered in unrighteousness and wear down his fortunes by reverse. Once a man is among the unseen, there is no more help for him. Glory in excess is fraught with peril; the lofty peak is struck by Zeus’ thunderbolt. I choose prosperity unassailed by envy. May I not be a sacker of cities, and may I not myself be despoiled and live to see my own life in another’s power!

(ONE ELDER): Heralded by a beacon of good tidings a swift report has spread throughout the town. Yet whether it is true, or some deception of the gods, who knows?

(A SECOND ELDER): Who is so childish or so bereft of sense, once he has let his heart be fired by sudden news of a beacon fire, to despair if the story changes?

(A THIRD ELDER): It is just like a woman’s eager nature to yield assent to pleasing news before yet the truth is clear.

(A FOURTH ELDER): Too credulous, a woman’s mind has boundaries open to quick encroachment; but quick to perish is rumor spread by a woman.

(LEADER OF THE CHORUS): We shall soon know about this passing on of flaming lights and beacon signals and fires, whether they perhaps are true or whether, dream-like, this light’s glad coming has beguiled our senses. Look! I see approaching from the shore a herald crowned with boughs of olive. The thirsty dust, consorting sister of the mud, assures me that neither by pantomime nor by kindling a flame of mountain wood will he signal with smoke of fire. Either in plain words he will bid us to rejoice the more, or—but I have little love for the report opposite to this! May still further good be added to the good that has appeared!

(ANOTHER ELDER): Whoever makes this prayer with other intent toward the state, let him reap himself the fruit of his misguided purpose!

HERALD: All hail, soil of Argos, land of my fathers! On this happy day in the tenth year I have come to you. Many hopes have shattered, one only have I seen fulfilled; for I never dared to dream that here in this land of Argos I should die and have due portion of burial most dear to me. Now blessings on the land, blessings on the light of the sun, and blessed be Zeus, the land’s Most High, and the Pythian lord; and may he launch no more his shafts against us. Enough of your hostility did you display by Scamander’s banks; but now, in other mood, be our preserver and our healer, O lord Apollo. And the gods gathered here, I greet them all; him, too, my own patron, Hermes, beloved herald, of heralds all revered; and the heroeswho sped us forth, I pray that they may receive back in kindliness the remnant of the host which has escaped the spear. Hail, halls of our kings, beloved roofs, and you august seats, and you divinities that face the sun, if ever you did in days gone by, now after long lapse of years, with gladness in your eyes receive your king. For bearing light in darkness to you and to all assembled here alike, he has returned—Agamemnon, our king. Oh greet him well, as is right, since he has uprooted Troy with the mattock of Zeus the Avenger, with which her soil has been uptorn. Demolished are the altars and the shrines of her gods; and the seed of her whole land has been wasted utterly. Upon the neck of Troy he has cast such a yoke. Now he has come home, our king, Atreus’ elder son, a man of happy fate, worthy of honor beyond all living men. For neither Paris nor his partner city can boast that the deed was greater than the suffering. Convicted for robbery and for theft as well, he has lost the plunder and has razed in utter destruction his father’s house and even the land. The sons of Priam have paid a twofold penalty for their sins.

CHORUS: Joy to you, Herald from the Achaean host!

HERALD: I do rejoice. I will no longer refuse to die, if that pleases the gods.

CHORUS: Was it yearning for this your fatherland that wore you out?

HERALD: Yes, so that my eyes are filled with tears for joy.

CHORUS: It was then a pleasing malady from which you suffered.

HERALD: How so? Teach me, and I shall master what you say.

CHORUS: You were smitten with desire for those who returned your love.

HERALD: Do you mean that our land longed for the longing host?

CHORUS: Longed so, that often from a darkly brooding spirit I have sighed.

HERALD: Where did this gloom of melancholy upon your spirit come from?

CHORUS: Long since have I found silence an antidote to harm.

HERALD: How so? Did you fear anyone when our princes were gone?

Part 4

CHORUS: In such fear that now, in your own words, even death would be great joy.

HERALD: Yes, all’s well, well ended. Yet, of what occurred in the long years, one might well say that part fell out happily, and part in turn amiss. But who, unless he is a god, is free from suffering all his days? For were I to recount our hardships and our wretched quarters, the scanty space and the sorry berths——what did we not have to complain of . . . Then again, ashore, there was still worse to loathe; for we had to lie down close to the enemy’s walls, and the drizzling from the sky and the dews from the meadows distilled upon us, working constant destruction to our clothes and filling our hair with vermin. And if one were to tell of the wintry cold, past all enduring, when Ida’s snow slew the birds; or of the heat, when upon his waveless noonday couch, windless the sea sank to sleep—but why should we bewail all this? Our labor’s past; past for the dead so that they will never care even to wake to life again. Why should we count the number of the slain, or why should the living feel pain at their past harsh fortunes? Our misfortunes should, in my opinion, bid us a long farewell. For us, the remnant of the Argive host, the gain has the advantage and the loss does not bear down the scale; so that, as we speed over land and sea, it is fitting that we on this bright day make this boast:The Argive army, having taken Troy at last, has nailed up these spoils to be a glory for the gods throughout Hellas in their shrines from days of old. Whoever hears the story of these deeds must extol the city and the leaders of her host; and the grace of Zeus that brought them to accomplishment shall receive its due measure of gratitude. There, you have heard all that I have to say.

CHORUS: Your words have proved me wrong. I do not deny it; for the old have ever enough youth to learn aright. But these tidings should have most interest for the household and Clytaemestra, and at the same time enrich me.

CLYTAEMESTRA: I raised a shout of triumph in my joy long before this, when the first flaming messenger arrived by night, telling that Ilium was captured and overthrown. Then there were some who chided me and said: Are you so convinced by beacon-fires as to think that Troy has now been sacked? Truly, it is just like a woman to be elated in heart. By such taunts I was made to seem as if my wits were wandering. Nevertheless I still held on with my sacrifice, and throughout all the quarters of the city, according to their womanly custom, they raised a shout of happy praise while in the shrines of the gods they lulled to rest the fragrant spice-fed flame. So now why should you rehearse to me the account at length? From the king himself I shall hear the whole tale; but I should hasten to welcome my honored husband best on his return. For what joy is sweeter in a woman’s eyes than to unbar the gates for her husband when God has spared him to return from war? Give this message to my husband: let him come with all speed, his country’s fond desire, come to find at home his wife faithful, even as he left her, a watchdog of his house, loyal to him, a foe to those who wish him ill; yes, for the rest, unchanged in every part; in all this length of time never having broken any seal. Of pleasure from any other man or of scandalous repute I know no more than of dyeing bronze. Exit

HERALD: A boast like this, loaded full with truth, does not shame the speech of a noble wife.

CHORUS: Thus has she spoken for your schooling, but speciously for those that can interpret right. But, Herald, say—I want to hear of Menelaus. Has he, our land’s dear lord, travelled safe home and has he returned with you?

HERALD: It would be impossible to report false news so fair that those I love should take pleasure for long.

CHORUS: Oh if only you could tell tidings true yet good! It is not easy to conceal when true and good are split apart.

HERALD: The prince was swept from the sight of the Achaean host, himself, and his ship likewise. I speak no lies.

CHORUS: Did he put forth in sight of all from Ilium, or did a storm, distressing all in common, snatch him from the fleet?

HERALD: Like a master bowman you have hit the mark; a long tale of distress have you told in brief.

CHORUS: Did the general voice of other voyagers bring news of him as alive or dead?

HERALD: None knows to give clear report of this—except only the Sun that fosters life upon the earth.

CHORUS: How then do you say rose the storm by the wrath of the gods upon the naval host and passed away?

HERALD: An auspicious day one should not mar with a tale of misfortune—the honor due to the gods keeps them apart.When a messenger with gloomy countenance reports to a people dire disaster of its army’s rout— one common wound inflicted on the State, while from many a home many a victim is devoted to death by the two-handled whip beloved of Ares, destruction double-armed, a gory pair—when, I say, he is packed with woes like this, he should sing the triumph-song of the Avenging Spirits. But when one comes with glad news of deliverance to a city rejoicing in its happiness—how shall I mix fair with foul in telling of the storm, not unprovoked by the gods’ wrath, that broke upon the Achaeans? For fire and sea, beforehand bitterest of foes, swore alliance and as proof destroyed the unhappy Argive army. In the night-time arose the mischief from the cruel swells. Beneath blasts from Thrace ship dashed against ship; and they, gored violently by the furious hurricane and rush of pelting rain, were swept out of sight by the whirling gust of an evil shepherd.But when the radiant light of the sun rose we beheld the Aegean flowering with corpses of Achaean men and wreckage of ships. Ourselves, however, and our ship, its hull unshattered, some power, divine not human, preserved by stealth or intercession, laying hand upon its helm; and Savior Fortune chose to sit aboard our craft so that it should neither take in the swelling surf at anchorage nor drive upon a rock-bound coast. Then, having escaped death upon the deep, in the clear bright day, scarce crediting our fortune, we brooded in anxious thought over our late mischance, our fleet distressed and sorely buffeted. So now, if any of them still draw the breath of life, they speak of us as lost—and why should they not? We think the same of them. But may all turn out for the best! For Menelaus, indeed; first and foremost expect him to return. At least if some beam of the sun finds him alive and well, by the design of Zeus, who has not yet decided utterly to destroy the race, there is some hope that he will come home again. Hearing so much, be assured that you hear the truth. Exit

CHORUS: Who can have given a name so altogether true—was it some power invisible guiding his tongue aright by forecasting of destiny?— who named that bride of the spear and source of strife with the name of Helen? For, true to her name, a Hell she proved to ships, Hell to men, Hell to city, when stepping forth from her delicate and costly-curtained bower, she sailed the sea before the breath of earth-born Zephyrus. And after her a goodly host of warrior huntsmen followed on the oars’ vanished track in pursuit of a quarry that had beached its boat on Simois’ leafy banks—in a strife to end in blood.

CHORUS: To Ilium, its purpose fulfilling, Wrath brought a marriage rightly named a mourning,exacting in later time requital for the dishonor done to hospitality and to Zeus, the partaker of the hearth, upon those who with loud voice celebrated the song in honor of the bride, even the bridegroom’s kin to whom it fell that day to raise the marriage-hymn. But Priam’s city has learned, in her old age, an altered strain, and now, I trust, wails a loud song, full of lamentation, calling Paris evil-wed; for she has born the burden of a life in which everything was destroyed, a life full of lamentation because of the wretched slaughter of her sons

CHORUS: Even so a man reared in his house a lion’s whelp, robbed of its mother’s milk yet still desiring the breast. Gentle it was in the prelude of its life, kindly to children, and a delight to the old. Much did it get, held in arms like a nursling child, with its bright eye turned toward his hand, and fawning under compulsion of its belly’s need.

CHORUS: But brought to full growth by time it showed the nature it had from its parents. Unbidden, as payment for its fostering, it prepared a feast with ruinous slaughter of the flocks; so that the house was defiled with blood, and whose who lived there could not control their anguish, and great was the carnage far and wide. A priest of ruin, by order of a god, it was reared in the house.

CHORUS: At first, I would say, there came to Ilium the spirit of unruffled calm, a delicate ornament of wealth, a darter of soft glances from the eye, love’s flower that stings the heart. Then, swerving from her course, she brought her marriage to a bitter end, sped on to the children of Priam under escort of Zeus, the warder of host and guest, ruining her sojourn and her companions, a vengeful Fury who brought tears to brides.

Part 5

CHORUS: A venerable utterance proclaimed of old has been fashioned among mankind: the prosperity of man, when it has come to full growth, engenders offspring and does not die childless, and from his good fortune there springs up insatiable misery. But I hold my own mind and think apart from other men. It is the evil deed that afterwards begets more iniquity like its own breed; but when a house is righteous, the lot of its children is blessed always.

CHORUS: But an old Hubris tends to bring forth in evil men, sooner or later, at the fated hour of birth, a young Hubris and that irresistible, unconquerable, unholy spirit, Recklessness, and for the household black Curses, which resemble their parents.

CHORUS: But Righteousness shines in smoke-begrimed dwellings and esteems the virtuous man. From gilded mansions, where men’s hands are foul, she departs with averted eyes and makes her way to pure homes; she does not worship the power of wealth stamped counterfeit by the praise of men, and she guides all things to their proper end.

CHORUS: Enter Agamemnon and Cassandra, in a chariot, with a numerous retinue All hail, my King, sacker of Troy, off-spring of Atreus! How shall I greet you? How shall I do you homage, not overshooting or running short of the due measure of courtesy? Many of mortal men put appearance before truth and thereby transgress the right. Every one is ready to heave a sigh over the unfortunate, but no sting of true sorrow reaches the heart; and in seeming sympathy they join in others’ joy, forcing their faces into smiles. But whoever is a discerning shepherd of his flock cannot be deceived by men’s eyes which, while they feign loyalty of heart, only fawn upon him with watery affection. Now in the past, when you marshaled the army in Helen’s cause, you were depicted in my eyes (for I will not hide it from you) most ungracefully and as not rightly guiding the helm of your mind in seeking through your sacrifices to bring courage to dying men. But now, from the depth of my heart and with no lack of love [...] their toil is joy to those who have won success. In course of time you shall learn by enquiry who of your people has been an honest, and who an unfitting guardian of the State.

AGAMEMNON: Argos first, as is right and proper, I greet, and her local gods who have helped me to my safe return and to the justice I exacted from Priam’s town. For listening to no pleadings by word of mouth, without dissenting voice, they cast into the bloody urn their ballots for the murderous destroying of Ilium; but to the urn of acquittal that no hand filled, Hope alone drew near. The smoke even now still declares the city’s fall. Destruction’s blasts still live, and the embers, as they die, breathe forth rich fumes of wealth. For this success we should render to the gods a return in ever-mindful gratitude, seeing that we have thrown round the city the toils of vengeance, and in a woman’s cause it has been laid low by the fierce Argive beast, brood of the horse,a shield-armed folk, that launched its leap when the Pleiades waned. Vaulting over its towered walls, the ravening lion lapped up his fill of princely blood. For the gods then I have stretched out this prelude. But, touching your sentiments—which I heard and still bear in memory—I both agree and you have in me an advocate. For few there are among men in whom it is inborn to admire without envy a friend’s good fortune. For the venom of malevolence settles upon the heart and doubles the burden of him who suffers from that plague: he is himself weighed down by his own calamity, and groans to see another’s prosperity. From knowledge—for well I know the mirror of companionship—I may call a shadow of a shade those who feigned exceeding loyalty to me.Only Odysseus, the very man who sailed against his will, once harnessed, proved my zealous yoke-fellow. This I affirm of him whether he is alive or dead. But, for the rest, in what concerns the State and public worship, we shall appoint open debates and consider. Where all goes well, we must take counsel so that it may long endure; but whenever there is need of healing remedy, we will by kind appliance of cautery or the knife endeavor to avert the mischief of the disease. And now I will pass to my palace halls and to my household hearth, and first of all pay greeting to the gods. They who sent me forth have brought me home again. May victory, now that it has attended me, remain ever with me constant to the end! He descends from his chariot; enter Clytaemestra, attended by maidservants carrying purple tapestries

CLYTAEMESTRA: Citizens of Argos, you Elders present here, I shall not be ashamed to confess in your presence my fondness for my husband—with time diffidence dies away in humans. Untaught by others, I can tell of my own weary life all the long while my husband was beneath Ilium’s walls. First and foremost, it is a terrible evil for a wife to sit forlorn at home, severed from her husband, always hearing many malignant rumors, and for one messenger after another to come bearing tidings of disaster, each worse than the last, and cry them to the household. And as for wounds, had my husband received so many as rumor kept pouring into the house, no net would have been pierced so full of holes as he. Or if he had died as often as reports claimed, then truly he might have had three bodies, a second Geryon,and have boasted of having taken on him a triple cloak of earth , one death for each different shape. Because of such malignant tales as these, many times others have had to loose the high-hung halter from my neck, held in its strong grip. It is for this reason, in fact, that our boy, Orestes, does not stand here beside me, as he should—he in whom rest the pledges of my love and yours. Nor should you think this strange. For he is in the protecting care of our well-intentioned ally, Strophius of Phocis, who warned me of trouble on two scores—your own peril beneath Ilium’s walls, and then the chance that the people in clamorous revolt might overturn the Council, as it is natural for men to trample all the more upon the fallen. Truly such an excuse supports no guile. As for myself, the welling fountains of my tears are utterly dried up—not a drop remains. In night-long vigils my eyes are sore with weeping for the beacon-lights set for you but always neglected. The faint whir of the buzzing gnat often waked me from dreams in which I beheld more disasters to you than the time of sleep could have compassed. But now, having born all this, my heart freed from its anxiety, I would hail my husband here as the watchdog of the fold, the savior forestay of the ship, firm-based pillar of the lofty roof, only-begotten son of a father, or land glimpsed by men at sea beyond their hope, dawn most fair to look upon after storm, the gushing stream to thirsty wayfarer—sweet is it to escape all stress of need. Such truly are the greetings of which I deem him worthy. But let envybe far removed, since many were the ills we endured before. And now, I pray you, my dear lord, dismount from your car, but do not set on common earth the foot, my King, that has trampled upon Ilium. To her attendants Why this loitering, women, to whom I have assigned the task to strew with tapestries the place where he shall go? Quick! With purple let his path be strewn, that Justice may usher him into a home he never hoped to see. The rest my unslumbering vigilance shall order duly, if it please god, even as is ordained.

AGAMEMNON: Offspring of Leda, guardian of my house, your speech fits well with my absence; for you have drawn it out to ample length. But becoming praise—this prize should rightly proceed from other lips. For the rest, pamper me not as if I were a woman, nor, like some barbarian, grovel before me with widemouthed acclaim; and do not draw down envy upon my path by strewing it with tapestries. It is the gods we must honor thus; but it is not possible for a mortal to tread upon embroidered fineries without fear. I tell you to revere me not as a god, but as a man. Footmats and embroideries sound diverse in the voice of Rumor; to think no folly is the best gift of the gods. Only when man’s life comes to its end in prosperity dare we pronounce him happy; and if I may act in all things as I do now, I have good confidence.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Come now, tell me this, in accordance with your mind.

AGAMEMNON: Purpose! Be assured that I shall not corrupt my mind.

CLYTAEMESTRA: You would in fear have vowed to the gods to act thus.

AGAMEMNON: If someone with full knowledge had pronounced this word.

CLYTAEMESTRA: What do you suppose that Priam would have done, if he had achieved your triumph?

AGAMEMNON: He would have set foot upon the embroideries, I certainly believe.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Then do not be be ashamed of mortal reproach.

AGAMEMNON: And yet a people’s voice is a mighty power.

CLYTAEMESTRA: True, yet he who is unenvied is unenviable.

AGAMEMNON: Surely it is not woman’s part to long for fighting.

CLYTAEMESTRA: True, but it is right for the happy victor to yield the victory.

AGAMEMNON: What? is this the kind of victory in strife that you prize?

CLYTAEMESTRA: Oh yield! Yet of your own free will entrust the victory to me.

Part 6

AGAMEMNON: Well, if you will have your way, quick, let some one loose my sandals, which, slavelike, serve the treading of my foot! As I walk upon these purple vestments may I not be struck from afar by any glance of the gods’ jealous eye. A terrible shame it is for one’s foot to mar the resources of the house by wasting wealth and costly woven work. So much for this. This foreign girl receive into the house with kindness. A god from afar looks graciously upon a gentle master; for no one freely takes the yoke of slavery. But she, the choicest flower of rich treasure, has followed in my train, my army’s gift. Since I have been forced to obey you and must listen to you in this, I will tread upon a purple pathway as I pass to my palace halls.

CLYTAEMESTRA: There is the sea (and who shall drain it dry?) producing stain of abundant purple, costly as silver and ever fresh, with which to dye our clothes; and of these our house, through the gods, has ample store; it knows no poverty. Vestments enough I would have devoted to be trampled underfoot had it been so ordered in the seat of oracles when I was devising a ransom for your life. For if the root still lives, leaves come again to the house and spread their over-reaching shade against the scorching dog star; so, now that you have come to hearth and home, you show that warmth has come in wintertime; and again, when Zeus makes wine from the bitter grape,then immediately there is coolness in the house when its rightful lord occupies his halls. As Agamemnon enters the palace O Zeus, Zeus, you who bring things to fulfilment, fulfill my prayers! May you see to that which you mean to fulfill! Exit

CHORUS: Why does this terror so persistently hover standing before my prophetic soul? Why does my song, unbidden and unfed, chant strains of augury? Why does assuring confidence not sit on my heart’s throne and spurn the terror like an uninterpretable dream? But Time has collected the sands of the shore upon the cables cast thereon when the shipborn army sped forth for Ilium.

CHORUS: Of their coming home I learn with my own eyes and need no other witness. Yet still my soul within me, self-inspired, intones the lyreless dirge of the avenging spirit, and cannot wholly win its customary confidence of hope. Not for nothing is my bosom disquieted as my heart throbs against my justly fearful breast in eddying tides that warn of some event. But I pray that my expectation may fall out false and not come to fulfilment.

CHORUS: Truly blooming health does not rest content within its due bounds; for disease ever presses close against it, its neighbor with a common wall. So human fortune, when holding onward in straight course strikes upon a hidden reef. And yet, if with a well-measured throw, caution heaves overboard a portion of the gathered wealth, the whole house, with woe overladen, does not founder nor engulf the hull.Truly the generous gift from Zeus, rich and derived from yearly furrows, makes an end of the plague of famine.

CHORUS: But a man’s blood, once it has first fallen by murder to earth in a dark tide—who by magic spell shall call it back? Even hewho possessed the skill to raise from the dead—did not Zeus make an end of him as warning? And unless one fate ordained of the gods restrains another fate from winning the advantage, my heart would outstrip my tongue and pour forth its fears; but, as it is, it mutters only in the dark, distressed and hopeless ever to unravel anything in time when my soul’s aflame.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Get inside, you too, Cassandra; since not unkindly has Zeus appointed you to share the holy water of a house where you may take your stand, with many another slave, at the altar of the god who guards its wealth. Get down from the car and do not be too proud; for even Alcmene’s son, men say, once endured to be sold and eat the bread of slavery. But if such fortune should of necessity fall to the lot of any, there is good cause for thankfulness in having masters of ancient wealth; for they who, beyond their hope, have reaped a rich harvest of possessions, are cruel to their slaves in every way, even exceeding due measure. You have from us such usage as custom warrants.

CHORUS: It is to you she has been speaking and clearly. Since you are in the toils of destiny, perhaps you will obey, if you are so inclined; but perhaps you will not.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Well, if her language is not strange and foreign, even as a swallow’s, I must speak within her comprehension and move her to comply.

CHORUS: Go with her. With things as they now stand, she gives you the best. Do as she bids and leave your seat in the car.

CLYTAEMESTRA: I have no time to waste with this woman here outside; for already the victims stand by the central hearth awaiting the sacrifice—a joy we never expected to be ours. As for you, if you will take any part, make no delay. But if, failing to understand, you do not catch my meaning, then, instead of speech, make a sign with your barbarian hand.

CHORUS: It is an interpreter and a plain one that the stranger seems to need. She bears herself like a wild creature newly captured.

CLYTAEMESTRA: No, she is mad and listens to her wild mood, since she has come here from a newly captured city, and does not know how to tolerate the bit until she has foamed away her fretfulness in blood. No! I will waste no more words upon her to be insulted thus. Exit

CHORUS: But I will not be angry, since I pity her. Come, unhappy one, leave the car; yield to necessity and take upon you this novel yoke.

CASSANDRA: Woe, woe, woe! O Apollo, O Apollo!

CHORUS: Wherefore your cry of woe in Loxias’ name? He is not the kind of god that has to do with mourners.

CASSANDRA: Woe, woe, woe! O Apollo, O Apollo!

CHORUS: Once more with ill-omened words she cries to the god who should not be present at times of lamentation.

CASSANDRA: Apollo, Apollo! God of the Ways,my destroyer! For you have destroyed me—and utterly—this second time.

CHORUS: I think that she is about to prophesy about her own miseries. The divine gift still abides even in the soul of one enslaved.

Part 7

CASSANDRA: Apollo, Apollo! God of the Ways, my destroyer! Ah, what way is this that you have brought me! To what a house!

CHORUS: To that of Atreus’ sons. If you do not perceive this, I’ll tell it to you. And you shall not say that it is untrue.

CASSANDRA: No, no, rather to a god-hating house, a house that knows many a horrible butchery of kin, a slaughter-house of men and a floor swimming with blood.

CHORUS: The stranger seems keen-scented as a hound; she is on the trail where she will discover blood.

CASSANDRA: Here is the evidence in which I put my trust! Behold those babies bewailing their own butchery and their roasted flesh eaten by their father!

CHORUS: Your fame to read the future had reached our ears; but we have no need of prophets here.

CASSANDRA: Alas, what can she be planning? What is this fresh woe she contrives here within, what monstrous, monstrous horror, beyond love’s enduring, beyond all remedy? And helpstands far away!

CHORUS: These prophesyings pass my comprehension; but those I understood—the whole city rings with them.

CASSANDRA: Ah, damned woman, will you do this thing? Your husband, the partner of your bed, when you have cheered him with the bath, will you—how shall I tell the end? Soon it will be done. Now this hand, now that, she stretches forth!

CHORUS: Not yet do I comprehend; for now, after riddles, I am bewildered by dark oracles.

CASSANDRA: Ah! Ah! What apparition is this? Is it a net of death? No, it is a snare that shares his bed, that shares the guilt of murder. Let the fatal pack, insatiable against the race, raise a shout of jubilance over a victim accursed!

CHORUS: What Spirit of Vengeance is this that you bid raise its voice over this house? Your words do not cheer me. Back to my heart surge the drops of my pallid blood, even as when they drip from a mortal wound, ebbing away as life’s beams sink low; and death comes speedily.

CASSANDRA: Ah, ah, see there, see there! Keep the bull from his mate! She has caught him in the robe and gores him with the crafty device of her black horn! He falls in a vessel of water! It is of doom wrought by guile in a murderous bath that I am telling you.

CHORUS: I cannot boast that I am a keen judge of prophecies; but these, I think, spell some evil. But from prophecies what word of good ever comes to mortals? Through terms of evil their wordy arts bring men to know fear chanted in prophetic strains.

CASSANDRA: Alas, alas, the sorrow of my ill-starred doom! For it is my own affliction, crowning the cup, that I bewail. Ah, to what end did you bring me here, unhappy as I am? For nothing except to die—and not alone. What else?

CHORUS: Frenzied in soul you are, by some god possessed, and you wail in wild strains your own fate, like that brown bird that never ceases making lament (ah me!), and in the misery of her heart moans Itys, Itys, throughout all her days abounding in sorrow, the nightingale.

CASSANDRA: Ah, fate of the clear-voiced nightingale! The gods clothed her in a winged form and gave to her a sweet life without tears. But for me waits destruction by the two-edged sword.

CHORUS: From where come these vain pangs of prophecy that assail you? And why do you mold to melody these terrors with dismal cries blended with piercing strains? How do you know the bounds of the path of your ill-boding prophecy?

CASSANDRA: Ah, the marriage, the marriage of Paris, that destroyed his friends! Ah me, Scamander, my native stream! Upon your banks in bygone days, unhappy maid, was I nurtured with fostering care; but now by Cocytus and the banks of Acheron, I think, I soon must chant my prophecies.

CHORUS: What words are these you utter, words all too plain? A new-born child hearing them could understand. I am smitten with a deadly pain, while, by reason of your cruel fortune, you cry aloud your pitiful moans that break my heart to hear.

Part 8

CASSANDRA: O the sufferings, the sufferings of my city utterly destroyed! Alas, the sacrifices my father offered, the many pasturing cattle slain to save its towers! Yet they provided no remedy to save the city from suffering even as it has; and I, my soul on fire, must soon fall to the ground.

CHORUS: Your present speech chimes with your former strain. Surely some malignant spirit, falling upon you with heavy swoop, moves you to chant your piteous woes fraught with death. But the end I am helpless to discover.

CASSANDRA: And now, no more shall my prophecy peer forth from behind a veil like a new-wedded bride; but it will rush upon me clear as a fresh wind blowing against the sun’s uprising so as to dash against its rays, like a wave, a woe far mightier than mine. No more by riddles will I instruct you. And bear me witness, as, running close behind, I scent the track of crimes done long ago. For from this roof never departs a choir chanting in unison, but singing no harmonious tune; for it tells not of good. And so, gorged on human blood, so as to be the more emboldened, a revel-rout of kindred Furies haunts the house, hard to be drive away. Lodged within its halls they chant their chant, the primal sin; and, each in turn, they spurn with loathing a brother’s bed, for they bitterly spurn the one who defiled it.Have I missed the mark, or, like a true archer, do I strike my quarry? Or am I prophet of lies, a door-to-door babbler? Bear witness upon your oath that I know the deeds of sin, ancient in story, of this house.

CHORUS: How could an oath, a pledge although given in honor, effect any cure? Yet I marvel at you that, though bred beyond the sea, you speak truth of a foreign city, even as if you had been present there.

CASSANDRA: The seer Apollo appointed me to this office.

CHORUS: Can it be that he, a god, was smitten with desire?

CASSANDRA: Before now I was ashamed to speak of this.

CHORUS: In prosperity all take on airs.

CASSANDRA: Oh, but he struggled to win me, breathing ardent love for me.

CHORUS: Did you in due course come to the rite of marriage?

CASSANDRA: I consented to Loxias but broke my word.

CHORUS: Were you already possessed by the art inspired of the god?

CASSANDRA: Already I prophesied to my countrymen all their disasters.

CHORUS: How came it then that you were unharmed by Loxias’ wrath?

CASSANDRA: Ever since that fault I could persuade no one of anything.

CHORUS: And yet to us at least the prophecies you utter seem true enough.

CASSANDRA: Ah, ah! Oh, oh, the agony! Once more the dreadful throes of true prophecy whirl and distract me with their ill-boding onset. Do you see them there—sitting before the house—young creatures like phantoms of dreams? Children, they seem, slaughtered by their own kindred, their hands full of the meat of their own flesh; they are clear to my sight, holding their vitals and their inward parts (piteous burden!), which their father tasted. For this cause I tell you that a strengthless lion, wallowing in his bed, plots vengeance, a watchman waiting (ah me!) for my master’s coming home—yes, my master, for I must bear the yoke of slavery. The commander of the fleet and the overthrower of Ilium little knows what deeds shall be brought to evil accomplishment by the hateful hound, whose tongue licked his hand, who stretched forth her ears in gladness, like treacherous Ate. Such boldness has she, a woman to slay a man. What odious monster shall I fitly call her? An Amphisbaena? Or a Scylla, tenanting the rocks, a pest to mariners, a raging, devil’s mother, breathing relentless war against her husband? And how the all-daring woman raised a shout of triumph, as when the battle turns, the while she feigned to joy at his safe return! And yet, it is all one, whether or not I am believed. What does it matter? What is to come, will come. And soon you, yourself present here, shall with great pity pronounce me all too true a prophetess.

CHORUS: Thyestes’ banquet on his children’s flesh I understood, and I tremble. Terror possesses me as I hear the truth, nothing fashioned out of falsehood to resemble truth. But as for the rest I heard I am thrown off the track.

CASSANDRA: I say you shall look upon Agamemnon dead.

CHORUS: To words propitious, miserable girl, lull your speech.

Part 9

CASSANDRA: Over what I tell no healing god presides.

CHORUS: No, if it is to be; but may it not be so!

CASSANDRA: You do but pray; their business is to slay.

CHORUS: What man is he that contrived this wickedness?

CASSANDRA: Surely you must have missed the meaning of my prophecies.

CHORUS: I do not understand the scheme of him who is to do the deed.

CASSANDRA: And yet all too well I understand the Greek language.

CHORUS: So too do the Pythian oracles; yet they are hard to understand.

CASSANDRA: Oh, oh! What fire! It comes upon me! Woe, woe! Lycean Apollo! Ah me, ah me! This two-footed lioness, who mates with a wolf in the absence of the noble lion, will slay me, miserable as I am. Brewing as it were a drug, she vows that with her wrath she will mix requital for me too, while she whets her sword against her husband, to take murderous vengeance for bringing me here. Why then do I bear these mockeries of myself, this wand, these prophetic chaplets on my neck? Breaking her wand, she throws it and the other insignia of her prophetic office upon the ground, and tramples them underfoot You at least I will destroy before I die myself. To destruction with you! And fallen there, thus do I repay you. Enrich with doom some other in my place. Look, Apollo himself is stripping me of my prophetic garb—he that saw me mocked to bitter scorn, even in this bravery, by friends turned foes, with one accord, in vain—but, like some vagrant mountebank, called beggar, wretch, starveling, I bore it all. And now the prophet, having undone me, his prophetess, has brought me to this lethal pass. Instead of my father’s altar a block awaits me, where I am to be butchered in a hot and bloody sacrifice. Yet, we shall not die unavenged by the gods; for there shall come in turn another, our avenger, a scion of the race, to slay his mother and exact requital for his sire; an exile, a wanderer, a stranger from this land, he shall return to put the coping-stone upon these unspeakable iniquities of his house. For the gods have sworn a mighty oath that his slain father’s outstretched corpse shall bring him home. Why then thus raise my voice in pitiful lament? Since first I saw the city of Ilium fare what it has fared, while her captors, by the gods’ sentence, are coming to such an end, I will go in and meet my fate. I will dare to die. This door I greet as the gates of Death. And I pray that, dealt a mortal stroke, without a struggle, my life-blood ebbing away in easy death, I may close these eyes.

CHORUS: O woman, pitiful exceedingly and exceeding wise, long has been your speech. But if, in truth, you have knowledge of your own death, how can you step with calm courage to the altar like an ox, driven by the god?

CASSANDRA: There is no escape; no, my friends, there is none any more.

CHORUS: Yet he that is last has the advantage in respect of time.

CASSANDRA: The day has come; flight would profit me but little.

CHORUS: Well, be assured, you brave suffering with a courageous spirit.

CASSANDRA: None who is happy is commended thus.

CHORUS: Yet surely to die nobly is a blessing for mortals.

CASSANDRA: Alas for you, my father and for your noble children! She starts back in horror

CHORUS: What ails you? What terror turns you back?

CASSANDRA: Alas, alas!

CHORUS: Why do you cry alas? Unless perhaps there is some horror in your soul.

Part 10

CASSANDRA: This house stinks of blood-dripping slaughter.

CHORUS: And what of that? It is just the savor of victims at the hearth.

CASSANDRA: It is like a breath from a charnel-house.

CHORUS: You are not speaking of proud Syrian incense for the house.

CASSANDRA: Nay, I will go to bewail also within the palace my own and Agamemnon’s fate. Enough of life! Alas, my friends, not with vain terror do I shrink, as a bird that fears a bush. After I am dead, bear witness for me of this—when for me, a woman, another woman shall be slain, and for an ill-wedded man another man shall fall. I claim this favor from you now that my hour is come.

CHORUS: Poor woman, I pity you for your death foretold.

CASSANDRA: Yet once more I would like to speak, but not a dirge. I pray to the sun, in presence of his latest light, that my enemiesmay at the same time pay to my avengers a bloody penalty for slaughtering a slave, an easy prey. Alas for human fortune! When prosperous, a mere shadow can overturn it; if misfortune strikes, the dash of a wet sponge blots out the drawing. And this last I deem far more pitiable than that. Enters the palace

CHORUS: It is the nature of all human kind to be unsatisfied with prosperity. From stately halls none bars it with warning voice that utters the words Enter no more. So the Blessed Ones have granted to our prince to capture Priam’s town; and, divinely-honored, he returns to his home. Yet if he now must pay the penalty for the blood shed by others before him, and by dying for the dead he is to bring to pass retribution of other deaths, what mortal man, on hearing this, can boast that he was born with scatheless destiny? A shriek is heard from within

AGAMEMNON: Alas! I am struck deep with a mortal blow!

CHORUS: Silence! Who is this that cries out, wounded by a mortal blow?

AGAMEMNON: And once again, alas! I am struck by a second blow.

CHORUS: The deed is done, it seems—to judge by the groans of the king. But come, let us take counsel together if there is perhaps some safe plan of action.

—I tell you my advice: summon the townsfolk to bring rescue here to the palace. —To my thinking we must burst in and charge them with the deed while the sword is still dripping in their hands. —I, too, am for taking part in some such plan, and vote for action of some sort. It is no time to keep on delaying. —It is plain. Their opening act marks a plan to set up a tyranny in the State. —Yes, because we are wasting time, while they, trampling underfoot that famous name, Delay, allow their hands no slumber. —I know not what plan I could hit on to propose. It is the doer’s part likewise to do the planning. —I too am of this mind, for I know no way to bring the dead back to life by mere words. —What! To prolong our lives shall we thus submit to the rule of those defilers of the house? —No, it is not to be endured. No, death would be better, for that would be a milder lot than tyranny. —And shall we, upon the evidence of mere groans, divine that our lord is dead? —We should be sure of the facts before we indulge our wrath. For surmise differs from assurance. —I am supported on all sides to approve this course—that we get clear assurance how it stands with Atreus’ son.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Much have I said before to serve my need and I shall feel no shame to contradict it now. For how else could one, devising hate against a hated foe who bears the semblance of a friend, fence the snares of ruin too high to be overleaped? This is the contest of an ancient feud, pondered by me of old, and it has come, however long delayed. I stand where I dealt the blow; my purpose is achieved. Thus have I done the deed; deny it I will not. Round him, as if to catch a haul of fish, I cast an impassable net—fatal wealth of robe—so that he should neither escape nor ward off doom. Twice I struck him, and with two groans his limbs relaxed. Once he had fallen, I dealt him yet a third stroke to grace my prayer to the infernal Zeus, the savior of the dead. Fallen thus, he gasped away his life, and as he breathed forth quick spurts of blood, he struck me with dark drops of gory dew; while I rejoiced no less than the sown earth is gladdened in heaven’s refreshing rain at the birthtime of the flower buds. Since then the case stands thus, old men of Argos, rejoice, if you would rejoice; as for me, I glory in the deed. And had it been a fitting act to pour libations on the corpse, over him this would have been done justly, more than justly. With so many accursed lies has he filled the mixing-bowl in his own house, and now he has come home and himself drained it to the dregs.

CHORUS: We are shocked at your tongue, how bold-mouthed you are, that over your husband you can utter such a boastful speech.

CLYTAEMESTRA: You are testing me as if I were a witless woman. But my heart does not quail, and I say to you who know it well—and whether you wish to praise or to blame me, it is all one—here is Agamemnon, my husband, now a corpse, the work of this right hand, a just workman. So stands the case.

CHORUS: Woman, what poisonous herb nourished by the earth have you tasted, what potion drawn from the flowing sea, that you have taken upon yourself this maddened rage and the loud curses voiced by the public? You have cast him off; you have cut him off; and out from the land shall you be cast, a burden of hatred to your people.

CLYTAEMESTRA: It’s now that you would doom me to exile from the land, to the hatred of my people and the execration of the public voice; though then you had nothing to urge against him that lies here. And yet he, valuing no more than if it had been a beast that perished—though sheep were plenty in his fleecy folds—he sacrificed his own child, she whom I bore with dearest travail, to charm the blasts of Thrace. Is it not he whom you should have banished from this land in requital for his polluting deed? No! When you arraign what I have done, you are a stern judge. Well, I warn you: threaten me thus on the understanding that I am prepared, conditions equal, to let you lord it over me if you shall vanquish me by force. But if a god shall bring the contrary to pass, you shall learn discretion though taught the lesson late.

CHORUS: You are proud of spirit, and your speech is overbearing. Even as your mind is maddened by your deed of blood, upon your face a stain of blood shows full plain to behold. Bereft of all honor, forsaken of your friends, you shall hereafter atone for stroke with stroke,

CLYTAEMESTRA: Listen then to this too, this the righteous sanction on my oath: by Justice, exacted for my child, by Ate, by the Avenging Spirit, to whom I sacrificed that man, hope does not tread for me the halls of fear, so long as the fire upon my hearth is kindled by Aegisthus, loyal in heart to me as in days gone by. For he is no slight shield of confidence to me. Here lies the man who did me wrong, plaything of each Chryseis at Ilium; and here she lies, his captive, and auguress, and concubine, his oracular faithful whore, yet equally familiar with the seamen’s benches. The pair has met no undeserved fate. For he lies thus; while she, who, like a swan, has sung her last lament in death, lies here, his beloved; but to me she has brought for my bed an added relish of delight.

Part 11

CHORUS: Alas! Ah that some fate, free from excess of suffering, nor yet with lingering bed of pain, might come full soon and bring to us everlasting and endless sleep, now that our most gracious guardian has been laid low, who in a woman’s cause had much endured and by a woman’s hand has lost his life.

O mad Helen, who did yourself alone destroy these many lives, these lives exceeding many, beneath the walls of Troy. Now you have bedecked yourself with your final crown, that shall long last in memory, because of blood not to be washed away. Truly in those days strife, an affliction that has subdued its lord, dwelt in the house.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Do not burden yourself with thoughts such as these, nor invoke upon yourself the fate of death. Nor yet turn your wrath upon Helen, and deem her a slayer of men, as if she alone had destroyed many a Danaan life and had wrought anguish past all cure.

CHORUS: O Fiend who falls upon this house and Tantalus’ two descendants, you who by the hands of women exert a rule matching their temper, a rule bitter to my soul! Perched over his body like a hateful raven, in hoarse notes she chants her song of triumph.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Now you have corrected the judgment of your lips in that you name the thrice-gorged Fiend of this race. For by him the lust for lapping blood is fostered in the mouth; so before the ancient wound is healed, fresh blood is spilled.

CHORUS: Truly you speak of a mighty Fiend, haunting the house, and heavy in his wrath (alas, alas!)—an evil tale of catastrophic fate insatiate; woe, woe, done by will of Zeus, author of all, worker of all! For what is brought to pass for mortal men save by will of Zeus? What herein is not wrought of god?

Alas, alas, my King, my King, how shall I bewail you? How voice my heartfelt love for you? To lie in this spider’s web, breathing forth your life in an impious death! Ah me, to lie on this ignoble bed, struck down in treacherous death wrought by a weapon of double edge wielded by the hand of your own wife!

CLYTAEMESTRA: Do you affirm this deed is mine? Do not imagine that I am Agamemnon’s spouse. A phantom resembling that corpse’s wife, the ancient bitter evil spirit of Atreus, that grim banqueter, has offered him in payment, sacrificing a full-grown victim in vengeance for those slain babes.

CHORUS: That you are innocent of this murder—who will bear you witness? How could anyone do so? And yet the evil genius of his father might well be your accomplice. By force amid streams of kindred blood black Havoc presses on to where he shall grant vengeance for the gore of children served for meat.

Alas, alas, my King, my King, how shall I bewail you? How voice my heartfelt love for you? To lie in this spider’s web, breathing forth your life in impious death! Alas, to lie on this ignoble bed, struck down in treacherous death wrought by a weapon of double edge wielded by your own wife’s hand!

CLYTAEMESTRA: And did he not himself by treachery bring ruin on his house? Yet, as he has suffered—worthy prize of worthy deed—for what he did to my sweet flower, shoot sprung from him, the sore-wept Iphigenia, let him make no great boasts in the halls of Hades, since with death dealt him by the sword he has paid for what he first began.

CHORUS: Bereft of any ready expedient of thought, I am bewildered where to turn now that the house is tottering. I fear the beating storm of bloody rain that shakes the house; no longer does it descend in drops. Yet on other whetstones Destiny is sharpening justice for another evil deed.

O Earth, Earth, if only you had taken me to yourself before ever I had lived to see my lord occupying a lowly bed of a silver-sided bath! Who shall bury him? Who shall lament him? Will you harden your heart to do this—you who have slain your own husband—to lament for him and crown your unholy work with an uncharitable gift to his spirit, atoning for your monstrous deeds? And who, as with tears he utters praise over the hero’s grave, shall sorrow in sincerity of heart?

CLYTAEMESTRA: To care for that duty is no concern of yours. By our hands down he fell, down to death, and down below shall we bury him—but not with wailings from his household. No! Iphigenia, his daughter, as is due, shall meet her father lovingly at the swift-flowing ford of sorrows, and shall fling her arms around him and kiss him.

CHORUS: Reproach thus meets reproach in turn—hard is the struggle to decide. The spoiler is despoiled, the slayer pays penalty. Yet, while Zeus remains on his throne, it remains true that to him who does it shall be done; for it is law. Who can cast from out the house the seed of the curse? The race is bound fast in calamity.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Upon this divine deliverance have you rightly touched. As for me, however, I am willing to make a sworn compact with the Fiend of the house of Pleisthenes that I will be content with what is done, hard to endure though it is. Henceforth he shall leave this house and bring tribulation upon some other race by murder of kin. A small part of the wealth is fully enough for me, if I may but rid these halls of the frenzy of mutual murder.

AEGISTHUS: Hail gracious light of the day of retribution! At last the hour has come when I can say that the gods who avenge mortal men look down from on high upon the crimes of earth. Now that, to my joy, I behold this man lying here in a robe spun by the Avenging Spirits and making full payment for the deeds contrived in craft by his father’s hand. For Atreus, lord of this land, this man’s father, challenged in his sovereignty, drove forth, from city and from home, Thyestes, who (to speak it clearly) was my father and his own brother. And when he had come back as a suppliant to his hearth, unhappy Thyestes secured such safety for his lot as not himself to suffer death and stain with his blood his native soil. But Atreus, the godless father of this slain man, with welcome more hearty than kind, on the pretence that he was cheerfully celebrating a happy day by serving meat, served up to my father as entertainment a banquet of his own children’s flesh. The toes and fingers he broke off [...] sitting apart.And when all unwittingly my father had quickly taken servings that he did not recognize, he ate a meal which, as you see, has proved fatal to his race. Now, discovering his unhallowed deed, he uttered a great cry, reeled back, vomiting forth the slaughtered flesh, and invoked an unbearable curse upon the line of Pelops, kicking the banquet table to aid his curse, thus perish all the race of Pleisthenes! This is the reason that you see this man fallen here. I am he who planned this murder and with justice. For together with my hapless father he drove me out, me his third child, as yet a baby in swaddling-clothes. But grown to manhood, justice has brought me back again. Exile though I was, I laid my hand upon my enemy, compassing every device of cunning to his ruin. So even death would be sweet to me now that I behold him in justice’s net.

CHORUS: Aegisthus, excessive triumph amid distress I do not honor. You say that of your own intent you slew this man and did alone plot this pitiful murder. I tell you in the hour of justice that you yourself, be sure of that, will not escape the people’s curses and death by stoning at their hand.

AEGISTHUS: You speak like that, you who sit at the lower oar when those upon the higher bench control the ship?Old as you are, you shall learn how bitter it is at your age to be schooled when prudence is the lesson set before you. Bonds and the pangs of hunger are far the best doctors of the spirit when it comes to instructing the old. Do you have eyes and lack understanding? Do not kick against the goads lest you strike to your own hurt.

CHORUS: Woman that you are! Skulking at home and awaiting the return of the men from war, all the while defiling a hero’s bed, did you contrive this death against a warrior chief?

Part 12

AEGISTHUS: These words of yours likewise shall prove a source of tears. The tongue of Orpheus is quite the opposite of yours. He led all things by the rapture of his voice; but you, who have stirred our wrath by your silly yelping, shall be led off yourself. You will appear tamer when put down by force.

CHORUS: As if you would ever truly be my master here in Argos, you who did contrive our king’s death, and then had not the courage to do this deed of murder with your own hand!

AEGISTHUS: Because to ensnare him was clearly the woman’s part; I was suspect as his enemy of old. However, with his gold I shall endeavor to control the people; and whoever is unruly, him I’ll yoke with a heavy collar, and in truth he shall be no well-fed trace-horse! No! Loathsome hunger that houses with darkness shall see him gentle.

CHORUS: Why then, in the baseness of your soul, did you not kill him yourself, but leave his slaying to a woman, a plague to her country and her country’s gods? Oh, does Orestes perhaps still behold the light, that, with favoring fortune, he may come home and be the slayer of this pair with victory complete?

AEGISTHUS: Oh well, since you plan to act and speak like that, you shall be taught a lesson soon. On guard, my trusty guardsmen, your work lies close to hand.

CHORUS: On guard then! Let every one make ready his sword with hand on hilt.

AEGISTHUS: My hand too is laid on my sword hilt, and I do not shrink from death.

CHORUS: Death for yourself, you say. We hail the omen. We welcome fortune’s test.

CLYTAEMESTRA: No, my dearest, let us work no further ills. Even these are many to reap, a wretched harvest. Of woe we have enough; let us have no bloodshed. Venerable elders, go back to your homes, and yield in time to destiny before you come to harm. What we did had to be done. But should this trouble prove enough, we will accept it, sorely battered as we are by the heavy hand of fate. Such is a woman’s counsel, if any care to learn from it.

AEGISTHUS: 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: It would not be like men of Argos to cringe before a man as low as you.

AEGISTHUS: Ha! I will visit you with vengeance yet in days to come.

CHORUS: Not if fate shall guide Orestes to return home.

AEGISTHUS: From my own experience I know that exiles feed on hope.

CHORUS: Keep on, grow fat, polluting justice, since you can.

AEGISTHUS: Know that you shall atone to me for your insolent folly.

CHORUS: Brag in your bravery like a cock beside his hen.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Do no care for their idle yelpings. I and you will be masters of this house and order it aright.

Contents — 12 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10
11. Part 11
12. Part 12

Part 1

ORESTES: 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. 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! 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: 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.

CHORUS: 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.

CHORUS: 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.

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.

CHORUS: 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.

CHORUS: 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: 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? 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? 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: 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: Speak, even as you revere my father’s grave.

CHORUS: While you pour, utter benedictions for loyal hearts.

ELECTRA: And to whom of those dear to me should I address them?

CHORUS: First to yourself, then to whoever hates Aegisthus.

ELECTRA: Then for myself and for you also shall I make this prayer?

CHORUS: That is for you, using your judgment, to consider now for yourself.

ELECTRA: Then whom else should I add to our company?

CHORUS: Remember Orestes, though he is still away from home.

ELECTRA: Well said! You have indeed admonished me thoughtfully.

CHORUS: For the guilty murderers now, mindful of—

Part 2

ELECTRA: What should I say? Instruct my inexperience, prescribe the form.

CHORUS: Pray that some divinity or some mortal may come to them—

ELECTRA: As judge or as avenger, do you mean?

CHORUS: Say in plain speech, One who will take life for life.

ELECTRA: And is it right for me to ask this of the gods?

CHORUS: How could it not be right to repay an enemy with ills?

ELECTRA: 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. 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 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: 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: My father has by now received the libations, which the earth has drunk. But take your share of this startling news.

CHORUS: Speak—but my heart is dancing with fear.

ELECTRA: I see here a lock cut as an offering for the tomb.

CHORUS: A man’s, or a deep-girt maid’s?

ELECTRA: That is open to conjecture—anyone may guess.

CHORUS: How then? Let my age be taught by your youth.

ELECTRA: There is no one who could have cut it but myself.

CHORUS: Yes, for those who ought to have mourned with a lock of hair are enemies.

ELECTRA: And further, in appearance it is very much like—

CHORUS: Whose lock? This is what I would like to know.

ELECTRA: It is very much like my own in appearance.

CHORUS: Then can this be a secret offering from Orestes?

Part 3

ELECTRA: It is his curling locks that it most resembles.

CHORUS: But how did he dare to come here?

ELECTRA: He has merely sent this cut lock to honor his father.

CHORUS: What you say is no less a cause of tears for me, if he will never again set foot on this land.

ELECTRA: 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. 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. 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. 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!

ORESTES: Give recognition to the gods that your prayers have been fulfilled, and pray that success may attend you in the future.

ELECTRA: What? Have I succeeded now by the will of the gods?

ORESTES: You have come to the sight of what you have long prayed for.

ELECTRA: And do you know whom among mortals I was invoking?

ORESTES: I know that you are pining for Orestes.

ELECTRA: Then how have I found an answer to my prayers?

ORESTES: Here I am. Search for no other friend than me.

ELECTRA: But surely, stranger, you are weaving some snare about me?

ORESTES: Then I am devising plots against myself.

ELECTRA: No, you wish to mock my distress.

ORESTES: Then my own also, if yours.

ELECTRA: Am I then to address you as Orestes in truth?

ORESTES: 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: 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!

ORESTES: O Zeus, O Zeus, regard our cause! Behold the orphaned brood of a father eagle that perished in the meshes, in the coils of a fierce viper. They are utterly orphaned, gripped by the famine of hunger: for they are not grown to full strength to bring their father’s quarry to the nest. So you see both me and poor Electra here, children bereft of their father, both outcasts alike from our home. If you destroy these nestlings of a father who made sacrifice and revered you greatly, from what like hand will you receive the homage of rich feasts? Destroy the brood of the eagle and you cannot again send tokens that mortals will trust; nor, if this royal stock should wither utterly away, will it serve your altars on days when oxen are sacrificed. Oh foster it, and you may raise our house from low estate to great, though now it seems utterly overthrown.

Part 4

CHORUS: O children, O saviors of your father’s hearth, speak not so loud, dear children, in case someone should overhear and report all this to our masters merely for the sake of rumor. May I some day see them dead in the ooze of flaming pitch!

ORESTES: Surely he will not abandon me, the mighty oracle of Loxias, who urged me to brave this peril to the end and loudly proclaims calamities that chill the warmth of my heart, if I do not take vengeance on my father’s murderers. He said that, I should pay the debt myself with my own life, after many grievous sufferings. For he spoke revealing to mortals the wrath of malignant powers from underneath the earth, and telling of plagues: leprous ulcers that mount with fierce fangs on the flesh and eat away its primal nature; and how a white down should sprout up on the diseased place. And he spoke of other assaults of the Furies that are destined to be brought to pass from paternal blood. For the dark bolt of the infernal powers, who are stirred by kindred victims calling for vengeance, and madness, and groundless terrors out of the night, torment and harass a man, and he sees clearly, though he moves his eyebrows in the dark. And with his body marred by the brazen scourge, he is even chased in exile from his country. And the god declared that to such as these it is not allowed to have a part either in the ceremonial cup or in the cordial libation; his father’s wrath, though unseen, bars him from the altar; no one receives him or lodges with him; and at last, despised by all, friendless, he perishes, shrivelled pitifully by a death that wastes him utterly away. Must I not put my trust in oracles such as these? Yet even if I do not trust them, the deed must still be done. For many impulses conspire to one conclusion. Besides the god’s command, my keen grief for my father, and also the pinch of poverty—that my countrymen, the most renowned of mortals, who overthrew Troy in the spirit of glory, should not be subjected so to a pair of women. For he has a woman’s mind, or if not, it will soon be found out.

CHORUS: You mighty Fates, through the power of Zeus grant fulfilment in the way to which Justice now turns. For a word of hate let a word of hate be said, Justice cries out as she exacts the debt, and for a murderous stroke let a murderous stroke be paid. Let it be done to him as he does, says the age-old wisdom.

ORESTES: O father, unhappy father, by what word or deed of mine can I succeed in sailing from far away to you, where your resting-place holds you, a light to oppose your darkness? Yet a lament in honor of the Atreidae who once possessed our house is none the less a joyous service.

CHORUS: My child, the fire’s ravening jaw does not overwhelm the wits of the dead man, but afterwards he reveals what stirs him. The murdered man has his dirge; the guilty man is revealed. Justified lament for fathers and for parents, when raised loud and strong, makes its search everywhere.

ELECTRA: Hear then, O father, as in turn we mourn with plentiful tears. Look, your two children mourn you in a dirge over your tomb. As suppliants and exiles as well they have sought a haven at your sepulchre. What of these things is good, what free of evil? Is it not hopeless to wrestle against doom?

CHORUS: Yet heaven, if it pleases, may still turn our utterance to more joyfully sounding strains. In place of dirges over a tomb, a song of triumph within the royal halls will welcome back a reunited friend.

ORESTES: Ah, my father, if only beneath Ilium’s walls you had been slain, slashed by some Lycian spearman! Then you would have left a good name for your children in their halls, and in their maturity you would have made their lives admired by men. And in a land beyond the sea you would have found a tomb heaped high with earth, no heavy burden for your house to bear—

CHORUS: —Welcomed there below by your comrades who nobly fell, a ruler of august majesty, distinguished even beneath the earth, and minister of the mightiest, the deities who rule in the nether world. For in your life you were a king of those who have the power to assign the portion of death, and who wield the staff all mortals obey.

ELECTRA: No, not even beneath the walls of Troy, father, would I wish you to have fallen and to be entombed beside Scamander’s waters among the rest of the host slain by the spear. I wish rather that his murderers had been killed by their own loved ones, just as they killed you, so that someone in a distant land who knew nothing of these present troubles should learn of their fatal doom.

CHORUS: In this, my child, your wish is better than gold. It surpasses great good fortune, even that of the supremely blesssed; for it is easy to wish. But now the lash of this double scourge comes home: our cause already has its champions beneath the earth, while the hands of our loathsome opponents, though they have the mastery, are unholy. The children have won the day.

ORESTES: This has pierced the earth and reached your ear as if it were an arrow. O Zeus, O Zeus, who send long-deferred retribution up from below onto the reckless and wicked deeds done by the hands of mortals. . . . And yet it will be accomplished for our father’s sake.

CHORUS: May it be mine to raise a hearty shout in triumph over the man when he is stabbed and over the woman as she perishes! Why should I try to keep hidden what nevertheless hovers before my soul? Full against the prow of my heart wrath blows sharply in rancorous hate.

ELECTRA: And when will mighty Zeus bring down his hand on them and split their heads open? Let it be a pledge to the land! After injustice I demand justice as my right. Hear, O Earth, and you honored powers below!

CHORUS: And it is the eternal rule that drops of blood spilled on the ground demand yet more blood. Murder cries out on the Fury, which from those killed before brings one ruin in the wake of another.

ORESTES: Alas, you sovereign powers of the world below, behold, you potent Curses of the slain, behold the remnants of the line of Atreus in their helpless plight, cast out from house and home in dishonor. Which way can we turn, O Zeus?

CHORUS: But again my heart throbs as I hear this pitiful lament. At once I am devoid of hope and my viscera are darkened at the words I hear. But when hope once again lifts and strengthens me, it puts away my distress and dawns brightly on me.

ELECTRA: To what could we more fittingly appeal than to those very miseries we have endured from the woman herself who bore us? She may fawn upon us, but they are past all soothing. For like a fierce-hearted wolf the temper we have acquired from our mother is implacable.

CHORUS: On my breast I beat an Arian dirge in just the same fashion as a Cissian wailing woman. With clenched fists, raining blows thick and fast, my outstretched hands could be seen descending from above, from far above, now on this side, now on that, till my battered and wretched head resounded with the strokes.

ELECTRA: Away with you, cruel and utterly brazen mother! You dared to give your husband a most cruel burial: unmourned, without lamentation, a king unattended by his people.

Part 5

ORESTES: Ah me, your words spell utter dishonor. Yet with the help of the gods, and with the help of my own hands, will she not atone for the dishonor she did my father? Let me only take her life, then let me die!

CHORUS: Yes, and I would have you know he was brutally mangled. And even as she buried him in this way, she acted with intent to make the manner of his death a burden on your life past all power to bear. You hear the story of the ignominious outrage done to your father.

ELECTRA: My father was murdered just as you say. But all the while I was kept sequestered, despised, accounted a worthless thing. Kennelled in my room as if I were a vicious cur, I gave free vent to my streaming tears, which came more readily than laughter, as in my concealment I poured out my lament in plentiful weeping. Hear my tale and inscribe it on your heart.

CHORUS: Yes, let it sink deep into your ears, but keep inside a quiet steadfastness of soul. So far things are so. But you yourself be eager to resolve what is to follow. You must enter the contest with inflexible wrath.

ORESTES: Father, I call on you; side with your loved ones!

ELECTRA: And I in tears join my voice to his.

CHORUS: And let all our company blend our voices to echo the prayer. Hear! Come to the light! Side with us against the foe!

ORESTES: Ares will encounter Ares; Right will encounter Right.

ELECTRA: O you gods, judge rightly the plea of right!

CHORUS: A shudder steals over me as I hear these prayers. Doom has long been waiting, but it will come in answer to those who pray.

CHORUS: Ah, inbred trouble and bloody stroke of ruin striking a discord! Ah, lamentable and grievous sorrows! Ah, the unstaunched pain!

CHORUS: Our house has a cure to heal these woes, a cure not from outside, from the hands of others, but from itself, by fierce, bloody strife. This hymn is for the gods beneath the earth.

CHORUS: O you blessed powers below, hear this supplication of ours, and with a favorable will send forth to these children your aid for victory!

ORESTES: O father, who perished by a death unbefitting a king, grant in answer to my prayer the lordship over your halls!

ELECTRA: And I too, father, have a like request of you: to escape when I have wrought great destruction on Aegisthus.

ORESTES: Yes, for then the customary funeral feasts of men would be established in your honor. But otherwise, at the rich and savory banquet of burnt offerings made to the earth, you will be without a portion of honor.

ELECTRA: And I will likewise at my wedding offer libations to you out of the fullness of my inheritance from my father’s house, and before all else I will hold this tomb of yours in the highest honor.

ORESTES: O Earth, send up my father to watch my battle!

ELECTRA: O Persephone, grant us indeed a glorious victory!

ORESTES: Father, remember the bath where you were robbed of life.

Part 6

ELECTRA: And remember how they devised a strange net to cast about you.

ORESTES: You were caught, my father, in fetters forged by no smith’s hand.

ELECTRA: And in a fabric shamefully devised.

ORESTES: Father, are you not roused by taunts such as these?

ELECTRA: Are you not raising that dearest head of yours?

ORESTES: Either send Justice to battle for those dear to you, or grant us in turn to get a similar grip on them, if indeed after defeat you would in turn win victory.

ELECTRA: So listen, father, to this last appeal of mine as you behold these fledglings crouching at your tomb. Have compassion on your offspring, on the woman and on the man as well, and let not this seed of Pelops’ line be blotted out: for then, in spite of death, you are not dead. For children are voices of salvation to a man, though he is dead; like corks, they buoy up the net, saving the flaxen cord from out of the deep. Hear! For your own sake we make this lament. By honoring this plea of ours you save yourself.

CHORUS: In truth you have drawn out this plea of yours to your own content in showing honor to this unlamented tomb. As for the rest, since your heart is rightly set on action, put your fortune to the test and get to your work at once.

ORESTES: It will be so. But it is in no way amiss to inquire how, from what motive, she came to send her libations, seeking too late to make amends for an irremediable deed. They would be a sorry gift to send to the senseless dead: I cannot guess what they mean. The gifts are too paltry for her offence. For though a man may pour out all he has in atonement for one deed of blood, it is wasted effort. So the saying goes. If indeed you know, tell me: I wish to learn.

CHORUS: I know, my child, for I was there. It was because she was shaken by dreams and wandering terrors of the night that she sent these offerings, godless woman that she is.

ORESTES: And have you learned the nature of the dream so as to tell it properly?

CHORUS: She dreamed she gave birth to a serpent: that is her own account.

ORESTES: And where does the tale end, and what is its consummation?

CHORUS: She laid it to rest as if it were a child, in swaddling clothes.

ORESTES: What food did it crave, the newborn viper?

CHORUS: In her dream she offered it her own breast.

ORESTES: Surely her nipple was not unwounded by the loathsome beast?

CHORUS: No: it drew in clotted blood with the milk.

ORESTES: Truly it is not without meaning: the vision signifies a man!

CHORUS: Then from out of her sleep she raised a shriek and awoke appalled, and many lamps that had been blinded in the darkness flared up in the house to cheer our mistress. Then she sent these libations for the dead in the hope that they might be an effective cure for her distress.

Part 7

ORESTES: Well then, I pray to this earth and to my father’s grave that this dream may come to its fulfilment in me. As I understand it, it fits at every point. For if the snake left the same place as I; if it was furnished with my swaddling clothes; if it sought to open its mouth to take the breast that nourished me and mixed the sweet milk with clotted blood while she shrieked for terror at this, then surely, as she has nourished a portentous thing of horror, she must die by violence. For I, turned serpent, am her killer, as this dream declares.

CHORUS: I choose your reading of this portent. Let it be so. As for the rest, give your friends their parts. Tell some what to do, others what to leave undone.

ORESTES: It is a simple story. My sister must go inside, and I charge her to keep concealed this pact with me, so that as by craft they killed a worthy man, so by craft they may likewise be caught and perish in the very same snare, even as Loxias decreed, lord Apollo, the prophet who has never before been false. In the guise of a stranger, one fully equipped,I will come to the outer gate, and with me Pylades, whom you see here, as a guest and ally of the house. Both of us will speak the speech of Parnassus, imitating the accent of a Phocian tongue. And in case none of the keepers of the door will give us a hearty welcome on the plea that the house is afflicted with trouble by the gods, then we will wait so that anyone passing the house will consider and say: Why then does Aegisthus have his door shut on his suppliant, if in fact he is at home and knows? But if I indeed pass the outermost threshold of the gate and find that man sitting on my father’s throne, or if then coming face to face with me he lifts and casts down his eyes, know well: before he can even say Of what land is this stranger? I will skewer him with my swift sword and lay him dead. The fury that has no fill of slaughter shall for her third and crowning drink drink unmixed blood! Now you, Electra, keep strict watch over what happens inside the house, so that our plans may fit together well. You addressing the Chorus had best keep a discreet tongue: be silent when there is need and speak only what the occasion demands. As for the rest, I call on him to cast his glance this way and direct the contest of the sword for me. Exeunt Orestes, Pylades, and Electra

CHORUS: Many are the horrors, dread and appalling, bred of earth, and the arms of the deep teem with hateful monsters. Likewise between heaven and earth lights hung high in the air draw near; and winged things and things that walk the earth can also tell of the stormy wrath of whirlwinds.

CHORUS: But who can tell of man’s overweening spirit, and of the reckless passions of women hardened of soul, partners of the woes of mortals? Inordinate passion, overmastering the female, gains a fatal victory over the wedded unions of beasts and humans alike.

CHORUS: Let whoever is not flighty in his wits know this, when he has learned of the device of a lit brand contrived by Thestius’ heartless daughter: she destroyed her own child by burning the charred brand of the same age as he when, coming from his mother’s womb, he cried out, and it aged in pace with him through his life to the day decreed by fate.

CHORUS: And there is in legend another murderous virgin to be loathed, who ruined a loved one at the bidding of his foes, when, lured by Minos’ gift, the Cretan necklace forged of gold, she with her dog’s heart despoiled Nisus of his immortal lock as he drew breath in unsuspecting sleep. And Hermes overtook him.

CHORUS: But since I have recalled tales of pitiless afflictions, it is the right time to tell of a marriage void of love, an abomination to the house, and the plots devised by a wife’s cunning against her warrior lord, against her lord revered with reason by his foes. But I honor the hearths of homes not heated by passion’s fires, and in woman a spirit that shrinks from audacious deeds.

CHORUS: Indeed the Lemnian holds first place among evils in story: it has long been told with groans as an abominable calamity. Men compare each new horror to Lemnian troubles; and because of a woeful deed abhorred by the gods a race has disappeared, cast out in infamy from among mortals. For no man reveres what is hated by the gods. Is there one of these tales I have gathered that I do not justly cite?

CHORUS: But the keen and bitter sword is near the breast and drives home its blow at the bidding of Justice. For truly the injustice of him who has unjustly transgressed the sovereign majesty of Zeus lies on the ground trampled under foot.

CHORUS: The anvil of Justice is planted firm. Destiny fashions her arms and forges her sword quickly, and the famed and deeply brooding Fury is bringing the son into our house, to requite at last the pollution of blood shed long ago.

ORESTES: Boy! Boy! Hear my knocking at the outer door! Who is inside? Boy! Boy! I say again, who is at home? Again for the third time I call for some one to come out of the house, if by Aegisthus’ will it offers welcome to strangers.

SERVANT: Yes, yes, I hear. Of what land is the stranger, and whence?

ORESTES: Announce me to the masters of the house, for it is in fact to them that I come bearing news. And hurry, since the chariot of night is speeding on with darkness, and it is time for wayfarers to drop anchor in some house friendly to all guests. Tell some one to come forth who has authority over the house, the mistress in charge. But the master would be more fitting, for then no delicacy in speaking makes words obscure: man speaks boldly to man and reveals his meaning without reserve. The Servant withdraws. Clytaemestra appears at the door with a maid-servant in attendance

CLYTAEMESTRA: Strangers, you have only to declare your need, for we have everything that suits this house: warm baths, beds to charm away fatigue, and the presence of honest faces. But if there is another matter requiring graver counsel, that is the concern of men, and we will communicate with them.

ORESTES: I am a stranger, a Daulian of the Phocians. As I was on my way, carrying my pack on business of my own to Argos, just as I ended my journey here, a man, a stranger to me as I to him, fell in with me, and inquired about my destination and told me his. He was Strophius, a Phocian (for as we talked I learned his name), and he said to me, Stranger, since in any case you are bound for Argos, keep my message in mind most faithfully and tell his parents Orestes is dead, and by no means let it escape you. Whether his friends decide to bring him home or to bury him in the land of his sojourn, a foreigner utterly forever, convey their wishes back to me. In the meantime a bronze urn contains the ashes of a man rightly lamented. This much I tell you as I heard it. Whether by any chance I am speaking to those with whom the question rests and whose concern it is, I do not know. But his parent should know the truth.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Oh no! Your story spells our utter undoing. O curse that haunts this house, so hard to wrestle down: how far forward you look! Even what was laid well out of harm’s way you bring down with your well-aimed shafts from far off, and you strip me of those I love, utterly wretched as I am. And now Orestes: he was indeed prudent in keeping his foot out of the mire of destruction, but now mark down as having abandoned us what was once the one hope in our house of a cure for its fine revelry.

ORESTES: As for me, I am sure that with hosts so prosperous I would rather have been made known and welcomed for favorable news. For where is goodwill greater than from guest to host? Yet to my mind it would have been irreverent not to fulfill for friends a charge like this when I was bound by promise and hospitality pledged to me.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Rest assured you will receive no less a reward than you deserve nor be the less welcome to this house: someone else might just as well have brought your message. But it is the hour when strangers who have been travelling on a long day’s journey should have their proper entertainment. To an attendant Conduct him to the rooms where the men are hospitably lodged, him and his attendants here and his fellow-traveller, and let them be tended to there as is proper in our house. I command you to do this as you shall be held to strict account. Meantime we will communicate this matter to the master of the house, and since we have no lack of friends we will confer on this occurrence.

CHORUS: Ah, loyal handmaidens of the house, low long will it be before we display the power that lies in our mouths to do Orestes service? O hallowed earth, and hallowed barrow raised high that now lies on the royal form of the commander of the fleet, now hear me, now lend me aid! Now is the hour for Persuasion with her guile to join forces with him, and for Hermes of the nether world, who works in stealth, to direct this encounter of the deadly sword. Enter Orestes’ Nurse

Part 8

Our stranger, I think, is working mischief: for over there I see Orestes’ nurse all in tears. Cilissa! Where are you going? Why as you set foot in the palace gate do you have a grief as an unhired companion?

NURSE: My mistress commands me to summon Aegisthus for the strangers in all haste, so that he may come and learn more clearly, from man to man, these tidings that have just arrived. Indeed, before the servants, behind eyes that feigned grief she hid her laughter over what has occurred fortunately for her. But the news so plainly told by the strangers means utter ruin for this house. I expect that when he hears it he will rejoice in his heart to know the story. Miserable woman that I am! How the old unbearable troubles of every sort that occurred in this house of Atreus have always made my heart ache within my breast! But never yet have I endured a blow like this. For all the other troubles I bore patiently, but my beloved Orestes, on whom I spent my soul, whom I took from his mother at birth and nursed, and the many and troublesome tasks, fruitless for all my enduring them, when his loud and urgent cries broke my rest.... For one must nurse the senseless thing like a dumb beast, of course one must, by following its humor. For while it is still a baby in swaddling clothes, it has no speech at all, whether hunger moves it, or thirst perhaps, or the call of need: children’s young insides work their own relief. I would anticipate these needs. Yet many a time, I think, having to wash the child’s linen because of my own errors, laundress and nurse had the same function. It was I who, with these two handicrafts, received Orestes for his father. And now, wretch that I am, I hear that he is dead. But I am on my way to fetch the man who wrought destruction on our house, and he will be glad enough to hear this news.

CHORUS: Then arrayed how does she tell him to come?

NURSE: Arrayed how? Say it again so that I may catch your meaning better.

CHORUS: With his guards or perhaps unattended?

NURSE: She tells him to come with his retinue of spearmen.

CHORUS: Well, do not give this message to our loathed master, but with all haste and with a cheerful heart tell him to come himself, alone, so that he may be told without alarm. For in the mouth of a messenger a crooked message is made straight.

NURSE: What! Are you gladdened at heart by the present news?

CHORUS: Why not, if Zeus at last may cause our ill wind to change?

NURSE: But how can that be? Orestes, the hope of our house, is gone.

CHORUS: Not yet; he would be a poor prophet who would so interpret.

NURSE: What are you saying? Do you know something beyond what has been told?

CHORUS: Go, deliver your message! Do what you are asked to do! The gods take care of what they take care of.

NURSE: Well, I will go and do your bidding. With the gods’ blessing may everything turn out for the best! Exit

CHORUS: Now at my supplication, O Zeus, father of the Olympian gods, grant that the fortunes of our house be firmly established, so that those who rightly desire the rule of order may behold it. Every word of mine has been uttered in justice. O Zeus, may you safeguard it!

CHORUS: O Zeus, set him who is within the palace before his foes; since, if you exalt him, he will gladly pay you with double and triple recompense.

CHORUS: Know that the orphaned colt of a loved one is harnessed to the chariot of distress. And by setting bounds to his course may you grant that we see him keep a steady pace through this race and win the goal in the straining stride of a gallop.

CHORUS: And you who within the house inhabit the inner chamber that exults in its wealth, hear me, you gods, that feel with us! By a fresh award redeem the blood of deeds done long ago. May aged Murder cease begetting offspring in our house!

CHORUS: And you who occupy the mighty, gorgeously built cavern, grant that the man’s house may lift up its eyes again in joy, and that with glad eyes it may behold from under its veil of gloom the radiant light of freedom.

CHORUS: May Maia’s son, as he rightfully should, lend his aid, for no one can better sail a deed on a favoring course, when he would do so. But by his mysterious utterance he brings darkness over men’s eyes by night, and by day he is no more clear at all.

Part 9

CHORUS: And then at last with a loud voice we shall sing a song of the deliverance of our house, the song that women raise when the wind sits fair, and not the shrill strain of those who mourn: The ship goes well. This grows to profit for me, for me, and calamity holds off from those I love.

CHORUS: But may you with good courage, when the part of action comes, cry out loud the name Father when she exclaims Son, and accomplish the baneful but irreproachable deed.

CHORUS: Raise up Perseus’ spirit within my breast. And for those dear to you below the earth, and for those above, exact satisfaction for their dire wrath by working bloody ruin in our house and obliterating the guilt of murder.

AEGISTHUS: I have come not unasked but summoned by a messenger. I heard startling news told by some strangers who have arrived, tidings far from welcome: —that Orestes is dead. To lay this too upon our house would be a fearful burden when it is still festering and galled by the wound inflicted by an earlier murder. How can I believe this tale is the living truth? Or is it merely a panic-stricken report spread by women which leaps up to die away in nothingness? What can you tell me of this to make it plain to my mind?

CHORUS: We heard the tale, it is true. But go inside and inquire of the strangers. The certainty of a messenger’s report is nothing compared with one’s own interrogation of the man himself.

AEGISTHUS: I wish to see the messenger and put him to the test again—whether he himself was present at the death or merely repeats from vague reports what he has heard. No! Be sure he cannot deceive a mind with eyes open. Exit

CHORUS: O Zeus, O Zeus, what should I say? Where shall I begin this prayer of mine, this appeal to the gods? How in my loyal zeal can I succeed in finding words to match need? Now is the moment when the blood-stained edges of the blades that lay men low are utterly forever to destroy the house of Agamemnon. Or else, kindling a flaming light in the cause of freedom, Orestes will win both the rule over his realm and the rich possessions of his fathers. Our gallant Orestes, with no one to assist him, is now to meet with two in such a contest. And may it be to triumph!

AEGISTHUS: within Oh! Oh! O woe!

CHORUS: Ah! Ah! Alas! What is happening? What is being accomplished for our house? Let us stand apart while the matter is still unsettled so that we may be considered blameless in these ills. For the issue of the fighting has now been decided. The Chorus withdraws to the side of the scene; then a servant of Aegisthus rushes in

SERVANT: O woe, oh utter woe! My master is slain! O woe! I cry yet again, for the third time. Aegisthus is no more! Come, with all speed! Unbar and open the women’s door! And a strong arm indeed is needed, but not to help him who is already slain: what good is there in that? Help! Help! Am I shouting to the deaf and fruitlessly wasting my voice on people who are asleep? Where has Clytaemestra gone? What is she doing? Her own neck, near the razor’s edge, is now ready to fall beneath the stroke.

CLYTAEMESTRA: What is this? What cry for help are you raising in our house?

SERVANT: I tell you the dead are killing the living.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Ah! Indeed I grasp the meaning of the riddle. We are to perish by treachery, just as we committed murder. Someone give me a battle-axe, and quickly! Let us know if we are victors or vanquished: for I have even come to this in this wretched business. Exit Servant. The door is opened and the corpse of Aegisthus is discovered. Nearby stands Orestes, and at a distance Pylades

ORESTES: It is you I seek. He over there has had enough.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Oh no! My beloved, valiant Aegisthus! You are dead!

ORESTES: You love this man? Then you will lie in the same grave, and you will never abandon him in death.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Wait, my son! Have pity, child, upon this breast at which many times while you slept you sucked with toothless gums the milk that nourished you.

ORESTES: Pylades, what shall I do? Shall I spare my mother out of pity?

PYLADES: What then will become in the future of Loxias’ oracles declared at Pytho, and of our sworn pact? Count all men your enemies rather than the gods.

ORESTES: I judge you victor: you advise me well. To Clytaemestra Come, this way! I mean to kill you by his very side. For while he lived, you thought him better than my father. Sleep with him in death, since you love him but hate the man you were bound to love.

Part 10

CLYTAEMESTRA: It was I who nourished you, and with you I would grow old.

ORESTES: What! Murder my father and then make your home with me?

CLYTAEMESTRA: Fate, my child, must share the blame for this.

ORESTES: And fate now brings this destiny to pass.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Have you no regard for a parent’s curse, my son?

ORESTES: You brought me to birth and yet you cast me out to misery.

CLYTAEMESTRA: No, surely I did not cast you out in sending you to the house of an ally.

ORESTES: I was sold in disgrace, though I was born of a free father.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Then where is the price I got for you?

ORESTES: I am ashamed to reproach you with that outright.

CLYTAEMESTRA: But do not fail to proclaim the follies of that father of yours as well.

ORESTES: Do not accuse him who suffered while you sat idle at home.

CLYTAEMESTRA: It is a grief for women to be deprived of a husband, my child.

ORESTES: Yes, but it is the husband’s toil that supports them while they sit at home.

CLYTAEMESTRA: You seem resolved, my child, to kill your mother.

ORESTES: You will kill yourself, not I.

CLYTAEMESTRA: Take care: beware the hounds of wrath that avenge a mother.

ORESTES: And how shall I escape my father’s if I leave this undone?

CLYTAEMESTRA: I see that though living I mourn in vain before a tomb.

ORESTES: Yes, for my father’s fate has marked out this destiny for you.

Part 11

CLYTAEMESTRA: Oh no! I myself bore and nourished this serpent!

ORESTES: Yes, the terror from your dream was indeed a prophet. You killed him whom you should not; so suffer what should not be. He forces Clytaemestra within; Pylades follows

CHORUS: Truly I grieve even for these in their twofold downfall. Yet since long-suffering Orestes has reached the peak of many deeds of blood, we would rather have it so, that the eye of the house should not be utterly lost.

CHORUS: As to Priam and his sons justice came at last in crushing retribution, so to Agamemnon’s house came a twofold lion, twofold slaughter. The exile, the suppliant of Pytho, has fulfilled his course to the utmost, justly urged on by counsels from the gods.

CHORUS: Oh raise a shout of triumph over the escape of our master’s house from its misery and the wasting of its wealth by two who were unclean, its grievous fortune!

CHORUS: And he has come whose part is the crafty vengeance of stealthy attack, and in the battle his hand was guided by her who is in very truth daughter of Zeus, breathing murderous wrath on her foes. We mortals aim true to the mark when we call her Justice.

CHORUS: Oh raise a shout of triumph over the escape of our master’s house from its misery and the wasting of its wealth by two who were unclean, its grievous fortune!

CHORUS: The commands proclaimed loudly by Loxias, tenant of the mighty cavern shrine of Parnassus, assail with guileless guile the mischief now become inveterate. May the divine word prevail that so I may not serve the wicked! It is right to revere the rule of heaven.

CHORUS: Look, the light has come, and I am freed from the cruel curb that restrained our household. House, rise up! You have lain too long prostrate on the ground.

CHORUS: But soon time that accomplishes all will pass the portals of our house, and then all pollution will be expelled from the hearth by cleansing rites that drive out calamity. The dice of fortune will turn as they fall and lie with faces all lovely to behold, favorably disposed to whoever stays in our house.

CHORUS: Look, the light has come, and I am freed from the cruel curb that restrained our household. House, rise up! You have lain too long prostrate on the ground.

ORESTES: Behold this pair, oppressors of the land, who murdered my father and ransacked my house! They were majestic then, when they sat on their thrones, and are lovers even now, as one may judge by what has happened to them, and their oath holds true to their pledges. Together they vowed a league of death against my unhappy father, and together they vowed to die, and they have kept their promise well. But now regard again, you who hear this account of ills, the device for binding my unhappy father, with which his hands were manacled, his feet fettered. Spread it out! Stand around in a circle, and display this covering for a man, that the Father may see—not mine, but he who surveys all this, the Sun— that he may see the impious work of my own mother, that he may be my witness in court that I justly pursued this death, my own mother’s. For I do not speak of Aegisthus’ death: he has suffered the penalty prescribed for adulterers. But she who devised this abhorrent deed against her husband, whose children she bore, a burden under her belt, a burden once dear, but now a hateful ill, as it seems: what do you think of her? Had she been born a seasnake or a viper, I think her very touch without her bite would have caused anyone else to rot, if shamelessness and an immoral disposition could do so. He again takes up the bloody robe What name shall I give it, however tactful I may be? A trap for a wild beast? Or a shroud for a corpse in his bier, wrapped around his feet? No, rather it is a net: you might call it a hunting net, or robes to entangle a man’s feet. This would be the kind of thing a highwayman might posses, who deceives strangers and earns his living by robbery, and with this cunning snare he might kill many men and warm his own heart greatly. May such a woman not live with me in my house! Before that may the gods grant me to perish childless!

CHORUS: Alas! Alas! Sorrowful work! You were done in by a wretched death. Alas! Alas! And for the survivor also suffering blossoms.

ORESTES: Did she do the deed or not? No, this is my witness, dyed by Aegisthus’ sword. This is a stain of blood that helps time to spoil the many tinctures of embroidered fabric. Now at last I speak his praises. Now at last I am present to lament him, as I address this web that wrought my father’s death. Yet I grieve for the deed and the punishment and for my whole clan. My victory is an unenviable pollution.

CHORUS: No mortal being shall pass his life unscathed, free from all suffering to the end. Alas! Alas! One tribulation comes today, another tomorrow.

ORESTES: But since I would have you know, for I do not know how it will end: I think I am a charioteer driving my team far beyond the course. For my ungoverned wits are whirling me away overmastered, and at my heart fear wishes to sing and dance to a tune of wrath. But while I am still in my senses, I proclaim to those who hold me dear and declare that not without justice did I slay my mother, the unclean murderess of my father, and a thing loathed by the gods. And for the spells that gave me the courage for this deed I count Loxias, the prophet of Pytho, my chief source. It was he who declared that, if I did this thing, I would be acquitted of wrongdoing. But if I refrained—I will not name the penalty; for no bowshot could reach such a height of anguish. And now observe me, how armed with this branch and wreath I go as a suppliant, an outcast for the shedding of kindred blood, to the temple set square on the womb of the earth, the precinct of Loxias, and to the bright fire said to be imperishable. To no other hearth did Loxias bid me turn. And as to the manner in which this evil deed was wrought, I charge all men of Argos in time to come to bear me witness. I go forth a wanderer, estranged from this land, leaving this repute behind, in life or death.

CHORUS: And you have done well. Therefore do not yoke your tongue to an ill-omened speech, nor let your lips give vent to evil forebodings, since you have freed the whole realm of Argos by lopping off the heads of two serpents with a fortunate stroke.

ORESTES: Ah, ah! You handmaidens, look at them there: like Gorgons, wrapped in sable garments, entwined with swarming snakes! I can stay no longer.

CHORUS: What fantasies disturb you, dearest of sons to your father? Wait, do not be all overcome by fear.

ORESTES: To me these are no imagined troubles. For there indeed are the hounds of wrath to avenge my mother.

Part 12

CHORUS: It is that the blood is still fresh on your hands; this is the cause of the disorder that assails your wits.

ORESTES: O lord Apollo, look! Now they come in troops, and from their eyes they drip loathsome blood!

CHORUS: There is one way to cleanse you: the touch of Loxias will set you free from this affliction.

ORESTES: You do not see them, but I see them. I am pursued. I can stay no longer. Rushes out

CHORUS: Then may blessings go with you, and may the god watch benevolently over you and guard you with favorable fortunes!

Look! Now again, for the third time, has the tempest of this clan burst on the royal house and run its course. First, at the beginning, came the cruel woes of children slain for food; next, the fate of a man, a king, when the warlord of the Achaeans perished, murdered in his bath. And now, once again, there has come from somewhere a third, a deliverer, or shall I say a doom? Oh when will it finish its work, when will the fury of calamity, lulled to rest, find an end and cease?

Contents — 10 sections

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
5. Part 5
6. Part 6
7. Part 7
8. Part 8
9. Part 9
10. Part 10

Part 1

THE PRIESTESS OF PYTHIAN APOLLO: First, in this prayer of mine, I give the place of highest honor among the gods to the first prophet, Earth; and after her to Themis, for she was the second to take this oracular seat of her mother, as legend tells. And in the third allotment, with Themis’ consent and not by force, another Titan, child of Earth, Phoebe, took her seat here. She gave it as a birthday gift to Phoebus, who has his name from Phoebe. Leaving the lakeand ridge of Delos, he landed on Pallas’ ship-frequented shores, and came to this region and the dwelling places on Parnassus. The children of Hephaistos,road-builders taming the wildness of the untamed land, escorted him with mighty reverence. And at his arrival, the people and Delphus, helmsman and lord of this land, made a great celebration for him. Zeus inspired his heart with prophetic skill and established him as the fourth prophet on this throne; but Loxias is the spokesman of Zeus, his father. These are the gods I place in the beginning of my prayer. And Pallas who stands before the temple is honored in my words; and I worship the Nymphs where the Corycianrock is hollow, the delight of birds and haunt of gods. Bromius has held the region —I do not forget him— ever since he, as a god, led the Bacchantes in war, and contrived for Pentheus death as of a hunted hare. I call on the streams of Pleistus and the strength of Poseidon, and highest Zeus, the Fulfiller; and then I take my seat as prophetess upon my throne. And may they allow me now to have the best fortune, far better than on my previous entrances. And if there are any from among the Hellenes here, let them enter, in turn, by lot, as is the custom. For I prophesy as the god leads. She enters the temple and after a brief interval returns terror-stricken

Horrors to tell, horrors for my eyes to see, have sent me back from the house of Loxias, so that I have no strength and I cannot walk upright. I am running on hands and knees, with no quickness in my limbs; for an old woman, overcome with fright, is nothing, or rather she is like a child. I was on my way to the inner shrine, decked with wreaths; I saw on the center-stonea man defiled in the eyes of the gods, occupying the seat of suppliants. His hands were dripping blood; he held a sword just drawn and an olive-branch, from the top of the tree, decorously crowned with a large tuft of wool, a shining fleece; for as to this I can speak clearly. Before this man an extraordinary band of women slept, seated on thrones. No! Not women, but rather Gorgons I call them; and yet I cannot compare them to forms of Gorgons either. Once before I saw some creatures in a painting,carrying off the feast of Phineus; but these are wingless in appearance, black, altogether disgusting; they snore with repulsive breaths, they drip from their eyes hateful drops; their attire is not fit to bring either before the statues of the gods or into the homes of men.I have never seen the tribe that produced this company, nor the land that boasts of rearing this brood with impunity and does not grieve for its labor afterwards. Let what is to come now be the concern of the master of this house, powerful Loxias himself. He is a prophet of healing, a reader of portents, and for others a purifier of homes. Exit

APOLLO: No! I will not abandon you. Your guardian to the end, close by your side or far removed, I will not be gentle to your enemies. So now you see these mad women overcome; these loathsome maidens have fallen asleep, old women, ancient children, with whom no god or man or beast ever mingles. They were even born for evil, since they live in evil gloom and in Tartarus under the earth, creatures hateful to men and to the Olympian gods. Nevertheless, escape and do not be cowardly. For as you go always over the earth that wanderers tread, they will drive you on, even across the wide mainland, beyond the sea and the island cities. Do not grow weary too soon, brooding on this labor, but when you have come to Pallas’ city, sit down and hold in your arms her ancient image. And there, with judges of your case and speeches of persuasive charm, we shall find means to release you completely from your labors. For I persuaded you to take your mother’s life.

ORESTES: Lord Apollo, you know how to do no wrong; and, since you know this, learn not to be neglectful also. For your power to do good is assured.

APOLLO: Remember, do not let fear overpower your heart. You, Hermes, my blood brother, born of the same father, watch over him; true to your name, be his guide,shepherding this suppliant of mine—truly Zeus respects this right of outlaws—as he is sped on towards mortals with the fortune of a good escort. Exit. Orestes departs escorted by Hermes. The Ghost of Clytaemestra appears.

GHOST OF CLYTAEMESTRA: Sleep on! Aha! Yet what need is there of sleepers? It is due to you that I am thus dishonored among the other dead; because of those I killed the dead never cease to reproach me, and I wander in disgrace. I tell you that I am most greatly accused by them. And yet, although I have suffered cruelly in this way from my nearest kin, no divine power is angry on my behalf, slaughtered as I have been by the hands of a matricide. See these gashes in my heart, and from where they came! For the sleeping mind has clear vision, but in the daytime the fate of mortals is unforeseeable. Truly, you have lapped up many of my offerings—wineless libations, a sober appeasement; and I have sacrificed banquets in the solemn night upon a hearth of fire at an hour unshared by any god. I see all this trampled under foot. But he has escaped and is gone, like a fawn; lightly indeed, from the middle of snares, he has rushed away mocking at you. Hear me, since I plead for my life, awake to consciousness, goddesses of the underworld! For in a dream I, Clytaemestra, now invoke you.

CHORUS: (whine) The Chorus begins to move uneasily, uttering a whining sound.

GHOST OF CLYTAEMESTRA: Whine, if you will! But the man is gone, fled far away. For he has friends that are not like mine!

CHORUS: (whine) The Chorus continues to whine.

GHOST OF CLYTAEMESTRA: You are too drowsy and do not pity my suffering. Orestes, the murderer of me, his mother, is gone!

CHORUS: (moan) The Chorus begins to moan

GHOST OF CLYTAEMESTRA: You moan, you drowse—will you not get up at once? Is it your destiny to do anything other than cause harm?

CHORUS: (moan) The Chorus continues to moan.

GHOST OF CLYTAEMESTRA: Sleep and toil, effective conspirators, have destroyed the force of the dreadful dragoness.

CHORUS: Catch him! Catch him! Catch him! Catch him! Look sharp!

GHOST OF CLYTAEMESTRA: In a dream you are hunting your prey, and are barking like a dog that never leaves off its keenness for the work. What are you doing? Get up; do not let fatigue overpower you, and do not ignore my misery because you have been softened by sleep. Sting your heart with merited reproaches; for reproach becomes a spur to the right-minded. Send after him a gust of bloody breath, shrivel him with the vapor, the fire from your guts, follow him, wither him with fresh pursuit! The Ghost of Clytaemestra disappears; the Furies, roused by their leader, awake one after the other.

CHORUS: Awake! Wake her up, as I wake you.Still asleep? Get up, shake off sleep, let us see if any part of this beginningis in vain.

CHORUS: Oh, oh! Alas! We have suffered, friends. Indeed I have suffered much and all in vain. We have suffered very painfully, oh! an unbearable evil. The beast has escaped from our nets and is gone. Overcome by sleep, I have lost my prey.

CHORUS: Oh! Child of Zeus, you have become a thief— you, a youth, have ridden down old divinities—by showing respect to your suppliant, a godless man and cruel to a parent; although you are a god, you have stolen away a man that killed his mother. What is there here that anyone shall call just?

CHORUS: Reproach, coming to me in a dream, struck me like a charioteer with goad held tight, under my heart, under my vitals. I can feel the cruel, the very cruel chill of the executioner’s destroying scourge.

Part 2

CHORUS: They do such things, the younger gods, who rule, wholly beyond justice, a throne dripping blood, about its foot, about its head. I can see the center-stone of the earth defiled with a terrible pollution of blood.

CHORUS: Although he is a prophet, he has stained his sanctuary with pollution at its hearth, at his own urging, at his own bidding; against the law of the gods, he has honored mortal things and caused the ancient allotments to decay.

CHORUS: And he brings distress to me too, but he shall not win his release; even if he escapes beneath the earth, he is never set free. A suppliant, he will acquire another avenger from his family.

APOLLO: Out, I order you! Go away from this house at once, leave my prophetic sanctuary, so that you may not be struck by a winged glistening snake shot forth from a golden bow-string, and painfully release black foam, vomiting the clots of blood you have drained from mortals. It is not right for you to approach this house; no, your place is where the punishments are beheading, gouging out of eyes, cutting of throats, and where young men’s virility is ruined by destruction of seed; where there is mutilation and stoning, and where those who are impaled beneath their spine moan long and piteously. Do you hear what sort of feast is your delight? You are detested by the gods for it. The whole fashion of your form sets it forth. Creatures like you should live in the den of a blood-drinking lion, and not inflict pollution on all near you in this oracular shrine. Be gone, you goats without a herdsman! No god loves such a flock.

CHORUS: Lord Apollo, hear our reply in turn. You yourself are not partially guilty of this deed; you alone have done it all, and are wholly guilty.

APOLLO: What do you mean? Draw out the length of your speech this much.

CHORUS: Through your oracle, you directed the stranger to kill his mother.

APOLLO: Through my oracle, I directed him to exact vengeance for his father. What of it?

CHORUS: And then you agreed to take the fresh blood on yourself.

APOLLO: And I ordered him to turn for expiation to this house.

CHORUS: And do you then rebuke us, the ones who escorted him here?

APOLLO: Yes, for you are not fit to approach this house.

CHORUS: But this has been assigned to us—

APOLLO: What is this office of yours? Boast of your fine privilege!

CHORUS: We drive matricides from their homes.

APOLLO: But what about a wife who kills her husband?

CHORUS: That would not be murder of a relative by blood.

APOLLO: Then truly you dishonor and bring to nothing the pledges of Hera, the Fulfiller, and Zeus. Cypris too is cast aside, dishonored by this argument, and from her come the dearest things for mortals. For marriage ordained by fate for a man and a woman is greater than an oath and guarded by Justice. If, then, one should kill the other and you are so lenient as not to punish or visit them with anger, I claim that you unjustly banish Orestes from his home. For I see you taking the one cause very much to heart, but clearly acting more leniently about the other. But the goddess Pallas will oversee the pleadings in this case.

CHORUS: I will never, never leave that man!

APOLLO: Pursue him then and get more trouble for yourself.

Part 3

CHORUS: Do not cut short my privileges by your words.

APOLLO: I would not take your privileges as a gift.

CHORUS: No, for in any case you are called great at the throne of Zeus. But as for me—since a mother’s blood leads me, I will pursue my case against this man and I will hunt him down. Exeunt.

APOLLO: And I will aid my suppliant and rescue him! For the wrath of the one who seeks purification is terrible among mortals and gods, if I intentionally abandon him. Enters the Sanctuary.

ORESTES: Lady Athena, at Loxias’ command I have come. Receive kindly an accursed wretch, not one who seeks purification, or with unclean hand, but with my guilt’s edge already blunted and worn away at other homes and in the travelled paths of men. Going over land and sea alike, keeping the commands of Loxias’ oracle, I now approach your house and image, goddess. Here I will keep watch and await the result of my trial.

CHORUS: Aha! This is a clear sign of the man. Follow the hints of a voiceless informer. For as a hound tracks a wounded fawn, so we track him by the drops of blood. My lungs pant from many tiring struggles, for I have roamed over the whole earth, and I have come over the sea in wingless flight, pursuing him, no slower than a ship. And now he is here somewhere, cowering. The smell of human blood gives me a smiling welcome.

Look! Look again! Look everywhere, so that the matricide will not escape by secret flight, with his debt unpaid! Yes, here he is again with a defense; his arms twisted around the image of the immortal goddess, he wishes to be tried for his debt. But that is not possible; a mother’s blood upon the earth is hard to recover—alas, the liquid poured on the ground is gone. But you must allow me in return to suck the red blood from your living limbs. May I feed on you—a gruesome drink! I will wither you alive and drag you down, so that you pay atonement for your murdered mother’s agony. And you will see any other mortal who has sinned by not honoring a god or a stranger or dear parents, each having a just punishment. For Hades is mighty in holding mortals to account under the earth, and he observes all things and within his mind inscribes them.

ORESTES: Taught by misery, I know many purification rituals, and I know where it is right to speak and equally to be silent; and in this case, I have been ordered to speak by a wise teacher. For the blood is slumbering and fading from my hand, the pollution of matricide is washed away; while it was still fresh, it was driven away at the hearth of the god Phoebus by purifying sacrifices of swine. It would be a long story to tell from the beginning, how many people I have visited, with no harm from association with me. So now with a pure mouth I piously invoke Athena, lady of this land, to come to my aid. Without the spear, she will win me and my land and the Argive people as faithful and true allies for all time. But whether in some region of the Libyan land, near the waters of Triton, her native stream, she is in action or at rest, aiding those whom she loves, or whether, like a bold marshal, she is surveying the Phlegraean plain, oh, let her come—as a goddess, she hears even from far away—to be my deliverer from distress!

CHORUS: No, neither Apollo nor Athena’s strength can save you from perishing abandoned, not knowing where joy is in your heart—a bloodless victim of the gods below, a shadow. You do not answer, but scorn my words, you who are fattened and consecrated to me? Living, you will be my feast, not slain at an altar; now you will hear this hymn, a spell to bind you.

CHORUS: Come now, let us also join the dance, since we are resolved to display our hated song and to declare our allotted office, how our party directs the affairs of men. We claim to be just and upright. No wrath from us will come stealthily to the one who holds out clean hands, and he will go through life unharmed; but whoever sins, as this man has, and hides his blood-stained hands, as avengers of bloodshed we appear against him to the end, presenting ourselves as upright witnesses for the dead.

CHORUS: O mother Night, hear me, mother who gave birth to me as a retribution for the blind and the seeing. For Leto’s son dishonors me by snatching away this cowering wretch, a proper expiation for his mother’s blood.

CHORUS: This is our song over the sacrificial victim—frenzied, maddened, destroying the mind, the Furies’ hymn, a spell to bind the soul, not tuned to the lyre, withering the life of mortals.

CHORUS: For this is the office that relentless Fate spun for us to hold securely: when rash murders of kin come upon mortals, we pursue them until they go under the earth; and after death, they have no great freedom.

CHORUS: This is our song over the sacrificial victim—frenzied, maddened, destroying the mind,the Furies’ hymn, a spell to bind the soul, not tuned to the lyre, withering the life of mortals.

CHORUS: This office was ordained for us at birth; but the immortal gods must hold back their hands from us, nor does any of them share a feast in common with us; and I have neither lot nor portion of pure white ceremonial robes [...]

CHORUS: For I have chosen the overthrow of houses, whenever violence raised in the home seizes someone near and dear. So speeding after this man, we weaken him, even though he is strong, because of the fresh blood.

CHORUS: We are eager to take these cares away from another, and to establish for the gods exemption from my concerns, so that it will not come to trial; for Zeus has considered us, a blood-dripping, hateful band, unworthy of his council.

CHORUS: For I have chosen the overthrow of houses, whenever violence raised in the home seizes someone near and dear. Speeding after this man, we weaken him, even though he is strong, because of the fresh blood.

CHORUS: And men’s thoughts, very proud under the sky, waste away and dwindle in dishonor beneath the earth, at our attack in black robes and the vindictive dance of our feet.

CHORUS: For surely with a great leap from above I bring down the heavily falling force of my foot, my limbs that trip even swift runners—unendurable ruin.

Part 4

CHORUS: But, as he falls, he does not know it, because of his senseless folly; pollution hovers over the man in such darkness, and mournful rumor speaks of a dark mist over his house.

CHORUS: For surely with a great leap from above I bring down the heavily falling force of my foot, my limbs that trip even swift runners—unendurable ruin.

CHORUS: For it remains. We are skilled in plotting, powerful in execution, and we remember evil deeds; we are revered and hard for mortals to appease, pursuing our allotted office which is without rights, without honor, separated from the gods in sunless light—our office that makes the path rough for seeing and dim-sighted alike.

CHORUS: What mortal, then, does not stand in awe and dread of this, when he hears from me the law ordained by Fate, given by the gods for perfect fulfilment? My ancient privilege still remains, I do not meet with dishonor, although I have my place under the earth and in sunless darkness.

ATHENA: From afar I heard the call of a summons, from the Scamander, while I was taking possession of the land, which the leaders and chiefs of the Achaeans assigned to me, a great portion of the spoil their spears had won, to be wholly mine forever, a choice gift to Theseus’ sons. From there I have come, urging on my tireless foot, without wings rustling the folds of my aegis, As I see this strange company of visitors to my land, I am not afraid, but it is a wonder to my eyes. Who in the world are you? I address you all in common—this stranger sitting at my image, and you, who are like no race of creatures ever born, neither seen by gods among goddesses nor resembling mortal forms. But it is far from just to speak ill of one’s neighbor who is blameless, and Right stands aloof.

CHORUS: Daughter of Zeus, you will hear it all in brief. We are the eternal children of Night. We are called Curses in our homes beneath the earth.

ATHENA: I now know your family and the names by which you are called.

CHORUS: You will soon learn my office.

ATHENA: I shall understand, if someone would tell the story clearly.

CHORUS: We drive murderers from their homes.

ATHENA: And where is the end of flight for the killer?

CHORUS: Where joy is absent and unknown.

ATHENA: And would you drive this man with your shrieks to such flight?

CHORUS: Yes, for he thought it right to be his mother’s murderer.

ATHENA: Through other compulsions, or in fear of someone’s wrath?

CHORUS: Where is there a spur so keen as to compel the murder of a mother?

ATHENA: Two parties are present; only half the case is heard.

CHORUS: But he will not receive an oath nor does he want to give one.

ATHENA: You want to be called just rather than to act justly.

CHORUS: How so? Teach me. For you are not poor in subtleties.

Part 5

ATHENA: I say that oaths must not win victory for injustice.

CHORUS: Well then, question him, and make a straight judgment.

ATHENA: Then would you turn over the decision of the charge to me?

CHORUS: How not?—since we honor you because you are worthy and of worthy parentage.

ATHENA: What do you want to say to this, stranger, in turn? After you name your country and family and fortunes, then defend yourself against this charge; if indeed, relying on the justice of your case, you sit clinging to my image near my hearth, as a sacred suppliant, like Ixion. To all this give me a plain answer.

ORESTES: Lady Athena, first of all I will take away a great anxiety from your last words. I am not a suppliant in need of purification, nor did I sit at your image with pollution on my hands. I will give you strong proof of this. It is the law for one who is defiled by shedding blood to be barred from speech until he is sprinkled with the blood of a new-born victim by a man who can purify from murder. Long before at other houses I have been thus purified both by victims and by flowing streams. And so I declare that this concern is out of the way. As to my family, you will soon learn. I am an Argive; my father—you rightly inquire about him—was Agamemnon, the commander of the naval forces; along with him, you made Troy, the city of Ilion, to be no city. He did not die nobly, after he came home; but my black-hearted mother killed him after she covered him in a crafty snare that still remains to witness his murder in the bath. And when I came back home, having been an exile in the time before, I killed the woman who gave birth to me, I will not deny it, as the penalty in return for the murder of my dearly-loved father. Together with me Loxias is responsible for this deed, because he threatened me with pains, a goad for my heart, if I should fail to do this deed to those who were responsible. You judge whether I acted justly or not; whatever happens to me at your hands, I will be content.

ATHENA: The matter is too great, if any mortal thinks to pass judgment on it; no, it is not lawful even for me to decide on cases of murder that is followed by the quick anger of the Furies, especially since you, by rites fully performed, have come a pure and harmless suppliant to my house; and so I respect you, since you do not bring harm to my city. Yet these women have an office that does not permit them to be dismissed lightly; and if they fail to win their cause, the venom from their resentment will fall upon the ground, an intolerable, perpetual plague afterwards in the land. So stands the case: either course—to let them stay, to drive them out—brings disaster and perplexity to me. But since this matter has fallen here, I will select judges of homicide bound by oath, and I will establish this tribunal for all time. Summon your witnesses and proofs, sworn evidence to support your case; and I will return when I have chosen the best of my citizens, for them to decide this matter truly, after they take an oath that they will pronounce no judgment contrary to justice. Exit

CHORUS: Here is the overturning of new laws, if the wrongful cause of this matricide is to triumph. Now his deed will accustom all men to recklessness; many sorrowful wounds, given in truth by children, wait for parents in the future time.

CHORUS: For the wrath of us, the Furies who keep watch on mortals, will not come stealthily upon such deeds—I will let loose death in every form. And as he anticipates his neighbor’s evils, one man will ask of another when hardship is to end or to decrease; and the poor wretch offers the vain consolation of uncertain remedies.

CHORUS: Do not let anyone who is struck by misfortune make an appeal and cry aloud this word, Justice! Thrones of the Furies! Perhaps some father, or mother, in new sorrow, may cry out these words piteously, now that the house of Justice is falling.

CHORUS: There is a time when fear is good and ought to remain seated as a guardian of the heart. It is profitable to learn wisdom under strain. But who, if he did not train his heart in fear, either city or mortal, would still revere justice in the same way?

CHORUS: Do not approve of a lawless life or one subject to a tyrant. The god grants power to moderation in every form, but he oversees other matters in different ways. I have a timely word of advice: arrogance is truly the child of impiety, but from health of soul comes happiness, dear to all, much prayed for.

CHORUS: And as for the whole matter, I say to you: respect the altar of Justice and do not, looking to profit, dishonor it by spurning with godless foot; for punishment will come upon you. The appointed fulfilment remains. Therefore, let a man rightly put first in honor the reverence owed to his parents, and have regard for attentions paid to guests welcomed in his house.

CHORUS: Whoever is just willingly and without compulsion will not lack happiness; he will never be utterly destroyed. But I say that the man who boldly transgresses, amassing a great heap unjustly—by force, in time, he will strike his sail, when trouble seizes him as the yardarm is splintered.

CHORUS: He calls on those who hear nothing and he struggles in the midst of the whirling waters. The god laughs at the hot-headed man, seeing him, who boasted that this would never happen, exhausted by distress without remedy and unable to surmount the cresting wave. He wrecks the happiness of his earlier life on the reef of Justice, and he perishes unwept, unseen.

ATHENA: Herald, give the signal and restrain the crowd; and let the piercing Tyrrhenian trumpet, filled with human breath, send forth its shrill blare to the people! For while this council-hall is filling, it is good to be silent, and for my ordinances to be learned, by the whole city for everlasting time, and by these appellants, so that their case may be decided well.

CHORUS: Lord Apollo, be master of what is yours. Say what part you have in this matter.

APOLLO: I have come both to bear witness—for this man was a lawful suppliant and a guest of my sanctuary, and I am his purifier from bloodshed—and to be his advocate myself. I am responsible for the murder of his mother. To Athena. Bring in the case, and, in accordance with your wisdom, decide it.

ATHENA: To the Furies. It is for you to speak—I am only bringing in the case; for the prosecutor at the beginning, speaking first, shall rightly inform us of the matter.

CHORUS: We are many, but we will speak briefly. To Orestes. Answer our questions, one by one. Say first if you killed your mother.

Part 6

ORESTES: I killed her. There is no denial of this.

CHORUS: Of the three falls that win the wrestling match, this one is already ours.

ORESTES: You make this boast over a man who is not down yet.

CHORUS: You must, however, say how you killed her.

ORESTES: I will say it: with drawn sword in hand, I stabbed her in the throat.

CHORUS: By whom were you persuaded and on whose advice?

ORESTES: By the oracles of this god here; he is my witness.

CHORUS: The prophet directed you to kill your mother?

ORESTES: Yes, and to this very hour, I do not blame my fortune.

CHORUS: But if the jury’s vote catches hold of you, you’ll soon speak differently.

ORESTES: I have good confidence. My father will send protection from his grave.

CHORUS: Put your confidence in the dead now, after you have killed your mother!

ORESTES: I do, for she was twice afflicted with pollution.

CHORUS: How so? Teach the judges this.

ORESTES: By murdering her husband, she killed my father.

CHORUS: And so, although you are alive, she is free of pollution by her death.

ORESTES: But why did you not drive her into exile, while she lived?

CHORUS: She was not related by blood to the man she killed.

ORESTES: Then am I my mother’s kin by blood?

CHORUS: How else could she have nurtured you, murderer, beneath her belt? Do you reject the nearest kinship, that of a mother?

Part 7

ORESTES: Apollo, give your testimony now. Explain, on my behalf, whether I was justified in killing her. For I do not deny that I did it, as it is done. But decide whether this bloodshed was, to your mind, just or not, so that I may inform the court.

APOLLO: I will speak justly before you, Athena’s great tribunal,— since I am a prophet, I cannot lie. I have never yet, on my oracular throne, said anything about a man or woman or city that Zeus, the father of the Olympians, did not command me to say. Learn how strong this plea of justice is; and I tell you to obey the will of my father; for an oath is not more powerful than Zeus.

CHORUS: Zeus, as you say, gave you this oracular command, to tell Orestes here to avenge his father’s murder but to take no account at all of the honor due his mother?

APOLLO: Yes, for it is not the same thing—the murder of a noble man, honored by a god-given scepter, and his murder indeed by a woman, not by rushing arrows sped from afar, as if by an Amazon, but as you will hear, Pallas, and those who are sitting to decide by vote in this matter. She received him from the expedition, where he had for the most part won success beyond expectation, in the judgment of those favorable to him; then, as he was stepping from the bath, on its very edge, she threw a cloak like a tent over it, fettered her husband in an embroidered robe, and cut him down. This was his death, as I have told it to you—the death of a man wholly majestic, commander of the fleet. As for that woman, I have described her in such a way as to whet the indignation of the people who have been appointed to decide this case.

CHORUS: Zeus gives greater honor to a father’s death, according to what you say; yet he himself bound his aged father, Cronus. How does this not contradict what you say? I call on you as witnesses turning to the judges to hear these things.

APOLLO: Oh, monsters utterly loathed and detested by the gods! Zeus could undo fetters, there is a remedy for that, and many means of release. But when the dust has drawn up the blood of a man, once he is dead, there is no return to life. For this, my father has made no magic spells, although he arranges all other things, turning them up and down; nor does his exercise of force cost him a breath.

CHORUS: See how you advocate acquittal for this man! After he has poured out his mother’s blood on the ground, shall he then live in his father’s house in Argos? Which of the public altars shall he use? What purification rite of the brotherhoods will receive him?

APOLLO: I will explain this, too, and see how correctly I will speak. The mother of what is called her child is not the parent, but the nurse of the newly-sown embryo. The one who mounts is the parent, whereas she, as a stranger for a stranger, preserves the young plant, if the god does not harm it. And I will show you proof of what I say: a father might exist without a mother. A witness is here at hand, the child of Olympian Zeus, who was not nursed in the darkness of a womb, and she is such a child as no goddess could give birth to. For my part, Pallas, as in all other matters, as I know how, I will make your city and people great; and I have sent this man as a suppliant to your sanctuary so that he may be faithful for all time, and that you, goddess, might win him and those to come after him as a new ally and so that these pledges of faith might remain always, for the later generations of these people to cherish.

ATHENA: Am I to assume that enough has been said, and shall I now command these jurors to cast an honest vote according to their judgment?

CHORUS: For our part, every bolt is already shot. But I am waiting to hear how the trial will be decided.

ATHENA: Why not? As for you, To Apollo and Orestes. how shall I arrange matters so that I will not be blamed by you?

APOLLO: You have heard what you have heard; and as you cast your ballots, keep the oath sacred in your hearts, friends.

ATHENA: Hear now my ordinance, people of Attica, as you judge the first trial for bloodshed. In the future, even as now, this court of judges will always exist for the people of Aegeus. And this Hill of Ares, the seat and camp of the Amazons, when they came with an army in resentment against Theseus, and in those days built up this new citadel with lofty towers to rival his, and sacrificed to Ares, from which this rock takes its name, the Hill of Ares: on this hill, the reverence of the citizens, and fear, its kinsman, will hold them back from doing wrong by day and night alike, so long as they themselves do not pollute the laws with evil streams; if you stain clear water with filth, you will never find a drink. Neither anarchy nor tyranny—this I counsel my citizens to support and respect, and not to drive fear wholly out of the city. For who among mortals, if he fears nothing, is righteous? Stand in just awe of such majesty, and you will have a defense for your land and salvation of your city, such as no man has, either among the Scythians or in Pelops’ realm. I establish this tribunal, untouched by greed, worthy of reverence, quick to anger, awake on behalf of those who sleep, a guardian of the land. I have prolonged this advice to my citizens for the future; but now you must rise and take a ballot, and decide the case under the sacred obligation of your oath. My word has been spoken. The judges rise from their seats and cast their ballots one by one during the following altercation.

CHORUS: And I counsel you not to dishonor us in any way, since our company can be a burden to your land.

APOLLO: And I, for my part, command you to stand in fear of the oracles, both mine and Zeus’, and not cause them to be unfulfilled.

CHORUS: Although it is not your office, you have respect for deeds of bloodshed. You will prophesy, dispensing prophecies that are no longer pure.

APOLLO: Then was my father mistaken in any way in his purposes when Ixion, who first shed blood, was a suppliant?

CHORUS: You do argue! But if I fail to win the case, I will once more inflict my company on this land as a burden.

APOLLO: But you have no honor, among both the younger and the older gods. I will win.

CHORUS: You did such things also in the house of Pheres, when you persuaded the Fates to make mortals free from death.

Part 8

APOLLO: Is it not right, then, to do good for a worshipper, especially when he is in need?

CHORUS: It was you who destroyed the old dispensations when you beguiled the ancient goddesses with wine.

APOLLO: Soon, when you have lost the case, you will spit out your venom—no great burden to your enemies. The balloting is now ended.

CHORUS: Since you, a youth, would ride me down, an old woman, I am waiting to hear the verdict in the case, since I have not decided whether to be angry at the city.

ATHENA: It is my duty to give the final judgment and I shall cast my vote for Orestes. For there was no mother who gave me birth; and in all things, except for marriage, whole-heartedly I am for the male and entirely on the father’s side. Therefore, I will not award greater honor to the death of a woman who killed her husband, the master of the house. Orestes wins, even if the vote comes out equal. Cast the ballots out of the urns, as quickly as possible, you jurors who have been assigned this task. The ballots are turned out and separated.

ORESTES: O Phoebus Apollo! How will the trial be decided?

CHORUS: O Night, our dark Mother, do you see this?

ORESTES: Now I will meet my end by hanging, or I will live.

CHORUS: Yes, and we will be ruined, or maintain our honors further.

APOLLO: Correctly count the ballots cast forth, friends, and be in awe of doing wrong in the division of the votes. Error of judgment is the source of much distress, and the cast of a single ballot has set upright a house. The ballots are shown to Athena.

ATHENA: This man is acquitted on the charge of murder, for the numbers of the casts are equal. Apollo disappears.

ORESTES: Pallas, savior of my house! I was deprived of a fatherland, and it is you who have given me a home there again. The Hellenes will say, The man is an Argive once again, and lives in his father’s heritage, by the grace of Pallas and of Loxias and of that third god, the one who accomplishes everything, the savior—the one who, having respect for my father’s death, saves me, seeing those advocates of my mother. I will return to my home now, after I swear an oath to this land and to your people for the future and for all time to come, that no captain of my land will ever come here and bring a well-equipped spear against them. For I myself, then in my grave, will accomplish it by failure without remedy, making their marches spiritless and their journeys ill-omened, so that those who violate my present oath will repent their enterprise. But while the straight course is preserved, and they hold in everlasting honor this city of Pallas with their allied spears, I will be the more well-disposed to them. And so farewell—you and the people who guard your city. May your struggle with your enemies let none escape, bringing you safety and victory with the spear! Exit.

CHORUS: Younger gods, you have ridden down the ancient laws and have taken them from my hands! And I—dishonored, unhappy, deeply angry—on this land, alas, I will release venom from my heart, venom in return for my grief, drops that the land cannot endure. From it, a blight that destroys leaves, destroys children—a just return—speeding over the plain, will cast infection on the land to ruin mortals. I groan aloud. What shall I do? I am mocked by the people. What I have suffered is unbearable. Ah, cruel indeed are the wrongs of the daughters of Night, mourning over dishonor!

ATHENA: Be persuaded by me not to bear it with heavy lament. For you have not been defeated; the trial resulted fairly in an equal vote, without disgrace to you; but clear testimony from Zeus was present, and he himself who spoke the oracle himself gave witness that Orestes should not suffer harm for his deed. Do not be angry, do not hurl your heavy rage on this land, or cause barrenness, letting loose drops whose savage spirit will devour the seed. For I promise you most sacredly that you will have a cavernous sanctuary in a righteous land, where you will sit on shining thrones at your hearths, worshipped with honor by my citizens here.

CHORUS: Younger gods, you have ridden down the ancient laws and have taken them from my hands! And I—dishonored, unhappy, deeply angry—on this land, alas, I will release venom from my heart, venom in return for my grief, drops that the land cannot endure. From it a blight that destroys leaves, destroys children—a just return—speeding over the plain, will cast infection on the land to ruin mortals. I groan aloud. What shall I do? I am mocked by the people. What I have suffered is unbearable. Ah, cruel indeed are the wrongs of the daughters of Night, mourning over dishonor!

ATHENA: You are not dishonored; so, although you are goddesses, do not, in excessive rage, blight past all cure a land of mortals. I also rely on Zeus—what need is there to mention that?—and I alone of the gods know the keys to the house where his thunderbolt is sealed. But there is no need of that. So yield to my persuasion and do not hurl the words of a reckless tongue against the land, that all things bearing fruit will not prosper. Calm the black wave’s bitter anger, since you will receive proud honors and will live with me. And when you have the first-fruits of this great land forever, offerings on behalf of children and of marriage rites, you will praise my counsel.

CHORUS: For me to suffer this, alas! For me, with ancient wisdom, to live beneath the earth, alas, without honor, unclean! I am breathing fury and utter rage. Oh, oh, the shame of it! What anguish steals into my breast! Hear my anger, mother Night; for the deceptions of the gods, hard to fight, have deprived me of my ancient honors, bringing me to nothing.

ATHENA: I will endure your anger, for you are older, and in that respect you are surely wiser than I; yet Zeus has given me, too, no mean understanding. But as for you, if you go to a foreign land, you will come to love this land—I forewarn you. For time, flowing on, will bring greater honor to these citizens. And you, having a seat of honor at the house of Erechtheus, will obtain from hosts of men and women more than you could ever win from other mortals. So do not cast on my realm keen incentives to bloodshed, harmful to young hearts, maddening them with a fury not of wine; and do not, as if taking the heart out of fighting cocks, plant in my people the spirit of tribal war and boldness against each other. Let their war be with foreign enemies, and without stint for one in whom there will be a terrible passion for glory; but I say there will be no battling of birds within the home. It is possible for you to choose such things from me: bestowing good, receiving good, well honored in this land that is most beloved to the gods.

CHORUS: For me to suffer this, alas! For me, with ancient wisdom, to live beneath the earth, alas, without honor, unclean! I am breathing fury and utter rage. Oh, oh the shame of it! What anguish steals into my breast! Hear my anger, mother Night; for the deceptions of the gods, hard to fight, have deprived me of my ancient honors, bringing me to nothing.

ATHENA: No, I will not grow tired of telling you about these good things, so you will never be able to say that you, an ancient goddess, were cast out, dishonored and banished, from this land by me, a younger goddess, and by the mortal guardians of my city. But if you give holy reverence to Persuasion, the sweetness and charm of my tongue, then you might remain. But if you are not willing to stay, then surely it would be unjust for you to inflict on this city any wrath or rage or harm to the people. For it is possible for you to have a share of the land justly, with full honors.

Part 9

CHORUS: Lady Athena, what place do you say I will have?

ATHENA: One free from all pain and distress; accept it.

CHORUS: Say that I have accepted it, what honor awaits me?

ATHENA: That no house will flourish without you.

CHORUS: Will you gain for me the possession of such power?

ATHENA: Yes, for we will set straight the fortunes of those who worship.

CHORUS: And will you give me a pledge for all time?

ATHENA: Yes, for I have no need to say what I will not accomplish.

CHORUS: It seems you will win me by your spells; I am letting go my anger.

ATHENA: Then stay in the land and you will gain other friends.

CHORUS: What blessings then do you advise me to invoke on this land?

ATHENA: Blessings that aim at a victory not evil; blessings from the earth and from the waters of the sea and from the heavens: that the breathing gales of wind may approach the land in radiant sunshine, and that the fruit of the earth and offspring of grazing beasts, flourishing in overflow, may not fail my citizens in the course of time, and that the seed of mortals will be kept safe. May you make more prosperous the offspring of godly men; for I, like a gardener, cherish the race of these just men, free of sorrow. Pointing to the audience. Such blessings are yours to give. I, for my part, will not allow this city to be without honor among mortals, this city victorious in the glorious contests of deadly war.

CHORUS: I will accept a home with Pallas, and I will not dishonor a city which she, with Zeus the omnipotent and Ares, holds as a fortress of the gods, the bright ornament that guards the altars of the gods of Hellas. I pray for the city, with favorable prophecy, that the bright gleam of the sun may cause blessings that give happiness to life to spring from the earth, in plenty.

ATHENA: I act zealously for these citizens in this way, installing here among them divinities great and hard to please. For they have been appointed to arrange everything among mortals. Yet the one who has not found them grievous does not know where the blows of life come from. For the sins of his fathers drag him before them; destruction, in silence and hateful wrath, levels him to the dust, for all his loud boasting.

CHORUS: May no hurtful wind blow to harm the trees—I declare my favor— and may no burning heat, stealing the buds from plants, pass the border of its proper place; may no deadly plague draw near to kill the fruit; may the earth nurture the thriving flocks with twin offspring at the appointed time; and may the rich produce of the earth always pay the gods’ gift of lucky gain.

ATHENA: Do you hear, guards of my city, the things she will accomplish? For the lady Erinys is very powerful, both with the deathless gods and with those below the earth; and in their dealings with mankind, they accomplish matters visibly, perfectly; to some giving songs, to others a life made dim by tears.

CHORUS: I forbid deadly and untimely fate for men; grant to lovely maidens life with a husband, you that have the rightful power; you, divine Fates, our sisters by one mother, divinities who distribute justly, who have a share in every home, and whose righteous visitations press heavily at every season, most honored everywhere among the gods!

ATHENA: I am glad that they are zealously accomplishing these things for my land; and I am grateful to Persuasion, that her glance kept watch over my tongue and mouth, when I encountered their fierce refusal. But Zeus of the assembly has prevailed. Our rivalry in doing good is victorious forever.

CHORUS: I pray that discord, greedy for evil, may never clamor in this city, and may the dust not drink the black blood of its people and through passion cause ruinous murder for vengeance to the destruction of the state. But may they return joy for joy in a spirit of common love, and may they hate with one mind; for this is the cure of many an evil in the world.

ATHENA: Do they not then intend to find the path of good speech? From these terrible faces I see great profit for these citizens; for, if you always greatly honor with kindness the kindly ones, you will surely be pre-eminent, keeping your land and city in the straight path of justice.

Part 10

CHORUS: Farewell, farewell, in the wealth allotted to you by fate. Farewell, people of the city, seated near to Zeus, the beloved of the beloved maiden, learning at last the way of wisdom. The Father stands in awe of you, since you are under Pallas’ wings.

ATHENA: Farewell to you also; but I must lead the way to show you your dwellings by the sacred light of these, your escorts. Go, and, speeding beneath the earth with these solemn sacrifices, hold back what is ruinous to the land, but send what is profitable for the city to win her victory. You who hold the city, children of Cranaus, lead on their way these new dwellers here. May there be good will in the citizens in return for good done to them!

CHORUS: Farewell, farewell, again, I repeat, all you in the city, both gods and mortals, living in Pallas’ city; if you duly revere my residence among you, you will not blame the chances of life.

ATHENA: I approve the words of your invocation, and will escort you by the light of gleaming torches to the places below and beneath the earth, with the attendant women who guard my image in duty bound. For the eye of the whole land of Theseus will come forth, a glorious troop of children, matrons and a band of old women. Dress them honorably in robes dyed scarlet, and let the torches’ light move on, so that this kindly company of visitors to our land may show itself afterwards in blessings that bring prosperity to men.

CHORUS OF THE PROCESSIONAL ESCORT: Go on your way to your home, children of Night: mighty, lovers of honor, children, yet aged, under kindly escort— you who dwell in the land, refrain from inauspicious speech!

CHORUS OF THE PROCESSIONAL ESCORT: Under the primeval caverns of the earth, gaining the high honor of worship and sacrifice—all you people, refrain from inauspicious speech!

CHORUS OF THE PROCESSIONAL ESCORT: Gracious and favorable to the land, come here, venerable goddesses, with flame-fed torch, rejoicing as you go—cry aloud now in echo to our song!

CHORUS OF THE PROCESSIONAL ESCORT: Peace endures for all time between Pallas’ citizens and these new dwellers here. Zeus who sees all and Fate have come down to lend aid—cry aloud now in echo to our song! Exeunt omnes.