Euripides — Plays III

Contents — 22 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
13. Part 13
14. Part 14
15. Part 15
16. Part 16
17. Part 17
18. Part 18
19. Part 19
20. Part 20
21. Part 21
22. Part 22

Part 1

AGAMEMNON: Leda, the daughter of Thestius, had three children, maidens, Phoebe, Clytemnestra my wife, and Helen; the foremost of the favored sons of Hellas came to woo Helen; but terrible threats of spilling his rival’s blood were uttered by each of them, if he should fail to win the girl. Now the matter filled Tyndareus, her father, with perplexity, whether to give her or not, how he might best succeed. This thought occurred to him: the suitors should swear to each other and join right hands and pour libations with burnt-sacrifice, binding themselves by this curse: whoever wins the child of Tyndareus for wife, they will assist that man, in case a rival takes her from his house and goes his way, robbing her husband of his rights; and march against that man in armed array and raze his city to the ground, Hellene no less than barbarian. Now when they had once pledged their word and old Tyndareus with no small cleverness had beguiled them by his shrewd device, he allowed his daughter to choose from among her suitors the one towards whom the sweet breezes of Aphrodite might carry her. Her choice fell on Menelaus; would she had never taken him! Then there came to Lacedaemon from the Phrygians the man who, Argive legend says, judged the goddesses’ dispute; in robes of gorgeous hue, ablaze with gold, in true barbaric pomp; and he, finding Menelaus gone from home, carried Helen off, in mutual desire, to his steading on Ida. Goaded to frenzy, Menelaus flew through Hellas, invoking the ancient oath exacted by Tyndareus and declaring the duty of helping the injured husband. And so the Hellenes, brandishing their spears and donning their harness, came here to the narrow straits of Aulis with armaments of ships and troops, with many horses and chariots, and they chose me to captain them all for the sake of Menelaus, since I was his brother. Would that some other had gained that distinction instead of me! But after the army was gathered and come together, we still remained at Aulis weatherbound. In our perplexity, we asked Calchas, the seer, and he answered that we should sacrifice my own child Iphigenia to Artemis, whose home is in this land, and we would sail and sack the Phrygians’ capital . When I heard this, I commanded Talthybius with loud proclamation to disband the whole army, as I could never bear to slay my daughter. Whereupon my brother, bringing every argument to bear, persuaded me at last to face the crime; so I wrote in a folded scroll and sent to my wife, bidding her despatch our daughter to me on the pretence of wedding Achilles, at the same time magnifying his exalted rank and saying that he refused to sail with the Achaeans, unless a bride of our lineage should go to Phthia. Yes, this was the inducement I offered my wife, Old man, come here and stand before my dwelling.

OLD MAN: I come; what new schemes now, king Agamemnon?

AGAMEMNON: Will you hurry?

OLD MAN: I am hurrying. It is little enough sleep old age allows me and keenly it watches over my eyes.

AGAMEMNON: What can that star be, steering its course there?

OLD MAN: Sirius, still shooting over the zenith on his way near the Pleiads’ sevenfold track.

AGAMEMNON: The birds are still at any rate and the sea is calm, hushed are the winds, and silence broods over the Euripus.

OLD MAN: Then why are you outside your tent, why so restless, my lord Agamemnon? All is yet quiet here in Aulis, the watch on the walls is not yet astir. Let us go in.

AGAMEMNON: I envy you, old man, yes, and every man who leads a life secure, unknown and unrenowned; but little I envy those in office.

OLD MAN: And yet it is there that we place the be-all and end-all of existence.

AGAMEMNON: Yes, but that is where the danger comes; and ambition, sweet though it seems, brings sorrow with its near approach. At one time the unsatisfied claims of the gods upset our life, at another the numerous peevish fancies of our subjects shatter it.

OLD MAN: I do not like these sentiments in one who is a chief. It was not to enjoy all blessings that Atreus begot you, Agamemnon; but you must experience joy and sorrow alike, mortal as you are. Even though you like it not, this is what the gods decree. But you, after letting your taper spread its light abroad, write the letter which is still in your hands and then erase the same words again, sealing and reopening the tablet, then flinging it to the ground with floods of tears, and leaving nothing undone in your aimless behavior to stamp you mad. What is it that troubles you? what news is there affecting you, king? Come, share with me your story; you will be telling it to a loyal and trusty heart; for Tyndareus sent me that day to form part of your wife’s dowry and to wait upon the bride with loyalty.

AGAMEMNON: Daughter of Leda, in addition to my first letter, I am sending you word —.

OLD MAN: Say on and make it plain, that what my tongue utters may accord with what you have written.

AGAMEMNON: Not to despatch your daughter to Euboea’s deep-gulfed wing, to the waveless bay of Aulis, for after all we will celebrate our child’s wedding at another time.

OLD MAN: And how will Achilles, cheated of his bride, curb the fury of his indignation against you and your wife? Here also is a danger. Make clear what you are saying.

AGAMEMNON: It is his name, not himself that Achilles is lending, knowing nothing of the marriage or of my scheming or my professed readiness to betroth my daughter to him for a husband’s embrace.

OLD MAN: A dreadful venture yours, king Agamemnon, you that, by promise of your daughter’s hand to the son of the goddess, were bringing the maid here to be sacrificed for the Danaids.

AGAMEMNON: Ah me! I am utterly distraught; alas! bewilderment comes over me. Away! hurry your steps, yielding nothing to old age.

OLD MAN: I will make haste, king.

Part 2

AGAMEMNON: Do not sit down by woodland fountains; scorn the witcheries of sleep.

OLD MAN: Hush!

AGAMEMNON: And when you pass any place where roads diverge, cast your eyes all round, taking heed that no mule-wagon eacape you, passing by on rolling wheels, bearing my child to the ships of the Danaids.

OLD MAN: It shall be so.

AGAMEMNON: Start then from the bolted gates, and if you meet the escort, start them back again, and drive at full speed to the abodes of the Cyclopes.

OLD MAN: But tell me, how shall my message find credit with your wife or child?

AGAMEMNON: Preserve the seal which you bear on this tablet. Away! Already the dawn is growing grey, lighting the lamp of day and the fire of the sun’s four steeds; help me in my trouble. Exit Old man. No mortal is prosperous or happy to the last, for no one was ever born to a painless life. Exit Agamemnon.

CHORUS: To the sandy beach of sea-coast Aulis I have come after a voyage through the tides of narrow Euripus, leaving Chalcis, my city which feeds the waters of far-famed Arethusa near the sea, so that I might behold the army of the Achaeans and the ships rowed by those godlike heroes; for our husbands tell us that fair-haired Menelaus and high-born Agamemnon are leading them to Troy on a thousand ships in quest of Helen, whom Paris the herdsman carried off from the banks of reedy Eurotas, his gift from Aphrodite, when that queen of Cyprus entered beauty’s contest with Hera and Pallas at the gushing fountain.

CHORUS: Through the grove of Artemis, rich with sacrifice, I sped my course, my cheek stained with red from maiden modesty, in my eagerness to see the soldiers’ camp, the tents of the mail-clad Danaids, and their crowd of horses. I saw two met together in council; one was Aias, son of Oileus; the other Aias, son of Telamon, crown of glory to the men of Salamis; and I saw Protesilaus and Palamedes, sprung from the son of Poseidon, sitting there amusing themselves with intricate figures at checkers; Diomedes too at his favorite sport of hurling quoits; and Meriones, Ares’ son, a marvel to mankind, stood at his side; likewise I beheld the son of Laertes, who came from his island hills, and with him Nireus, handsomest of the Achaeans.

CHORUS: Achilles next, that nimble runner, swift on his feet as the wind, whom Thetis bore and Chiron trained, I saw upon the beach, racing in full armor along the shingle, and straining every nerve to beat a team of four horses, as he sped round the track on foot; and Eumelus, the grandson of Pheres, their driver, was shouting when I saw him, goading on his lovely steeds, with their bits of chased gold-work; the center pair, that bore the yoke, had dappled coats picked out with white, while the tracehorses, on the outside, facing the turning-post in the course, were bays with spotted fetlocks. Close beside them Peleus’ son leapt on his way, in all his harness, keeping abreast the rail by the axle-box.

CHORUS: Next I sought the countless fleet, a wonder to behold, that I might fill my girlish eyes with gazing, a sweet delight. The warlike Myrmidons from Phthia held the right wing with fifty swift cruisers, upon whose sterns, right at the ends, stood Nereid goddesses in golden effigy, the ensign of Achilles’ armament.

CHORUS: Near these were moored the Argive ships in equal numbers, over which Mecisteus’ son, whom Talaus his grandfather reared, and Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, were in command; next in order, Theseus’ son was stationed at the head of sixty ships from Attica, having the goddess Pallas set in a winged chariot drawn by steeds with solid hoof, a lucky sight for mariners.

CHORUS: Then I saw Boeotia’s fleet of fifty sails decked with ensigns; these had Cadmus at the stern holding a golden dragon at the beaks of the vessels, and earth-born Leitus was their admiral. And there were ships from Phocis; and from Locris came the son of Oileus with an equal contingent, leaving famed Thronium’s citadel.

CHORUS: And from Mycenae, the Cyclopes’ town, Atreus’ son sent a hundred well-manned galleys, and Adrastoshis brother was with him in command, as friend with friend, that Hellas might exact vengeance on the one who had fled her home to wed a foreigner. Also I saw upon Gerenian Nestor’s prows from Pylos the ensign of his neighbour Alpheus, four-footed like a bull.

CHORUS: Moreover there was a squadron of twelve Aenianian sail under King Gouneus; and then near them the lords of Elis, whom all the people named Epeians; and Eurytus was lord of these; Iikewise he led the Taphian warriors with the white oar-blades, the subjects of Meges, son of Phyleus, who had left the isles of the Echinades, where sailors cannot land.

CHORUS: Lastly, Aias, reared in Salamis, was joining his right wing to the left of those near whom he was posed, closing the line with his outermost ships, twelve barques obedient to the helm, as I heard and then saw the crews; the one who brings his barbaric boats to grapple Aias shall obtain no safe return. There I saw the naval armament, but some things I heard at home about the gathered army, of which I still have a recollection.

OLD MAN: Strange daring yours, Menelaus, where you have no right.

MENELAUS: Stand back! You carry loyalty to your master too far.

OLD MAN: The very reproach you have for me is to my credit.

MENELAUS: You shall rue it, if you meddle in matters that do not concern you.

Part 3

OLD MAN: You had no right to open a letter, which I was carrying.

MENELAUS: No, nor you to be carrying sorrow to all Hellas.

OLD MAN: Argue that point with others, but surrender that letter to me.

MENELAUS: I shall not let go.

OLD MAN: Nor will I let loose my hold.

MENELAUS: Why then, this staff of mine will be dabbling your head with blood before long.

OLD MAN: To die in my master’s cause would be a noble death.

MENELAUS: Let go! you are too wordy for a slave.

OLD MAN: Master, he is wronging me; he snatched your letter violently from my grasp, Agamemnon, and will not heed the claims of right.

AGAMEMNON: Ah! what is this uproar at the gates, this indecent brawling?

MENELAUS: My tale, not his, has the better right to be spoken.

AGAMEMNON: You, Menelaus! what quarrel do you have with this man, why are you dragging him here? Exit ATTENDANT.

MENELAUS: Look me in the face! May that be the prelude to my story.

AGAMEMNON: Shall I, the son of Atreus, close my eyes from fear?

MENELAUS: Do you see this tablet, the bearer of a shameful message?

AGAMEMNON: I see it, yes; now, you first of all surrender it.

MENELAUS: No, not till I have shown its contents to all the army.

AGAMEMNON: What! have you broken the seal and know already what you should never have known?

MENELAUS: Yes, I opened it and know to your sorrow the secret machinations of your heart.

AGAMEMNON: Where did you get it? O gods! what shameless heart you have!

Part 4

MENELAUS: I was awaiting your daughter’s arrival at the camp in Argos.

AGAMEMNON: What right have you to watch my doings? is not this a proof of shamelessness?

MENELAUS: My wish to do it gave the spur, for I am no slave to you.

AGAMEMNON: Infamous! Am I not to be allowed the management of my own house?

MENELAUS: No, for you think crooked thoughts, one thing now, another formerly, and something different presently.

AGAMEMNON: Most exquisite refining on evil themes! A hateful thing the tongue of cleverness!

MENELAUS: Yes, but a mind unstable is an unjust possession, disloyal to friends. Now I am anxious to test you, and do not seek from rage to turn aside from the truth, nor will I on my part overstrain the case. Do you remember when you were all eagerness to captain the Danaids against Troy, making a pretence of declining, though eager for it in your heart; how humble you were then, taking each man by the hand and keeping open doors for every fellow-townsman who cared to enter, affording each in turn chance to speak with you, even though some did not wish it, seeking by these methods to purchase popularity from all bidders? Then when you had secured the command, there came a change over your manners; you were no longer so cordial as before to former friends, but hard of access, seldom to be found at home. But the man of real worth ought not to change his manners in the hour of prosperity, but should then show himself most staunch to friends, when his own good fortune can help them most effectually. This was the first cause I had to reprove you, for it was here I first discovered your villainy; but afterwards, when you came to Aulis with all the gathered hosts of Hellas, you were of no account; no! the want of a favorable breeze filled you with consternation at the chance dealt out by the gods. Then the Danaids began demanding that you should send the fleet away instead of vainly toiling on at Aulis; what dismay and confusion was then depicted in your looks, to think that you, with a thousand ships at your command, had not occupied the plains of Priam with your armies! And you would ask my counsel, What am I to do? What scheme can I devise, where find one?—to save yourself being stripped of your command and losing your fair fame. Next when Calchas bade you offer your daughter in sacrifice to Artemis, declaring that the Danaids should then sail, you were overjoyed, and gladly undertook to offer the girl, and of your own accord—never allege compulsion—you are sending word to your wife to despatch your daughter here on pretence of wedding Achilles. And after all you turn round and have been caught casting your letter to this effect: I will no longer be my daughter’s murderer. Exactly so! This is the same air that heard you say it. Countless others have done the same; they make an effort while in power, and then retire dishonorably, sometimes owing to the senselessness of the citizens, sometimes deservedly, because they are too feeble of themselves to maintain their watch upon the state. For my part, I am more sorry for our unhappy Hellas, whose purpose was to read these worthless foreigners a lesson, while now she will let them escape and mock her, thanks to you and your daughter. May I never appoint a man to rule my country or lead its warriors because of his couragekinship! Sense is what the general must have; since any man, with ordinary intelligence, can govern a state.

CHORUS LEADER: For brothers to come to words and blows, whenever they disagree, is terrible.

AGAMEMNON: I wish to rebuke you in turn, briefly, not lifting my eyes too high shamelessly, but in more sober fashion, as a brother; for it is a good man’s way to be considerate. Tell me, why this burst of fury, these bloodshot eyes? who wrongs you? what is it you want? are you longing to have a virtuous wife? WeIl, I cannot supply you; for she, whom you once had, was ill-controlled by you. Am I then, a man who never went astray, to suffer for your sins? or is it my popularity that galls you? No! it is the longing you have to keep a beautiful woman in your embrace, casting reason and honor to the winds. A bad man’s pleasures are like himself. Am I mad, if I change to wiser counsels, after previously deciding amiss? Yours is the madness rather in wishing to recover a wicked wife, once you had lost her—a stroke of heaven-sent luck. Those foolish suitors swore that oath to Tyndareus in their longing to wed; but Hope was the goddess that led them on, I think, and she it was that brought it about rather than you and your strength. So take the field with them; they are ready for it in the folly of their hearts; for the deity is not without insight, but is able to discern where oaths have been wrongly pledged or forcibly extorted. I will not slay my children, nor shall your interests be prospered by justice in your vengeance for a worthless wife, while I am left wasting, night and day, in sorrow for what I did to one of my own flesh and blood, contrary to all law and justice. Here is your answer shortly given, clear and easy to understand; and if you will not come to your senses, I shall do the best for myself.

CHORUS LEADER: This differs from your previous declaration, but there is good in it, your child’s reprieve.

MENELAUS: Ah me, how sad my lot! I have no friends then after all.

AGAMEMNON: Friends you have, if you do not seek their destruction.

MENELAUS: Where will you find any proof that you are sprung from the same father as I?

AGAMEMNON: It is your moderation, not your madness, that I share by nature.

MENELAUS: Friends should sympathize with friends in sorrow.

AGAMEMNON: Claim my help by kindly service, not by paining me.

MENELAUS: So you have no mind to share this trouble with Hellas?

AGAMEMNON: No, Hellas is diseased like you, according to some god’s design.

MENELAUS: Go boast of your scepter, after betraying your own brother! while I will seek some different means and other friends.

MESSENGER: Agamemnon, lord of Hellas! I have come and bring you your daughter, whom you call Iphigenia in your home; and her mother, your wife Clytemnestra, is with her, and the child Orestes, a sight to gladden you after your long absence from your home; but they had been travelling long and far, they are now resting their tender feet at the waters of a fair spring, they and their horses, for we turned these loose in the grassy meadow to browse their fill. But I have come as their forerunner to prepare you for their reception; for the army knows already of your daughter’s arrival, so quickly did the rumor spread; and all the people are running together to the sight, that they may see your child; for Fortune’s favorites enjoy world-wide fame and have all eyes fixed on them. Some say: Is it a wedding, or what is happening? or has king Agamemnon from fond yearning summoned his daughter here? From others you would have heard: They are presenting the maiden to Artemis, queen of Aulis, previous to marriage; who can the bridegroom be, that is to lead her home? Come, then, begin the rites, that is the next step, by getting the baskets ready; crown your heads—you too, lord Menelaus; prepare the wedding hymn; let flutes sound throughout the tents with noise of dancer’s feet; for this is a happy day, that has come for the maid.

Part 5

AGAMEMNON: You have my thanks; now go within; for the rest it will be well, as Fate proceeds. Exit Messenger. Ah, woe is me! unhappy wretch, what can I say? where shall I begin? To what cruel straits have I been plunged! A god has outwitted me, proving far cleverer than any cunning of mine. What an advantage humble birth possesses! for it is easy for her sons to weep and tell out all their sorrows; while to the high-born man come these same sorrows, but we heve dignity throned over our life and are the people’s slaves. I, for instance, am ashamed to weep, and no less ashamed, poor wretch, to check my tears at the dreadful pass to which I am brought. Enough; what am I to tell my wife? how shall I welcome her? with what face meet her? for she too has undone me by coming uninvited in this my hour of sorrow; yet it was only natural she should come with her daughter to prepare the bride and perform the fondest duties, where she will discover my villainy. And for this poor maid—why maid? Death, it seems, will soon make her his bride—how I pity her! Thus will she plead to me, I think: My father, will you slay me? May you yourself make such a marriage, and whoever is a friend to you! While Orestes, from his station near us, will cry in childish accents, inarticulate, yet fraught with meaning. Alas! to what utter ruin Paris, the son of Priam, the cause of these troubles, has brought me by his union with Helen!

CHORUS LEADER: I pity her myself, as a woman who is a stranger may grieve for the misfortunes of royalty.

MENELAUS: Your hand, brother! let me grasp it.

AGAMEMNON: I give it; yours is the victory, mine the sorrow.

MENELAUS: By Pelops our reputed grandsire and Atreus our father, I swear to tell you the truth from my heart, without any covert purpose, but only what I think. The sight of you in tears made me pity you, and in return I shed a tear for you myself; I withdraw from my former proposals, ceasing to be a cause of fear to you; yes, and I will put myself in your present position; and I counsel you, do not slay your child or prefer my interests to yours; for it is not just that you should grieve, while I am glad, or that your children should die, while mine still see the light of day. What is it, after all, I seek? If I am set on marriage, could I not find a bride as choice elsewhere? Was I to lose a brother—the last I should have lost—to win a Helen, getting bad for good? I was mad, impetuous as a youth, till I perceived, on closer view, what slaying children really meant. Moreover I am filled with compassion for the hapless maiden, doomed to bleed that I may wed, when I reflect that we are kin. What has your daughter to do with Helen? Let the army be disbanded and leave Aulis; dry those streaming eyes, brother, and do not provoke me to tears. Whatever concern you have in oracles that affect your child, let it be none of mine; into your hands I resign my share. A sudden change, you’ll say, from my dread proposals? A natural course for me; affection for my brother caused the change. These are the ways of a man not devoid of virtue, to pursue on each occasion what is best.

CHORUS LEADER: A generous speech, worthy of Tantalus, the son of Zeus; you do not shame your ancestry.

AGAMEMNON: I thank you, Menelaus, for this unexpected suggestion; it is an honorable proposal, worthy of you. Sometimes love, sometimes the selfishness of their families, causes a quarrel between brothers; I loathe a relationship of this kind which is bitterness to both. But it is useless, for circumstances compel me to carry out the murderous sacrifice of my daughter.

MENELAUS: How so? who will compel you to slay your own?

AGAMEMNON: The whole Achaean army here assembled.

MENELAUS: Not if you send her back to Argos.

AGAMEMNON: I might do that unnoticed, but there will be another thing I cannot.

MENELAUS: What is that? You must not fear the mob too much.

AGAMEMNON: Calchas will tell the Argive army his oracles.

MENELAUS: Not if he should die before that—an easy matter.

AGAMEMNON: The whole tribe of seers is a curse with its ambition.

MENELAUS: Yes, and good for nothing and useless, when among us.

AGAMEMNON: Has the thought, which is rising in my mind, no terrors for you?

MENELAUS: How can I understand your meaning, unless you declare it?

AGAMEMNON: The son of Sisyphus knows all.

MENELAUS: Odysseus cannot possibly hurt us.

Part 6

AGAMEMNON: He was ever shifty by nature, siding with the mob.

MENELAUS: True, he is enslaved by the love of popularity, a fearful evil.

AGAMEMNON: Don’t you think, then, he will arise among the Argives and tell them the oracles that Calchas delivered, saying of me that I undertook to offer Artemis a victim, and after all am proving false? Then, when he has carried the army away with him, he will bid the Argives slay us and sacrifice the girl; and if I escape to Argos, they will come and destroy the place, razing it to the ground, Cyclopean walls and all. That is my trouble. Woe is me! to what perplexities the gods have brought me at this pass! Take one precaution for me, Menelaus, as you go through the army, that Clytemnestra does not learn this, till I have taken my child and devoted her to death, that my affliction may be attended with the fewest tears. Turning to the Chorus. And you, foreign women, keep silence. Exit Menelaus.

CHORUS: Happy are they who find the goddess come in moderate might, sharing with self-restraint in Aphrodite’s gift of marriage and enjoying calm and rest from frenzied passions, where the Love-god, golden-haired, stretches his charmed bow with twin arrows, and one is aimed at happiness, the other at life’s confusion. O lady Cypris, queen of beauty! far from my bridal bower I ban the last. Be mine delight in moderation and pure desires, and may I have a share in love, but shun excess!

CHORUS: Men’s natures vary, and their habits differ, but virtue is always manifest. Likewise the training that come of education conduces greatly to virtue; for not only is modesty wisdom, but it has also the rare grace of seeing by its better judgment what is right; whereby a glory, ever young, is shed over life by reputation. A great thing it is to hunt virtue, for women when they love secretly; while in men, an inborn sense of order, shown in countless ways, adds to a city’s greatness.

CHORUS: You came, O Paris, to the place where you were reared to herd the cows among the white heifers of Ida, piping in foreign strain and breathing on your reeds an echo of the Phrygian airs Olympus played. Full-uddered cows were browsing at the spot where that verdict between goddesses was awaiting you—the cause of your going to Hellas to stand before the ivory palace, kindling love in Helen’s entranced eyes and feeling its flutter in your own breast; from which the fiend of strife brought Hellas with her spear and ships to the towers of Troy.

CHORUS OF ARGIVE MEN: Oh! great is the bliss the great enjoy. Behold Iphigenia, the king’s child, my lady, and Clytemnestra, the daughter of Tyndareus; how proud their lineage! how high their pinnacle of fortune! These mighty ones, whom wealth attends, are very gods in the eyes of less favored folk.

CHORUS: Let us stand here, maidens of Chalcis, and lift the queen from her chariot to the ground without stumbling, supporting her gently in our arms, with kind intent, that the renowned daughter of Agamemnon, just arrived, may feel no fear; strangers ourselves, let us avoid anything that may disturb or frighten the strangers from Argos.

CLYTEMNESTRA: I take this as a lucky omen, your kindness and auspicious greeting, and have good hope that it is to a happy marriage I conduct the bride. To attendants. Take from the chariot the dowry I am bringing for my daughter and convey it within with careful heed. My daughter, leave the horse-drawn chariot, planting your faltering footstep delicately. To the Chorus. Young women, take her in your arms and lift her from the chariot, and let one of you give me the support of her hand, that I may quit my seat in the carriage with fitting grace. Some of you stand at the horses’ heads; for the horse has a timid eye, easily frightened; here, take this child Orestes, son of Agamemnon, baby as he still is. What! sleeping, little one, tired out by your ride in the chariot? Awake to bless your sister’s wedding; for you, my gallant boy, shall get by this marriage a kinsman gallant as yourself, the Nereid’s godlike offspring. Come here to your mother, my daughter, Iphigenia, and seat yourself beside me, and stationed near show my happiness to these strangers; yes, come here and welcome the father you love so dearly.

IPHIGENIA: Do not be angry with me, mother, if I run from your side and throw myself on my father’s breast.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Hail! my honored lord, king Agamemnon! we have obeyed your commands and have come.

IPHIGENIA: for I yearn to see your face; do not be angry with me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: You may do so, daughter; for of all the children I have borne, you have always loved your father best.

IPHIGENIA: I see you, father, joyfully after a long time.

AGAMEMNON: And I, your father, see you; your words do equal duty for both of us.

IPHIGENIA: All hail, father! you did well in bringing me here to you.

AGAMEMNON: I know not how I am to say yes or no to that, my child.

IPHIGENIA: Ah! how wildly you are looking, spite of your joy at seeing me.

AGAMEMNON: A man has many cares when he is king and general too.

IPHIGENIA: Be mine, all mine today; do not turn to moody thoughts.

Part 7

AGAMEMNON: Why so I am, all yours today; I have no other thought.

IPHIGENIA: Then smooth your knitted brow, unbend and smile.

AGAMEMNON: See! my child, my joy at seeing you is even as it is.

IPHIGENIA: And do you then have tears streaming from your eyes?

AGAMEMNON: Yes, for long is the absence from each other, that awaits us.

IPHIGENIA: I do not know, dear father, I do not know of what you are speaking.

AGAMEMNON: You are moving my pity all the more by speaking so sensibly.

IPHIGENIA: My words shall turn to senselessness if that will cheer you more.

AGAMEMNON: Alas! this silence is too much. You have my thanks.

IPHIGENIA: Stay with your children at home, father.

AGAMEMNON: My own wish! But to my sorrow I may not

IPHIGENIA: Ruin seize their wars and the woes of Menelaus!

AGAMEMNON: First will that, which has been my life-long ruin, bring ruin to others.

IPHIGENIA: How long you were absent in the bays of Aulis!

AGAMEMNON: Yes, and there is still a hindrance to my sending the army forward.

IPHIGENIA: Where do men say the Phrygians live, father?

AGAMEMNON: In a land where I wish Paris, the son of Priam, never had dwelt.

IPHIGENIA: It is a long voyage you are bound on, father, after you leave me.

AGAMEMNON: You will meet your father again, my daughter.

IPHIGENIA: Ah! would it were seemly for you to take me as a fellow voyager!

Part 8

AGAMEMNON: You too have a voyage to make to a haven where you will remember your father.

IPHIGENIA: Shall I sail there with my mother or alone?

AGAMEMNON: All alone, without father or mother.

IPHIGENIA: What! have you found me a new home, father?

AGAMEMNON: Enough of this! it is not for girls to know such things.

IPHIGENIA: Please hurry home from Troy, father, as soon as you have triumphed there.

AGAMEMNON: There is a sacrifice I have first to offer here.

IPHIGENIA: Yes, it is your duty to heed religion with aid of holy rites.

AGAMEMNON: You will witness it, for you will be standing near the libations.

IPHIGENIA: Am I to lead the dance then round the altar, father?

AGAMEMNON: I count you happier than myself because you know nothing. Go within—it is wrong for maidens to be seen—after you have given me your hand and a kiss, on the eve of your lengthy sojourn far from your father’s side. Breast, cheek, and golden hair! ah, how grievous you have found Helen and the Phrygians’ city! I can speak no more; the tears come welling to my eyes, the moment I touch you. Go into the house. Exit Iphigenia. Agamemnon turns to Clytemnestra. I beg your pardon, daughter of Leda, if I showed excessive grief at the thought of giving my daughter to Achilles; for though we are sending her to taste of bliss, still it wrings a parent’s heart, when he, the father who has toiled so hard for them, commits his children to the homes of strangers.

CLYTEMNESTRA: I am not so senseless; But I think I will go through this as well, when I lead the girl from the chamber to the sound of the marriage hymn; so I do not chide you; but custom will combine with time to make the smart grow less. As for him, to whom you have betrothed our daughter, I know his name, it is true, but want to learn his lineage and the land of his birth.

AGAMEMNON: There was one Aegina, the daughter of Asopus.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Who wedded her? Some mortal or a god?

AGAMEMNON: Zeus, and she bore Aeacus, the prince of Oenone.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What son of Aeacus secured his father’s halls?

AGAMEMNON: Peleus, who wedded the daughter of Nereus.

CLYTEMNESTRA: With the god’s consent, or when he had taken her in spite of gods?

AGAMEMNON: Zeus betrothed her, and her guardian gave consent.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Where did he marry her? in the billows of the sea?

Part 9

AGAMEMNON: In Chiron’s home, at sacred Pelion’s foot.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What! the abode ascribed to the race of Centaurs?

AGAMEMNON: It was there the gods celebrated the marriage feast of Peleus.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Did Thetis or his father train Achilles?

AGAMEMNON: Chiron brought him up, to prevent his learning the ways of the wicked.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Ah! wise the teacher, still wiser the one who gave his son.

AGAMEMNON: Such is the future husband of your daughter.

CLYTEMNESTRA: A blameless lord; but what city in Hellas is his?

AGAMEMNON: He dwells on the banks of the river Apidanus, in the borders of Phthia.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Will you convey our daughter there?

AGAMEMNON: He who takes her to himself will see to that.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Happiness attend the pair! Which day will he marry her?

AGAMEMNON: As soon as the full moon comes to give its blessing

CLYTEMNESTRA: Have you already offered the goddess a sacrifice to usher in the maiden’s marriage?

AGAMEMNON: I am about to do so; that is the very thing I was engaged in.

CLYTEMNESTRA: And then will you celebrate the marriage feast afterwards?

AGAMEMNON: Yes, when I have offered a sacrifice required by the gods of me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: But where am I to make ready the feast for the women?

AGAMEMNON: Here beside our gallant Argive ships.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Finely here! but still I must; good come of it for all that!

Part 10

AGAMEMNON: Do you know what to do, lady? Then obey me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: In what matter? for I was ever accustomed to obey you.

AGAMEMNON: Here, where the bridegroom is, I will—

CLYTEMNESTRA: Which of my duties will you perform in the mother’s absence?

AGAMEMNON: Give your child away with help of Danaids.

CLYTEMNESTRA: And where am I to be then?

AGAMEMNON: Go to Argos, and take care of your unwedded daughters.

CLYTEMNESTRA: And leave my child? Then who will raise her bridal torch?

AGAMEMNON: I will provide the proper wedding torch.

CLYTEMNESTRA: That is not the custom; but you think lightly of these things.

AGAMEMNON: It is not good for you to be alone among a soldier-crowd.

CLYTEMNESTRA: It is good that a mother should give her own child away.

AGAMEMNON: Yes, and that those maidens at home should not be left alone.

CLYTEMNESTRA: They are well guarded in their maiden bowers.

AGAMEMNON: Obey.

CLYTEMNESTRA: No, by the goddess-queen of Argos! Go, manage matters out of doors; but in the house it is my place to decide .

AGAMEMNON: Woe is me! my efforts are baffled; I am disappointed in my hope, anxious as I was to get my wife out of sight; foiled at every point, I form my plots and subtle schemes against my best-beloved. But I will go, in spite of all, with Calchas the priest, to inquire the goddess’s good pleasure, fraught with ill-luck as it is to me, and with trouble to Hellas. He who is wise should keep in his house a good and useful wife or none at all.

CHORUS: The Hellenes’ gathered army will come in arms aboard their ships to Simois with its silver eddies, to Ilium, the plain of Troy beloved by Phoebus; where Cassandra, I am told, wildly tosses her golden tresses, wreathed with crown of green laurel, whenever the god’s resistless prophecies inspire her.

CHORUS: And on the towers of Troy and round her walls shall Trojans stand, when sea-borne troops with brazen shields row in on shapely ships to the channels of the Simois, eager to take Helen, the sister of that heavenly pair whom Zeus begot, from Priam, and bear her back to Hellas by toil of Achaean shields and spears.

CHORUS: The son of Atreus, encircling Pergamus, the Phrygians’ town, with murderous war around her stone-built towers, dragging Paris’s head backward to cut his throat and sacking the city from roof to base, shall be a cause of many tears to maids and Priam’s wife. And Helen, the daughter of Zeus, shall weep in bitter grief because she left her lord. Never may there appear to me or to my children’s children the prospect which the wealthy Lydian ladies and Phrygia’s brides will have as at their looms they converse: Tell me, who will pluck me away from my ruined country, tightening his grasp on lovely tresses till the tears flow? it is all through you, the offspring of the long-necked swan; if indeed it is a true report that Leda bore you to a winged bird, when Zeus transformed himself there, or whether, in the tablets of the poets, fables have carried these tales to men’s ears idly, out of season.

Part 11

ACHILLES: Where is Achaea’s general? Which of his servants will announce to him that Achilles, the son of Peleus, is at his gates seeking him? For this delay at the Euripus is not the same for all of us; there are some, for instance, who, bing still unwed, have left their houses desolate and are idling here upon the beach, while others are married but without children; so strange the longing for this expedition that has fallen on their hearts by the will of the gods. My own just plea I must declare, and whoever else has any wish will speak for himself. Though I have left Pharsalia, and Peleus, still I linger here by reason of these light breezes at the Euripus, restraining my Myrmidons, while they are always pressing on me, saying: Why do we tarry, Achilles? how much longer must we count the days to the start for Ilium? do something if you are so minded; or lead home your men, and do not wait for the tardy action of these Atridae.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Hail to you, son of the Nereid goddess! I heard your voice from within the tent and came forth.

ACHILLES: O modesty revered! who can this lady be whom I behold, so richly dowered with beauty’s gifts?

CLYTEMNESTRA: No wonder you do not know me, seeing I am one you have never before set eyes on; I praise your reverent address to modesty.

ACHILLES: Who are you, and why have you come to the mustering of the Danaids—you, a woman, to a fenced camp of men?

CLYTEMNESTRA: I am the daughter of Leda; my name is Clytemnestra; and my husband king Agamemnon.

ACHILLES: Well and shortly answered on all important points, but it is shameful for me to stand talking to women.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Stay; why seek to escape? give me your hand, a prelude to a happy marriage.

ACHILLES: What is it you say? I give you my hand? To lay a finger where I have no right, I could never meet Agamemnon’s eye.

CLYTEMNESTRA: The best of rights you have, seeing it is my child you will wed, O son of the sea-goddess, daughter of Nereus.

ACHILLES: What wedding do you speak of? Words fail me, lady; can your wits have gone astray and are you inventing this?

CLYTEMNESTRA: All men are naturally shy in the presence of new relations, when these remind them of their wedding.

ACHILLES: Lady, I have never courted your daughter, nor have the sons of Atreus ever mentioned marriage to me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What can it mean? Your turn now to marvel at my words, for yours are very strange to me.

ACHILLES: Hazard a guess; that we can both do in this matter; for it may be we are both correct in our statements.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What! have I suffered such indignity? The marriage I am courting has no reality it seems; I am ashmed of it.

ACHILLES: Some one perhaps has made a mock of you and me; pay no heed to it; make light of it.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Farewell; I can no longer face you with unfaltering eyes, after being made a liar and suffering undeservedly.

ACHILLES: It is farewell I bid you too, lady; and I go within the tent to seek your husband.

OLD MAN: Stranger of the race of Aeacus, stay awhile! Ho there! I mean you, O goddess-born, and you, daughter of Leda.

Part 12

ACHILLES: Who is it calling through the half-opened door? What fear his voice betrays!

OLD MAN: A slave; of that I am not proud, for fortune does not permit it.

ACHILLES: Whose slave are you? not mine; for mine and Agamemnon’s goods are separate.

OLD MAN: I belong to this lady who stands before the tent, a gift to her from Tyndareus her father.

ACHILLES: I am waiting; tell me, if you are desirous, why you have stopped me.

OLD MAN: Are you really all alone here at the door?

ACHILLES: To us alone will you address yourself; come forth from the king’s tent.

OLD MAN: O Fortune and my own foresight, preserve whom I desire!

ACHILLES: That speech will save them in the future; it has a certain pompous air.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Delay not for the sake of touching my right hand, if there is anything that you would say to me.

OLD MAN: Well, you know my character and my devotion to you and your children.

CLYTEMNESTRA: I know you have grown old in the service of my house.

OLD MAN: Likewise you know it was in your dowry king Agamemnon received me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Yes, you came to Argos with me, and have been mine this long time past.

OLD MAN: True; and I bear all goodwill to you, less to your husband.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Come, come, unfold whatever you have to say.

OLD MAN: Her father, he that begot her, is on the point of slaying your daughter with his own hand.

CLYTEMNESTRA: How? That for your story, old man! you are mad.

OLD MAN: Severing with a sword the hapless girl’s white throat.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Ah, alas for me! Does my husband happen to have gone mad?

Part 13

OLD MAN: No; he is sane, except where you and your daughter are concerned; there he is mad.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What is his reason? what vengeful fiend impels him?

OLD MAN: Oracles, at least so Calchas says, in order that the army may start—

CLYTEMNESTRA: Where? Alas for me, and for the one her father is going to kill!

OLD MAN: To the halls of Dardanus, that Menelaus may recover Helen.

CLYTEMNESTRA: So Helen’s return then was fated to affect Iphigenia?

OLD MAN: You know all; her father is about to offer your child to Artemis.

CLYTEMNESTRA: But that marriage—what pretext had it for bringing me from home?

OLD MAN: An inducement to you to bring your daughter cheerfully, to wed her to Achilles.

CLYTEMNESTRA: On a deadly errand have you come, my daughter, both you, and I, your mother.

OLD MAN: Piteous the lot of both of you, and dreadful Agamemnon’s venture.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Alas, I am undone; my eyes can no longer hold their tears.

OLD MAN: If the loss of children is painful, shed your tears.

CLYTEMNESTRA: From where, old man, do you say you had this news?

OLD MAN: I had started to carry you a letter referring to the former writing.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Forbidding or combining to urge my bringing the child to her death?

OLD MAN: No, forbidding it, for your lord was then in his sober senses.

CLYTEMNESTRA: How comes it then, if you were really bringing me a letter, that you do not now deliver it into my hands?

OLD MAN: Menelaus snatched it from me, he who caused this trouble.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Do you hear that, son of Peleus, the Nereid’s child?

Part 14

ACHILLES: I have been listening to the tale of your sufferings, and I do not bear my own lightly.

CLYTEMNESTRA: They will slay my child; they have tricked her with your marriage.

ACHILLES: Like you I blame your lord, nor do I view it with mere indifference.

CLYTEMNESTRA: No longer will I let shame prevent my kneeling to you, a mortal to one goddess-born; why do I affect reserve? whose interests should I consult before my child’s? Throwing herself before Achilles. Oh! help me, goddess-born, in my sore distress, and her that was called your bride, in vain, it is true, yet called she was. For you it was I wreathed her head and led her forth as if to marriage, but now it is to slaughter I am bringing her. On you will come reproach because you did not help her; for though not wedded to her, yet were you the loving husband of my hapless girl in name at any rate. By your beard, your right hand, and mother too I do implore you; for your name it was that worked my ruin, and you are bound to stand by that. Except your knees I have no altar to fly to; and not a friend stands at my side. You have heard the cruel abandoned scheme of Agamemnon; and I, a woman, have come, as you see, to a camp of lawless sailor-folk, bold in evil’s cause, though useful when they wish; Now if you boldly stretch forth your arm in my behalf, our safety is assured; but if not, we are lost.

CHORUS LEADER: A strange thing is motherhood, carrying with it a potent spell, in which all share, so that for their children’s sake they will endure affliction.

ACHILLES: My proud spirit is stirred to range aloft, butI have learned to grieve in misfortune and rejoice in high prosperity with equal moderation. For these are the men who can count on ordering all their life rightly by wisdom’s rules. True, there are cases where it is pleasant not to be too wise, but there are others, where some store of wisdom helps. Brought up in godly Chiron’s halls myself, I learned to keep a single heart; and provided the Atridae lead well, I will obey them; but when they cease from that, no more will I obey; no, but here and in Troy I will show the freedom of my nature, and, as far as in me lies, do honor to Ares with my spear. You, lady, who have suffered so cruelly from your nearest and dearest, I will, by every effort in a young man’s power, set right, investing you with that amount of pity and never shall your daughter, after being once called my bride, die by her father’s hand; for I will not lend myself to your husband’s subtle tricks; no! for it will be my name that kills your child, although it does not wield the sword. Your own husband is the actual cause, but I shall no longer be guiltless, if, because of me and my marriage, this maiden perishes, she that has suffered past endurance and been the victim of affronts most strangely undeserved. So am I made the poorest wretch in Argos; I a thing of nothing, and Menelaus counting for a man! No son of Peleus I, but the issue of a vengeful fiend, if my name shall serve your husband for the murder. No! by Nereus, who begot my mother Thetis, in his home amid the flowing waves, never shall king Agamemnon touch your daughter, no! not even to the laying of a finger-tip upon her robe; or Sipylus, that frontier town of barbarism, the cradle of those chieftains’ line, will be henceforth a city indeed, while Phthia’s name will nowhere find mention. Calchas, the seer, shall rue beginning the sacrifice with his barley-meal and lustral water. Why, what is a seer? A man who with luck tells the truth sometimes, with frequent falsehoods, but when his luck deserts him, collapses then and there. It is not to secure a bride that I have spoken thus—there are maids unnumbered eager to have my love—no! but king Agamemnon has put an insult on me; he should have asked my leave to use my name as a means to catch the child, for it was I chiefly who induced Clytemnestra to betroth her daughter to me; I would had yielded this to Hellas, if that was where our going to Ilium broke down; I would never have refused to further my fellow soldiers’ common interest. But as it is, I am as nothing in the eyes of those chieftains, and little they care of treating me well or ill. My sword shall soon know if any one is to snatch your daughter from me, for then will I make it reek with the bloody stains of slaughter, before it reach Phrygia. Calm yourself then; as a god in his might I appeared to you, without being so, but such will I show myself for all that.

CHORUS LEADER: Son of Peleus, your words are alike worthy of you and that sea-born deity, the holy goddess.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Ah! would I could find words to utter your praise without excess, and yet not lose the graciousness of it by stinting it; for when the good are praised, they have some sort of feeling of hatred for those who in their praise exceed the mean. But I am ashamed of intruding a tale of woe, since my affliction touches myself alone and you are not affected by troubles of mine; but still it looks well for the man of worth to assist the unfortunate, even when he is not connected with then. Therefore pity us, for our suffering cries for pity; in the first place, I have harbored an idle hope, in thinking to have you marry my daughter; and next, perhaps, the slaying of my child will be to you an evil omen in your wooing hereafter, against which you must guard yourself. Your words were good, both first and last; for if you will it so, my daughter will be saved. Will you have her clasp your knees as a suppliant? it is no maid’s part; yet if it seems good to you, why, come she shall with the modest look of free-born maid; but if I shall obtain the same end from you without her coming then let her abide within, for there is dignity in her reserve; still reserve must only go as far as the case allows.

ACHILLES: Do not bring your daughter out for me to see, lady, nor let us incur the reproach of the ignorant; for an army, when gathered together without domestic duties to employ it, loves the evil gossip of malicious tongues. After all, should you both supplicate me, you will attain a like result as if I had never been supplicated; for I am myself engaged in a mighty struggle to rid you of your troubles. One thing be sure you have heard; I will not tell a lie; if I do that or idly mock you, may I die, but live if I preserve the girl.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Bless you for always helping the distressed!

ACHILLES: Hearken then to me, that the matter may succeed.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What is your proposal? for hear you I must.

ACHILLES: Let us once more urge her father to a better frame of mind.

CLYTEMNESTRA: He is something of a coward, and fears the army too much.

ACHILLES: Still argument overthrows argument.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Cold hope indeed; but tell me what I must do.

ACHILLES: Supplicate him first not to slay his children; and if he is stubborn, come to me. For if he consents to your request, my intervention need go no further, since this consent insures your safety. I too shall show myself in a better light to my friend, and the army will not blame me, if I arrange the matter by reason rather than force; while, should things turn out well, the result will prove satisfactory both to you and your friends, even without my interference.

CLYTEMNESTRA: How sensibly you speak! I must act as seems best to you; but should I fail of my object, where am I to see you again, where? Must I turn my wretched steps and find you ready to champion my distress?

ACHILLES: I will keep watch to guard you, where occasion calls, that none may see you passing through the army of Danaids with that scared look. Do not shame your father’s house; for Tyndareus does not deserve not to be ill spoken of, being a mighty man in Hellas.

CLYTEMNESTRA: It will be so. Command me; I must play the slave to you. If there are gods, you for your righteous dealing will find them favorable; if there are none, what need to toil? Exeunt Achilles and Clytemnestra.

Part 15

CHORUS: What wedding-hymn was that which raised its strains to the sound of Libyan flutes, to the music of the dancer’s lyre, and the note of the pipe of reeds? It was on the day Pieria’s lovely-haired choir came over the slopes of Pelion to the wedding of Peleus, beating the ground with print of golden sandals at the banquet of the gods, and hymning in dulcet strains the praise of Thetis and the son of Aeacus, over the Centaurs’ hill, down woods of Pelion. There was the Dardanian boy, dainty morsel of Zeus’ bed, drawing off the wine he mixed in the depths of golden bowls, Ganymede the Phrygian; while, along the gleaming sand, the fifty daughters of Nereus graced the marriage with their dancing, circling in a mazy ring.

CHORUS: The revel-rout of Centaurs came too, mounted on horses, to the feast of the gods and the mixing-bowl of Bacchus, leaning on fir-trees, with wreaths of green foliage round their heads; and Chiron cried loudly: Daughter of Nereus, you shall bear a son, a dazzling light to Thessaly; and the prophet, skilled in arts inspired by Phoebus, gave his name; for he shall come with an army of Myrmidon spearmen to the famous land of Priam, to set it in a blaze, his body cased in a suit of golden mail forged by Hephaestus, a gift from his goddess-mother, from Thetis who bore him. Then the gods shed a blessing on the marriage of the high-born bride, who was first of Nereus’ daughters, and on the wedding of Peleus.

CHORUS: But the Argives will crown you, wreathing the lovely tresses of your hair, like a pure, dappled heifer brought from some rocky cave, and staining with blood your human throat; though you were never reared among the piping and whistling of herdsmen, but at your mother’s side, to be decked as the bride of a son of Inachus. Where now does the face of modesty or virtue have any strength? seeing that godlessness holds sway, and virtue is neglected by men and thrust behind them, lawlessness over law prevailing, and mortals no longer making common cause to keep the jealousy of gods from reaching them.

CLYTEMNESTRA: I have come from the tent to look out for my husband, who went away and left its shelter long ago; while my poor child, hearing of the death her father designs for her, is in tears, uttering in many keys her piteous lamentation. Catching sight of Agamamnon. It seems I was speaking of one not far away; for there is Agamemnon, who will soon be detected in the commission of a crime against his own child.

AGAMEMNON: Daughter of Leda, it is lucky I have found you outside the tent, to discuss with you in our daughter’s absence subjects not suited for the ears of maidens on the eve of marriage.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What critical moment is it that you are seizing?

AGAMEMNON: Send the maiden out to join her father, for the lustral water stands there ready, and barley-meal to scatter with the hand on the cleansing flame, and heifers to be slain before the marriage, in honor of the goddess .

CLYTEMNESTRA: Though the words you use are good, I do not know how I am to name your deeds in terms of praise. Come forth, my daughter; well you know what is in your father’s mind; take the child Orestes, your brother, and bring him with you in the folds of your robe. Behold! she comes, in obedience to your summons. I will speak the rest for her and for myself.

AGAMEMNON: My child, why do you weep and no longer look cheerfully? why are you fixing your eyes upon the ground and holding your robe before them?

CLYTEMNESTRA: Ah! with which of my woes shall I begin? for I may treat them all as first, or put them last or midway, anywhere.

AGAMEMNON: What is it? I find you all alike, confusion and alarm in every eye.

CLYTEMNESTRA: My husband, answer frankly the questions I ask you.

AGAMEMNON: There is no necessity to order me; I am willing to be questioned.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Do you mean to slay your child and mine?

AGAMEMNON: Ha! these are heartless words, unwarranted suspicions!

CLYTEMNESTRA: Peace! answer me that question first.

AGAMEMNON: Put a fair question and you shall have a fair answer.

CLYTEMNESTRA: I have no other questions to put; give me no other answers.

AGAMEMNON: O fate revered, O destiny, and my fortune!

CLYTEMNESTRA: Yes, and mine and hers too; the three share one bad fortune.

Part 16

AGAMEMNON: Whom have I injured?

CLYTEMNESTRA: Do you ask this question? A thought like that itself amounts to tboughtlessness.

AGAMEMNON: Ruined! my secret betrayed!

CLYTEMNESTRA: I know all; I have heard what you are bent on doing to me. Your very silence and those frequent groans are a confession; do not tire yourself by telling it.

AGAMEMNON: See, I am silent; for why should I tell you a falsehood, and add effrontery to misfortune?

CLYTEMNESTRA: Well, now listen; for I will unfold my meaning and no longer employ dark riddles. In the first place—to reproach you first with this—it was not of my own free will but by force that you took and wed me, after slaying Tantalus, my former husband, and dashing my baby on the ground when you had torn him from my breast with brutal violence. Then those two sons of Zeus, who were my brothers, came flashing on horseback to war with you; but Tyndareus, my old father, rescued you because of your suppliant prayers, and you in turn had me to wife. Once I was reconciled to you upon this footing, you will bear me witness I have been a blameless wife to you and your family, chaste in love, an honor to your house, that so your coming in might be with joy and your going out with gladness. And it is seldom a man secures a wife like this, though the getting of a worthless woman Is no rarity. Besides three daughters, of one of whom you are heartlessly depriving me, I am the mother of this son of yours. If anyone asks you your reason for slaying her, tell me, what will you say? or must I say it for you? It is that Menelaus may recover Helen. An honorable exchange, indeed, to pay a wicked woman’s price in children’s lives! It is buying what we most detest with what we hold most dear. Again, if you go forth with the army, leaving me in your halls and are long absent at Troy, what will my feelings be at home, do you think? when I behold each vacant chair and her chamber now deserted, and then sit down alone in tears, making ceaseless lamentation for her, Ah! my child, he that begot you has slain you himself, he and no one else, nor are was it by another’s hand, leaving behind him such a return to his home. For it needs now only a trifling pretext for me and the daughters remaining to give you the reception it is right you should receive. I adjure you by the gods, do not compel me to sin against you, or sin yourself. Well; suppose you sacrifice the child; what prayer will you utter, when it is done? what will the blessing be that you will invoke upon yourself as you are slaying our daughter? An ill returning, seeing the disgrace that speeds your going forth? Is it right that I should pray for any luck to attend you? Surely we should deem the gods devoid of sense, if we harbored a kindly feeling towards murder? Shall you embrace your children on your coming back to Argos? No, you have no right. Will any child of yours ever face you, if you have surrendered one of them to death? Has this ever entered into your calculations, or does your one duty consist in carrying a scepter about and marching at the head of an army? When you might have made this fair proposal among the Argives; Is it your wish, Achaeans, to sail for Phrygia’s shores? Why then, cast lots whose daughter has to die. For that would have been a fair course for you to pursue, instead of picking out your own child for the victim and presenting her to the Danaids; or Menelaus, as it was his concern, should have slain Hermione for her mother. As it is, I, who still am true to your bed, must lose my child; while she, who went astray, will return with her daughter, and live in happiness at Sparta. If I am wrong in my words, answer me; but if they have been fairly urged, do not slay your child, who is mine too, and you will be wise.

CHORUS LEADER: Hearken to her, Agamemnon, for to join in saving your children’s lives is surely a noble deed; no one will deny this.

IPHIGENIA: If I had the eloquence of Orpheus, my father, to move the rocks by chanted spells to follow me, or to charm by speaking anyone I wished, I would have resorted to it. But as it is, I’ll bring my tears—the only art I know; for that I might attempt. And about your knees, as a suppliant, I twine my limbs—these limbs your wife here bore. Do not destroy me before my time, for it is sweet to look upon the light, and do not force me to visit scenes below. I was the first to call you father, you the first to call me child; I was the first to sit upon your knee and give and take the fond caress. And this was what you would saythen: Shall I see you, my child, living a happy prosperous life in a husband’s home one day, in a manner worthy of myself? And I in my turn would ask, as I hung about your beard, where I now am clinging, What then will I do for you? Shall I be giving you a glad reception in my halls, father, in your old age, repaying all your anxious care in rearing me? I remember all we said, it is you who have forgotten and now would take my life. By Pelops, I entreat you spare me, by your father Atreus and my mother here, who suffers now a second time the pangs she felt before when bearing me! What have I to do with the marriage of Paris and Helen? Why is his coming to prove my ruin, father? Look upon me; bestow one glance, one kiss, that this at least I may carry to my death as a memorial of you, though you do not heed my pleading. holding up the baby Orestes. Feeble ally though you are, brother, to your loved ones, yet add your tears to mine and entreat our father for your sister’s life; even in babies there is a natural sense of evil. O father, see this speechless supplication made to you; pity me; have mercy on my tender years! Yes, by your beard we two fond hearts implore your pity, the one a baby, a full-grown maid the other. By summing all my pleas in one, I will prevail in what I say: to gaze upon the light is man’s most cherished gift; that life below is nothingness, and whoever longs for death is mad. Better live a life of woe than die a death of glory!

CHORUS LEADER: Ah, wretched Helen! Great is the struggle that has come sons to the of Atreus and their children, thanks to you and those marriages of yours.

AGAMEMNON: While loving my own children, I yet understand what should move my pity and what should not; I would be a madman otherwise. It is terrible for me to bring myself to this, nor is it less terrible to refuse, daughter; for I must do this. You see the vastness of that naval army, and the numbers of bronze-clad warriors from Hellas, who can neither make their way to Ilium’s towers nor raze the far-famed citadel of Troy, unless I offer you according to the word of Calchas the seer. Some mad desire possesses the army of Hellas to sail at once to the land of the barbarians, and put a stop to the rape of wives from Hellas, and they will slay my daughter in Argos as well as you and me, if I disregard the goddess’s commands. It is not Menelaus who has enslaved me to him, child, nor have I followed his wish; no, it is Hellas, for whom I must sacrifice you whether I will or not; to this necessity I bow my head; for her freedom must be preserved, as far as any help of yours daughter, or mine can go; or they, who are the sons of Hellas, must be pillaged of their wives by barbarian robbery. Exit Agamemnon.

CLYTEMNESTRA: My child! oh, foreign women! Alas for me, for your death! Your father escapes, surrendering you to Hades.

IPHIGENIA: Alas for me, mother! for the same lament has fallen to both of us in our fortune. No more for me the light of day! no more these beams of the sun! Oh, oh! that snow-beat glen in Phrygia and the hills of Ida, where Priam once exposed a tender baby, torn from his mother’s arms to meet a deadly doom, Paris, called the child of Ida in the Phrygians’ town. Would that he never had settled Alexander, the herdsman reared among the herds, beside that water crystal-clear, where are fountains of the Nymphs and their meadow rich with blooming flowers, where hyacinths and rose-buds blow for goddesses to gather! Here one day came Pallas and Cypris of the subtle heart, Hera too and Hermes messenger of Zeus; Cypris, proud of the longing she causes, Pallas of her prowess; and Hera of her royal marriage with king Zeus; to decide a hateful strife about their beauty; but it is my death, maidens, bringing, it is true, glory to the Danaids, that Artemis has received as an offering, before they begin the voyage to Ilium. O mother, mother! he that begot me to this life of sorrow has gone and left me all alone. Ah! woe is me! a bitter, bitter sight for me was Helen, evil Helen! to me now doomed to bleed and die, slaughtered by an impious father! I wish this Aulis had never received in its havens here the stems of their bronze-beaked ships, the fleet which was speeding them to Troy; and would that Zeus had never breathed on the Euripus a wind to stop the expedition, tempering, as he does, a different breeze to different men, so that some have joy in setting sail, and sorrow some, and others hard constraint, to make some start and others prepare and others delay! Full of trouble then, it seems, is the race of mortals, full of trouble indeed; and it is Fate’s decree that man should find distress. Woe! woe to you, you child of Tyndareus, for the suffering and anguish sore, which you are causing the Danaids!

CHORUS LEADER: I pity you for your cruel fate—a fate I would you never had met!

IPHIGENIA: O mother that bore me! I see a throng of men approaching.

CLYTEMNESTRA: It is the goddess’ son you see, child, for whom you came here.

IPHIGENIA: Open the tent-door to me, servants, that I may hide myself

CLYTEMNESTRA: Why seek to escape, my child?

IPHIGENIA: I am ashamed to face Achilles.

CLYTEMNESTRA: But why?

IPHIGENIA: The luckless ending to our marriage causes me to feel abashed.

Part 17

CLYTEMNESTRA: No time for affectation now in face of what has happened. Stay then; reserve will do no good, if we may profit.

ACHILLES: Daughter of Leda, lady of sorrows!

CLYTEMNESTRA: No misnomer that.

ACHILLES: A fearful cry is heard among the Argives.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What is it? tell me.

ACHILLES: It concerns your child.

CLYTEMNESTRA: An evil omen for your words.

ACHILLES: They say her sacrifice is necessary.

CLYTEMNESTRA: And is there no one to say a word against them?

ACHILLES: Indeed I was in some danger myself from the tumult.

CLYTEMNESTRA: In danger of what, stranger?.

ACHILLES: Of being stoned.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Surely not for trying to save my daughter?

ACHILLES: The very reason.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Who would have dared to lay a finger on you?

ACHILLES: All the men of Hellas.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Were not your Myrmidon warriors at your side?

ACHILLES: They were the first who turned against me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: My child! we are lost, it seems.

ACHILLES: They taunted me as the man whom marriage had enslaved.

Part 18

CLYTEMNESTRA: And what did you answer them?

ACHILLES: Not to kill the one I meant to wed—

CLYTEMNESTRA: Justly so.

ACHILLES: The wife her father promised me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Yes, and sent to fetch from Argos.

ACHILLES: But I was overcome by clamorous cries.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Truly the mob is a dire mischief.

ACHILLES: But I will help you for all that.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Will you really fight them single-handed?

ACHILLES: Do you see these warriors here, carrying my arms?

CLYTEMNESTRA: Bless you for your kind intent!

ACHILLES: Well, I shall be blessed.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Then my child will not be slaughtered now?

ACHILLES: No, not with my consent at any rate.

CLYTEMNESTRA: But will any of them come to lay hands on the maid?

ACHILLES: Thousands of them, with Odysseus at their head.

CLYTEMNESTRA: The son of Sisyphus?

ACHILLES: The very same.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Acting for himself or by the army’s order?

ACHILLES: By their choice—and his own.

Part 19

CLYTEMNESTRA: An evil choice indeed, to stain his hands in blood.

ACHILLES: But I will hold him back.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Will he seize and bear her off against her will?

ACHILLES: Yes, by her golden hair no doubt.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What must I do, when it comes to that?

ACHILLES: Keep hold of your daughter.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Be sure that she shall not be slain, as far as that that can help her.

ACHILLES: Believe me, it will come to this.

IPHIGENIA: Mother, hear me while I speak, for I see that you are angry with your husband to no purpose; it is hard for us to persist in impossibilities. Our thanks are due to this stranger for his ready help; but you must also see to it that he is not reproached by the army, leaving us no better off and himself involved in trouble. Listen, mother; hear what thoughts have passed across my mind. I am resolved to die; and this I want to do with honor, dismissing from me what is mean. Towards this now, mother turn your thoughts, and with me weigh how well I speak; to me the whole of mighty Hellas looks; on me the passage over the sea depends; on me the sack of Troy; and in my power it lies to check henceforth barbarian raids on happy Hellas, if ever in the days to come they seek to seize her women, when once they have atoned by death for the violation of Helen’s marriage by Paris. All this deliverance will my death insure, and my fame for setting Hellas free will be a happy one. Besides, I have no right at all to cling too fondly to my life; for you did not bear me for myself alone, but as a public blessing to all Hellas. What! shall countless warriors, armed with shields, those myriads sitting at the oar, find courage to attack the foe and die for Hellas, because their fatherland is wronged, and my one life prevent all this? What kind of justice is that? could I find a word in answer? Now let us turn to that other point. It is not right that this man should enter into battle with all Argos or be slain for a woman’s sake. Better a single man should see the light than ten thousand women. If Artemis has decided to take my body, am I, a mortal, to thwart the goddess? no, that is impossible. I give my body to Hellas; sacrifice it and make an utter end of Troy. This is my enduring monument; marriage, motherhood, and fame—all these is it to me. And it is right, mother, that Hellenes should rule barbarians, but not barbarians Hellenes, those being slaves, while these are free.

CHORUS LEADER: You play a noble part, maiden; but the whims of Fate and the goddess are diseased.

ACHILLES: Daughter of Agamemnon! some god was bent on blessing me, if I could have won you for my wife. In you I consider Hellas happy, and you in Hellas; for this that you have said is good and worthy of your fatherland; since you, abandonIng a strife with heavenly powers, which are too strong for you, have fairly weighed advantages and needs. But now that I have looked into your noble nature, I feel still more a fond desire to win you for my bride. Look to it; for I want to serve you and receive you in my halls; and, Thetis be my witness, how I grieve to think I shall not save your life by doing battle with the Danaids. Reflect, I say; a dreadful ill is death.

IPHIGENIA: This I say, without regard to anyone. Enough that the daughter of Tyndareus is causing wars and bloodshed by her beauty; then be not slain yourself, stranger, nor seek to slay another on my account; but let me, if I can, save Hellas.

ACHILLES: Heroic spirit! I can say no more to this, since you are so minded; for yours is a noble resolve; why should not one speak the truth? Yet I will speak, for you will perhaps change your mind; I will go and place these arms of mine near the altar, resolved not to permit your death but to prevent; for brave as you are at sight of the knife held at your throat, you will soon avail yourself of what I said. So I will not let you perish through any thoughtlessness of yours, but will go to the goddess with these arms and await your arrival there. Exit Achilles.

IPHIGENIA: Mother, why so silent, your eyes wet with tears?

CLYTEMNESTRA: I have reason, woe is me! to be sad at heart.

IPHIGENIA: Stop; do not make me a coward; here in one thing obey me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Tell me, my child, for at my hands you shall never suffer injury.

IPHIGENIA: Cut not off the tresses of your hair for me, nor clothe yourself in sable garb.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Why, my child, what is it you have said? When I have lost you?

IPHIGENIA: You wll not lose me; I am saved and you renowned, as far as I can make you.

Part 20

CLYTEMNESTRA: How so? Must I not mourn your death?

IPHIGENIA: By no means, for I shall have no tomb heaped over me.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What then? It is death, not the tomb, that is rightly mourned.

IPHIGENIA: The altar of the goddess, Zeus’s daughter, will be my tomb.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Well, my child, I will let you persuade me, for you speak well.

IPHIGENIA: Yes, as one who prospers and does Hellas service.

CLYTEMNESTRA: What message shall I carry to your sisters?

IPHIGENIA: Do not put mourning raiment on them either.

CLYTEMNESTRA: But is there no fond message I can give the maidens from you?

IPHIGENIA: Yes, my farewell words; and promise me to rear Orestes to manhood.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Press him to your bosom; it is your last look.

IPHIGENIA: O you that are most dear to me! you have helped your friends as you had means.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Is there anything I can do in Argos to please you?

IPHIGENIA: Yes, do not hate my father, your own husband.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Fearful are the trials through which he has to go because of you.

IPHIGENIA: It was against his will he ruined me for the sake of Hellas.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Ah! but he employed base treachery, unworthy of Atreus.

IPHIGENIA: Who will escort me from here, before my hair is torn?

CLYTEMNESTRA: I will go with you—

IPHIGENIA: No, not you; that is not well saidl.

Part 21

CLYTEMNESTRA: Clinging to your robes.

IPHIGENIA: Be persuaded by me, mother, stay here; for this is the better way both for me and you; but let one of these attendants of my father conduct me to the meadow of Artemis, where I shall be sacrificed.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Are you gone from me, my child?

IPHIGENIA: Yes, and with no chance of ever returning.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Leaving your mother?

IPHIGENIA: Yes, as you see, undeservedly.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Hold! do not leave me!

IPHIGENIA: I cannot let you shed a tear. To the Chorus. May it be yours, maidens, to hymn in joyous strains Artemis, the child of Zeus, for my hard lot; and let the order for a solemn hush go forth to the Danaids. Begin the sacrifice with the baskets, let the fire blaze for the purifying meal of sprinkling, and my father pace from left to right about the altar; for I come to bestow on Hellas safety crowned with victory.

IPHIGENIA: Lead me away, the destroyer of Ilium’s town and the Phrygians; give me wreaths to cast about me; bring them here; here are my tresses to crown; bring lustral water too. Dance to Artemis, queen Artemis the blest, around her shrine and altar; for by the blood of my sacrifice I will blot out the oracle, if it must be. O mother, lady revered! I will, not give you my tears; for at the holy rites it is not fitting. Sing with me, maidens, sing the praises of Artemis, whose temple faces Chalcis, where angry spearmen madly chafe, here in the narrow havens of Aulis, because of me. O Pelasgia, land of my birth, and Mycenae, my home!

CHORUS: Is it on Perseus’ citadel you call, that town Cyclopean workmen built?

IPHIGENIA: To be a light to Hellas did you rear me, and so I do not say No to death.

CHORUS: You are right; no fear that fame will ever desert you!

IPHIGENIA: Hail to you, bright lamp of day and light of Zeus! A different life, a different lot is henceforth mine. Farewell I bid you, light beloved! Exit Iphigenia. .

CHORUS: Behold the maiden on her way, the destroyer of Ilium’s town and the Phrygians, with garlands twined about her head, and drops of lustral water on her, soon to be sprinkled with her gushing blood the altar of a murderous goddess, when her shapely neck is severed. For you fair streams of a father’s pouring and lustral waters are in store, for you Achaea’s army is waiting, eager to reach the citadel of Ilium. But let us celebrate Artemis, the daughter of Zeus, queen among the gods, as if upon some happy chance. O lady revered, delighting in human sacrifice, send on its way to Phrygia’s land the army of the Hellenes, to Troy’s abodes of guile, and grant that Agamemnon may wreathe his head with deathless fame, a crown of fairest glory for the spearmen of Hellas.

MESSENGER: Come forth, O Clytemnestra, daughter of Tyndareus, from the tent, to hear my news.

CLYTEMNESTRA: I heard your voice and have come in sad dismay and fearful dread, not sure but what you have arrived with tidings of some fresh trouble for me besides the present woe.

MESSENGER: No, rather I want to unfold to you a strange and marvellous story about your child.

CLYTEMNESTRA: Do not delay, then, but speak at once.

MESSENGER: Dear mistress, you shall learn all clearly; from the outset will I tell it, unless my memory fails me somewhat and confuses my tongue in its account. As soon as we reached the grove of Artemis, the child of Zeus, and the flowery meadows, where the Achaean troops were gathered, bringing your daughter with us, at once the Argive army began assembling; but when king Agamemnon saw the maiden on her way to the grove to be sacrificed, he gave one groan, and, turning away his face, let the tears burst from his eyes, as he held his robe before them. But the maid, standing close by her father, spoke thus: O my father, here I am; willingly I offer my body for my country and all Hellas, that you may lead me to the altar of the goddess and sacrifice me, since this is Heaven’s ordinance. May good luck be yours for any help that I afford! and may you obtain the victor’s gift and come again to the land of your fathers. So then let none of the Argives lay hands on me, for I will bravely yield my neck without a word. She spoke; and each man marvelled, as he heard the maiden’s brave speech. But in the midst Talthybius stood up, for this was his duty, and bade the army refrain from word or deed; and Calchas, the seer, drawing a sharp sword from its scabbard laid it in a basket of beaten gold, and crowned the maiden’s head. Then the son of Peleus, taking the basket and with it lustral water in his hand, ran round the altar of the goddess uttering these words: O Artemis, you child of Zeus, slayer of wild beasts, that wheel your dazzling light amid the gloom, accept this sacrifice which we, the army of the Achaeans and Agamemnon with us, offer to you, pure blood from a beautiful maiden’s neck; and grant us safe sailing for our ships and the sack of Troy’s towers by our spears. Meanwhile the sons of Atreus and all the army stood looking on the ground. [But the priest, seizing his knife, offered up a prayer and was closely scanning the maiden’s throat to see where he should strike. It was no slight sorrow filled my heart, as I stood by with bowed head; when there was a sudden miracle! Each one of us distinctly heard the sound of a blow, but none saw the spot where the maiden vanished. The priest cried out, and all the army took up the cry at the sight of a marvel all unlooked for, due to some god’s agency, and passing all belief, although it was seen; for there upon the ground lay a deer of immense size, magnificent to see, gasping out her life, with whose blood the altar of the goddess was thoroughly bedewed. Then spoke Calchas thus—his joy you can imagine—You captains of this leagued Achaean army, do you see this victim, which the goddess has set before her altar, a mountain-roaming deer? This is more welcome to her by far than the maid, that she may not defile her altar by shedding noble blood. Gladly she has accepted it, and is granting us a prosperous voyage for our attack on Ilium. Therefore take heart, sailors, each man of you, and away to your ships, for today we must leave the hollow bays of Aulis and cross the Aegean main. Then, when the sacrifice was wholly burnt to ashes in the blazing flame, he offered such prayers as were fitting, that the army might win return; but Agamemnon sends me to tell you this, and say what heaven-sent luck is his, and how he has secured undying fame throughout the length of Hellas. Now I was there myself and speak as an eyewitness; without a doubt your child flew away to the gods. A truce then to your sorrowing, and cease to be angry with your husband; for the gods’ ways with man are not what we expect, and those whom they love, they keep safe; yes, for this day has seen your daughter dead and living.

CHORUS LEADER: What joy to hear these tidings from the messenger! He tells you your child is living still, among the gods.

Part 22

CLYTEMNESTRA: Which of the gods, my child, has stolen you? How am I to address you? How can I be sure that this is not an idle tale told to cheer me, to make me cease my piteous lamentation for you?

CHORUS: See! king Agamemnon approaches, to confirm this story for you.

AGAMEMNON: Lady, we may be counted happy, as far as concerns our daughter; for in truth she has fellowship with gods. But you must take this tender child and start for home, for the army is looking now to sail. Fare you well! it is long before I shall greet you on my return from Troy; may it be well with you!

CHORUS: Son of Atreus, start for Phrygia’s land with joy and so return, I pray, after taking from Troy her fairest spoils.

Contents — 21 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
13. Part 13
14. Part 14
15. Part 15
16. Part 16
17. Part 17
18. Part 18
19. Part 19
20. Part 20
21. Part 21

Part 1

JOCASTA: O Sun-god, you who cut your path in heaven’s stars, mounted on a chariot inlaid with gold and whirling out your flame with swift horses, what an unfortunate beam you shed on Thebes, the day that Cadmus left Phoenicia’s realm beside the sea and reached this land! He married at that time Harmonia, the daughter of Cypris, and begot Polydorus from whom they say Labdacus was born, and Laius from him. I am known as the daughter of Menoeceus, and Creon is my brother by the same mother. They call me Jocasta, for so my father named me, and I am married to Laius. Now when he was still childless after being married to me a long time in the palace, he went and questioned Phoebus, and asked for us both to have sons for the house. But the god said: Lord of Thebes famous for horses, do not sow a furrow of children against the will of the gods; for if you beget a son, that child will kill you, and all your house shall wade through blood. But he, yielding to pleasure in a drunken fit, begot a child on me; and afterwards, conscious of his sin and of the god’s warning, he gave the child to shepherds to expose in Hera’s meadow and the crag of Cithaeron, after piercing his ankles with iron spikes; from which Hellas named him Oedipus. But Polybus’ horsemen found him and took him home and laid him in the arms of their mistress. So she suckled the child that I had borne and persuaded her husband she was its mother. When my son had become a man, with tawny beard, either because he had guessed or learned it from another, he set out for the shrine of Phoebus, wanting to know for certain who his parents were; and so did Laius, my husband, seeking to learn if the child he had exposed was dead. And the two of them met at the branching road of Phocis. And Laius’ charioteer ordered him: Stranger, make way for the king! But he walked on without a word, in his pride. The horses with their hoofs drew blood from the tendons of his feet. Then—why need I speak of matters outside these evils?—son slew father, and taking his chariot gave it to Polybus, his foster-father. Now when the Sphinx was oppressing and ravaging our city, after my husband’s death, my brother Creon proclaimed my marriage: that he would marry me to anyone who should guess the riddle of the crafty maiden. It happened somehow that my son, Oedipus, guessed the Sphinx’s song; and received the scepter of this land as his prize. He married his mother in ignorance, luckless wretch! nor did his mother know that she was sleeping with her son. I bore my son two sons, Eteocles and the hero Polyneices, and two daughters; the one her father called Ismene; the other, which was the elder, I named Antigone. Now when Oedipus, who endured so much, learned that he was married to his mother, he inflicted a dreadful slaughter upon his eyes, making the pupils bloody with a golden brooch. But when my sons grew to bearded men, they hid their father behind bars, so that his misfortune, needing as it did much skill to hide it, might be forgotten. He is still living in the house. Afflicted by his fate, he makes the most unholy curses against his sons, praying that they may divide this house with a sharp sword. So they were afraid that the gods might fulfil his prayers if they dwell together; and they made an agreement, that Polyneices, the younger, should first leave the land in voluntary exile, while Eteocles should stay and hold the scepter, and then change places yearly. But as soon as Eteocles was seated on the bench of power, he did not leave the throne, but drove Polyneices into exile from this land. So Polyneices went to Argos and married into the family of Adrastus, and having collected a numerous force of Argives is leading them here; and he has come against these very walls of seven gates, demanding the scepter of his father and his share of the land. Now I, to end their strife, have persuaded one son to meet the other under truce, before seizing arms; and the messenger I sent tells me that he will come. O Zeus, dwelling in the bright folds of heaven, save us, and reconcile my sons! For you, if you are really wise, must not allow the same mortal to be forever wretched. Exit Jocasta.

OLD SERVANT: From the roof. Antigone, famous child in your father’s house, although your mother allowed you at your entreaty to leave your maiden chamber for the topmost story of the house, to see the Argive army, wait, so that I may first investigate the path, whether there be any of the citizens visible on the road, and reproach, a slight matter to a slave like me, should come to you, my royal mistress; and when I have examined everything, I will tell you what I saw and heard from the Argives, when I carried the terms of the truce from here to Polyneices and back from him again. No, there is no citizen near the house, so mount the ancient cedar steps, and view the plains; beside Ismenus’ streams and the fountain of Dirce see the great army of the enemy.

ANTIGONE: Stretch out your hand to me from the stairs now, stretch it out, the hand of age to youth, helping me to rise.

OLD SERVANT: There! clasp it, maiden; you have come at the right time; for Pelasgia’s army is just upon the move, and they are separating the companies.

ANTIGONE: O Lady Hecate, child of Leto! The plain is one lightning-flash of bronze.

OLD SERVANT: Ah! this is no ordinary home-coming of Polyneices, with the clash of many horses, many arms.

ANTIGONE: Are the gates barred, and the brazen bolts fitted into Amphion’s walls of stone?

OLD SERVANT: Never fear! All is safe within the town. But see the first one, if you want to know him.

ANTIGONE: Who is that one with the white crest, who marches before the army, lightly bearing on his arm a shield all of bronze?

OLD SERVANT: A captain, mistress.

ANTIGONE: Who is he? Who is his family? Tell me his name, old man.

OLD SERVANT: He claims to be Mycenaean; by Lerna’s streams he dwells, the lord Hippomedon.

ANTIGONE: Ah, ah! How proud, how fearful to see, like an earth-born giant, with stars engraved on his shield, not resembling mortal race.

OLD SERVANT: Do you see the one crossing Dirce’s stream?

ANTIGONE: His armor is quite different. Who is that?

OLD SERVANT: Tydeus, the son of Oeneus, Aetolian battle-spirit in his breast.

ANTIGONE: Is this the one, old man, who married a sister of Polyneices’ wife? What a foreign look his armor has, half-barbarian!

OLD SERVANT: Yes, my child; all Aetolians carry shields, and are most unerring marksmen with their darts.

ANTIGONE: Who is that youth passing by the tomb of Zethus, with long flowing hair, fierce to see? Is he a captain? For an armed crowd follows at his heels.

OLD SERVANT: That is Parthenopaeus, Atalanta’s son.

Part 2

ANTIGONE: May Artemis, who rushes over the hills with his mother, lay him low with an arrow, for coming against my city to sack it!

OLD SERVANT: May it be so, my child; but they have come here with justice, and my fear is that the gods will take the rightful view.

ANTIGONE: Where is the one who was born of the same mother as I was, by a painful destiny? Oh! tell me, old friend, where Polyneices is.

OLD SERVANT: He is standing by Adrastus, near the tomb of Niobe’s seven unwed daughters. Do you see him?

ANTIGONE: I see him, yes! but not clearly; I see the outline of his form, the likeness of his breast. Would I could speed through the sky, swift as a cloud before the wind, towards my own dear brother, and throw my arms about my darling’s neck, so long, poor boy! an exile. How distinguished he is with his golden weapons, old man, flashing like the morning rays!

OLD SERVANT: He will come to this house, under truce, to fill your heart with joy.

ANTIGONE: Who is that, old man, on his chariot, driving white horses?

OLD SERVANT: That, lady, is the prophet Amphiaraus; with him are the victims, earth’s bloodthirsty streams.

ANTIGONE: Daughter of the sun with dazzling zone, O moon, you circle of golden light, how quietly, with what restraint he drives, goading first one horse, then the other! But where is the one who utters those dreadful insults against this city?

OLD SERVANT: Capaneus? There he is, calculating how he may scale the towers, taking the measure of our walls up and down.

ANTIGONE: O Nemesis, and roaring thunder-peals of Zeus and blazing lightning-bolts, oh! put to sleep his presumptuous boasting! This is the man who says he will give the Theban girls as captives of his spear to the women of Mycenae, to Lerna’s trident, and the waters of Amymone, dear to Poseidon, when he has them enslaved. Never, never, Lady Artemis, golden-haired child of Zeus, may I endure that slavery.

OLD SERVANT: My child, go inside, and stay beneath the shelter of your maiden chamber, now that you have had your wish and seen all that you wanted; for a crowd of women is coming toward the royal palace, as confusion enters the city. Now women by nature love scandal; and if they get some slight handle for their gossip they exaggerate it, for women seem to have pleasure in saying nothing wholesome about each other. Exeunt Antigone and the old servant.

CHORUS: From the Tyrian swell of the sea I came, a choice offering for Loxias from the island of Phoenicia, to be a slave to Phoebus in his halls, where he dwells under the snow-swept peaks of Parnassus; through the Ionian sea I sailed in the waves, over the unharvested plains, in the gusts of Zephyrus that ride from Sicily, sweetest music in the sky.

CHORUS: Chosen from my city as beauty’s gift for Loxias, to the land of Cadmus I came, sent here to the towers of Laius, the home of my kin, the famous sons of Agenor. And I became the handmaid of Phoebus, dedicated like his statues of wrought gold. But the water of Castalia is still waiting for me to drench the maiden glory of my hair for the service of Phoebus.

CHORUS: Hail, rock that lights up a double-crested flash of fire above the frenzied heights of Dionysus; and the vine, that every day lets fall the lush cluster of grapes; and the holy cavern of the serpent and the gods’ watchtower on the hills, and the sacred snow-swept mountain! Would I were free of fear and circling in the dance of the deathless god, having left Dirce for the valleys of Phoebus at the center of the world.

CHORUS: But now I find the impetuous god of war has come to battle before the walls, and is kindling a murderous blaze—may he not succeed!—for this city. For a friend’s pain is shared, and if this land with its seven towers suffers any mischance, Phoenicia’s realm will share it. Ah me! our blood is one; we are all children of Io, the horned maid; these sorrows I claim as mine.

CHORUS: Around the city a thick cloud of shields is kindling a shape of bloody battle, which Ares will soon learn, if he brings upon the sons of Oedipus the curse of the Furies. O Argos, city of Pelasgia! I dread your might, and also what comes from the gods; for the one who approaches his home in armor is setting out to a contest that is not without justice.

POLYNEICES: The doorkeeper’s bolts admitted me readily within the walls, and so I fear that now they have caught me in their nets, they will not let me out unscathed; so I must turn my eye in every direction, here and there, to guard against treachery. Armed with this sword, I shall inspire myself with the confidence that is born of boldness. Starting. Oh! Who is that? Or is it a sound I fear? Everything seems a danger to the daring, when their feet begin to tread an enemy’s country. Still I trust my mother, and at the same time mistrust her, the one who persuaded me to come here under truce. Well, there is help at hand, for the altar’s hearth is close and the house is not deserted. Come, let me sheath my sword in its dark scabbard and ask these women standing near the house, who they are. Ladies of another land, tell me from what country do you come to the halls of Hellas?

CHORUS LEADER: Phoenicia is my native land where I was born and bred; and the grandsons of Agenor sent me here as first-fruits of the spoil of war for Phoebus. But when the noble son of Oedipus was about to send me to the hallowed oracle and the altars of Loxias, the Argive army came against his city. Now tell me in return who you are, who have come to this fortress of the Theban land with its seven gates.

POLYNEICES: My father was Oedipus, the son of Laius; my mother Jocasta, daughter of Menoeceus; and I am called Polyneices by the people of Thebes.

Part 3

CHORUS: O kinsman of Agenor’s race, my royal masters who sent me here! I fall to my knees before you, lord, honoring the custom of my home. At last you have come to your native land. Hail to you! all hail! Lady, come from the house, open wide the gates! Do you hear, you who gave birth to this man? Why do you delay to leave the sheltered hall and hold your son in your embrace?

JOCASTA: Maidens, I hear your Phoenician voice, and my old feet drag their tottering steps. O my son, at last after countless days I see your face; throw your arms about your mother’s breast, stretch out to me your cheeks and the dark, curly locks of your hair, overshadowing my neck. Hail to you! all hail! scarcely here in your mother’s arms, beyond hope and expectation. What can I say to you? How in every way, by hands, by words, in the mazy delight of the dance, shall I find the pleasure of my former joy? Ah! my son, you left your father’s house desolate, when your brother’s outrage drove you away in exile. Truly you were missed alike by your friends and Thebes. And so I cut my white hair and let it fall for grief, in tears, not clad in robes of white, my son, but taking instead these dark rags. While in the house the old blind man, always possessed by his tearful longing for the pair of brothers estranged from the home, rushed to kill himself with the sword or by the noose suspended over his chamber-roof, moaning his curses on his sons; and now he hides himself in darkness, always weeping and lamenting. And you, my child, I hear you have married and are begetting children to your joy in a foreign home, and are courting a foreign alliance, a ceaseless regret to me your mother and to Laius your ancestor, ruin brought by your marriage. I was not the one who lit for you the marriage-torch, the custom in marriage for a happy mother; Ismenus had no part at your wedding in supplying the luxurious bath, and there was silence through the streets of Thebes, at the entrance of your bride. Curses on them! whether the sword or strife or your father that is to blame, or heaven’s visitation that has burst riotously upon the house of Oedipus; for on me has come all the anguish of these evils.

CHORUS LEADER: Their offspring are a wonderful thing to women; all of them have some love for their children.

POLYNEICES: Mother, I have come among enemies wisely or foolishly; but all men must love their native land; whoever says otherwise is pleased to say so, but his thoughts are turned elsewhere. I was so fearful and in such terror, lest my brother should kill me by treachery, that I came through the city sword in hand, looking all round. I had one advantage, the truce and your word, which brought me to to the paternal walls; and I arrived here weeping, to see after a long time my home and the altars of the gods, the training ground, scene of my childhood, and the water of Dirce, from which I was unjustly driven to live in a foreign city, a stream of tears flowing from my eyes. Now, grief upon grief, I see you , alas for my sorrows! What a terrible thing, mother, is hatred between dear friends. What is my old father doing within the house, looking on darkness? What of my two sisters? Surely the unhappy ones lament my exile?

JOCASTA: Some god with evil intent is destroying the race of Oedipus. So it began, my childbearing was unholy, and in an evil hour I married your father and you were born. But why repeat these horrors? What the gods send we have to bear. I am afraid to ask you what I would, for fear of stinging your heart; yet I long to.

POLYNEICES: No, question me, leave out nothing; for your will, mother, is my pleasure too.

JOCASTA: Well then, first I ask you what I long to have answered. What is it, to be deprived of one’s country? Is it a great evil?

POLYNEICES: The greatest; harder to bear than tell.

JOCASTA: What is it like? What annoys the exile?

POLYNEICES: One thing most of all; he cannot speak his mind.

JOCASTA: This is a slave’s lot you speak of, not to say what one thinks.

POLYNEICES: The follies of the rulers must be borne.

JOCASTA: That too is painful, to join in the folly of fools.

POLYNEICES: Yet to gain our ends we must serve against our nature.

JOCASTA: Hope, they say, is the exile’s food.

POLYNEICES: Yes, hope that looks so fair; but always in the future.

JOCASTA: But doesn’t time expose its emptiness?

POLYNEICES: It has a certain winsome charm in misfortune.

JOCASTA: Where did you get your living, before your marriage found it for you?

POLYNEICES: Sometimes I would have enough for the day, and sometimes not.

Part 4

JOCASTA: Didn’t your father’s friends and guests assist you?

POLYNEICES: Seek to be prosperous; friends are nothing in misfortune.

JOCASTA: Didn’t your noble breeding lead you to the heights?

POLYNEICES: Poverty is a curse; breeding did not find me food.

JOCASTA: Man’s dearest treasure, it seems, is his country.

POLYNEICES: You could not name how dear it is!

JOCASTA: How did you come to Argos? What was your scheme?

POLYNEICES: Loxias gave Adrastus an oracle.

JOCASTA: What was it? What are you saying? I cannot guess.

POLYNEICES: That he should marry his daughters to a boar and a lion.

JOCASTA: What did you, my son, have to do with the name of beasts?

POLYNEICES: I don’t know; the deity summoned me there to my destiny.

JOCASTA: Yes, for the god is wise; but how did you win your wife?

POLYNEICES: It was night when I reached the porch of Adrastus.

JOCASTA: In search of a resting-place, because you were in exile?

POLYNEICES: Yes; and then another exile came there.

JOCASTA: Who was he? He too was in trouble, surely.

POLYNEICES: Tydeus; they say that Oineus is his father.

JOCASTA: But why did Adrastus compare you to wild beasts?

POLYNEICES: Because we came to blows about our bed.

Part 5

JOCASTA: Was it then that the son of Talaus understood the oracle?

POLYNEICES: Yes, and he gave the two of us his two daughters.

JOCASTA: Are you blessed or cursed in your marriage?

POLYNEICES: As yet I have no fault to find with it.

JOCASTA: How did you persuade an army to follow you here?

POLYNEICES: Adrastus swore an oath to his two sons-in-law, that he would restore us both to our country, me first. So many Danaan and Mycenaean chiefs have joined me, doing me a bitter though needful service, for it is against my own city I am marching. Now I call the gods to witness, that it is not willingly I have raised the spear against my willing friends. But it belongs to you, mother, to dissolve this unhappy feud, and, by reconciling loving brothers, to end the trouble for me and you and the whole city. It has been said for a long time, but I will say it anyway: wealth is most valued by men, and of all things in the world it has the greatest power. This I have come to secure at the head of my great army; for a man well-born but poor is worth nothing.

CHORUS LEADER: And see, Eteocles comes here to discuss the truce. It is your task, mother Jocasta, to speak such words as may reconcile your sons.

ETEOCLES: Mother, I am here; I have come to do you a favor. What am I to do? Let some one begin the conference; for I stopped marshalling the citizens in pairs of companies around the walls, so that I might hear your arbitration between us, by which you persuaded me to admit this man under truce within the walls.

JOCASTA: Wait; haste does not carry justice with it; but slow deliberation often attains a wise result. Restrain the fierceness of your look and panting rage; for this is not the Gorgon’s severed head but your own brother whom you see has come. You too, Polyneices, turn and face your brother; for if you look at him, you will speak and listen to him the better. I want to give you both one piece of good counsel; when a man that is angry with his friend confronts him face to face, he ought only to keep in view the object of his coming, forgetting all previous quarrels. My son Polyneices, speak first, for you have come at the head of a Danaid army, alleging wrongful treatment; may some god be the judge and reconciler of the troubles.

POLYNEICES: The words of truth are naturally simple, and justice needs no subtle interpretations, for it has a fitness in itself; but the words of injustice, being sick in themselves, require clever treatment. I provided for his interests and mine in our father’s house, being anxious to escape the curse which Oedipus once uttered against us; of my own free-will I left this land, allowing him to rule the country for one full year, on condition that I should then take up the rule in turn, instead of plunging into deadly enmity with this man, doing others harm and suffering it myself, as is now the case. But he, after consenting to this and calling the gods to witness his oath, has performed none of his promises, but is still keeping the sovereignty in his own hands together with my share of our heritage. And now I am ready to take my own and dismiss the army from this land, receiving my house in turn to dwell in, and once more restore it to him for an equal period, instead of ravaging our country and bringing scaling-ladders against the towers, as I shall attempt to do if I do not get my rights. I call the gods to witness that spite of my just dealing in everything I am being unjustly robbed of my country, a most unholy act. I have made my points, mother, without stringing together words to entangle you, but urging a fair case, I think, in the judgment of the wise and the simple.

CHORUS LEADER: To me, although I was not born and bred in Hellas, your words seem full of sense.

ETEOCLES: If all were unanimous in their ideas of honor and wisdom, there would be no strife to make men disagree; but, as it is, fairness and equality have no existence in this world beyond the name; there is really no such thing. I will tell you this, mother, without any concealment: I would go to the rising of the stars and the sun, or beneath the earth, if I were able so to do, to win Tyranny, the greatest of the gods. Therefore, mother, I will not yield this blessing to another rather than keep it for myself; for it is cowardly to lose the greater and to win the less. Besides, I am ashamed to think that he should gain his object by coming with arms and ravaging the land; for this would be a disgrace to Thebes, if I should yield my scepter up to him for fear of Mycenaean might. He ought not to have attempted reconcilement by armed force, mother, for words accomplish everything that even the sword of an enemy might effect. Still, if on any other terms he cares to dwell here, he may; but that I shall never willingly let go. Shall I become his slave, when I can rule? Therefore come fire, come sword! Harness your horses, fill the plains with chariots, for I will not give up my tyranny to him. For if we must do wrong, to do so for tyranny is the fairest cause, but in all else piety should be our aim.

CHORUS LEADER: One should not speak well on deeds that are not good; for that is not good, but bitter to justice.

JOCASTA: Eteocles, my child, it is not all evil that attends old age; but experience has something to say wiser than youth. Why, my son, do you so long for Ambition, that worst of deities? Oh, do not; the goddess is unjust; many are the homes and cities once prosperous that she has entered and left, to the ruin of her worshippers; and she is the one you are mad for. It is better, my son, to honor Equality, who always joins friend to friend, city to city, allies to allies; for Equality is naturally lasting among men; but the less is always in opposition to the greater, and begins the dawn of hatred. For it is Equality that has set up for man measures and divisions of weights, and has determined numbers; night’s sightless eye, and radiant sun proceed upon their yearly course on equal terms, and neither of them is envious when it has to yield. Though both sun and night are servants for mortals, you will not be content with your fair share of your heritage and give the same to him? Then where is justice? Why do you honor to excess tyranny, a prosperous injustice, why do you think so much of it? Admiring glances are to be prized? No, that is an empty pleasure. Or do you want to have many troubles from the many riches in your house? What advantage is it? The name only; for the wise find what suffices to be enough. Mortals indeed have no possessions of their own; we hold the management of the gods’ property; and when they will, they take it back again. Come, suppose I put before you two alternatives, and ask you whether you wish to rule or save your city? Will you say you wish to rule? Again, if this man conquers you you will see this city of Thebes conquered, and you will see many captured maidens brutally dishonored by men of the enemy. Then that wealth you seek to have will become grievous to Thebes; but still ambition fills you. That I say to you; and this to you, Polyneices; Adrastus has conferred a foolish favor on you; and you too have shown little sense in coming to lay your city waste. Suppose you conquer this land—may it not happen!—tell me, by the gods, how will you set up a trophy to Zeus? How will you begin the sacrifice after your country’s conquest or inscribe the spoils at the streams of Inachus: Polyneices after giving Thebes to the flames dedicated these shields to the gods? O my son, may you never win such fame from Hellas! If, on the other hand, you are beaten and your brother’s cause prevails, how will you return to Argos, leaving countless dead behind? Some one will be sure to say: Adrastus, you made an evil betrothal; we are ruined by the marriage of one bride. You are eager for two evils, my son, the loss of those there and ruin in the midst of your efforts here. Lay aside your violence, my sons, lay it aside; two men’s follies, once they meet, result in very deadly mischief.

CHORUS LEADER: O gods, avert these troubles and reconcile the sons of Oedipus!

ETEOCLES: Mother, it is no longer a contest of words; the time we still delay is idle waste; your good wishes accomplish nothing; for we can never be reconciled except upon the terms already named, that I should keep the scepter and be king of this land. Cease these tedious warnings and let me be. Turning to Polyneices And as for you, get outside the walls, or die!

POLYNEICES: Who will kill me? Who is so invulnerable as to plunge a murderous sword in my body without getting for himself the same fate?

ETEOCLES: He is near, not far away. Do you see my hands?

POLYNEICES: I see them; but wealth is cowardly, a craven too fond of life.

ETEOCLES: Then did you come to battle with so many against a man worth nothing?

Part 6

POLYNEICES: Yes, for a steadfast general is better than a bold one.

ETEOCLES: Relying on the truce, which saves your life, you turn boaster.

POLYNEICES: And so do you; once more I demand back my scepter and share of the land.

ETEOCLES: I admit no demand; I will live in my own house.

POLYNEICES: And keep more than your share?

ETEOCLES: Yes. Leave the country!

POLYNEICES: O altars of my fathers’ gods—

ETEOCLES: Which you are here to destroy.

POLYNEICES: Hear me—

ETEOCLES: Who would hear you after you have marched against your fatherland?

POLYNEICES: And temples of the gods who ride on white horses—

ETEOCLES: And who hate you.

POLYNEICES: I am being driven from my country—

ETEOCLES: Yes, for you came to destroy it.

POLYNEICES: Unjustly, O gods!

ETEOCLES: Call on the gods at Mycenae, not here.

POLYNEICES: You have become unholy—

ETEOCLES: But I have not, like you, become my country’s enemy.

POLYNEICES: By driving me out without my portion.

ETEOCLES: I will kill you in addition.

Part 7

POLYNEICES: O father, do you you hear what I am suffering?

ETEOCLES: Yes, and he hears what you are doing.

POLYNEICES: And you, mother?

ETEOCLES: It is not lawful for you to mention your mother.

POLYNEICES: O my city!

ETEOCLES: Go to Argos, and invoke the waters of Lerna.

POLYNEICES: I will; do not be troubled; but I thank you, mother.

ETEOCLES: Go forth from the land!

POLYNEICES: I will go; but let me see my father.

ETEOCLES: You will not have your wish.

POLYNEICES: At least then my maiden sisters.

ETEOCLES: You will not ever see them either.

POLYNEICES: Ah, my sisters!

ETEOCLES: Why do you, their bitterest enemy, call on them?

POLYNEICES: To you at least farewell, mother!

JOCASTA: Indeed I am faring well, my son!

POLYNEICES: I am no longer your son.

JOCASTA: I was born to great sorrow.

POLYNEICES: Because my brother treats me outrageously.

ETEOCLES: I am treated just the same.

Part 8

POLYNEICES: Where will you be stationed before the towers?

ETEOCLES: Why do you ask me this?

POLYNEICES: I will set myself against you for your death.

ETEOCLES: I too have the same desire.

JOCASTA: Woe is me! what will you do, my sons?

POLYNEICES: The event will show.

JOCASTA: Oh, try to escape your father’s curse! Exit Jocasta.

ETEOCLES: May destruction seize our whole house!

POLYNEICES: Soon my sword will be busy, plunged in gore. But I call my native land and the gods to witness, with what dishonor and bitter treatment I am being driven forth, as though I were a slave, not a son of Oedipus as much as he. If anything happens to you, my city, blame him, not me; for I did not come willingly, and unwillingly I am driven from the land. And you, Phoebus, lord of highways, and my home, farewell, and my comrades, and statues of the gods, where sheep are sacrificed. For I do not know if I can ever again address you; though hope is not yet asleep, which makes me confident that with the gods’ help I shall slay him and rule this land of Thebes. Exit Polyneices.

ETEOCLES: Get out of the country! It was a true name our father gave you, when, prompted by some god, he called you Polyneices, man of many quarrels. Exit Eteocles.

CHORUS: Cadmus of Tyre came to this land, and at his feet a four-footed, untamed heifer threw itself down, fulfilling an oracle, where the god’s prophecy told him to make his home in the plains rich with wheat, and where the lovely waters of Dirce pour over the fields, the green and deep-seeded fields; here Bromius’ mother gave birth from her union with Zeus; Bromius, round whom the ivy twined its wreaths while he was still a baby, covering him and blessing him in the shades of its green foliage, a Bacchic dance for the maids and wives inspired in Thebes.

CHORUS: There was Ares’ murderous dragon, a savage guard, watching with wandering eye the watery rivers and fresh streams. Cadmus destroyed it with a jagged stone, when he came there to draw lustral water; smiting the deadly head with a blow of his beast-slaying arm; and by the counsel of the motherless goddess, he cast the teeth upon the deep fields to fall to the earth, from which the earth brought forth a sight fully-armed, above the surface of the soil; but grim slaughter once again united them to the earth they loved, bedewing with blood the ground that had shown them to the sunlit breath of heaven.

CHORUS: And you, Epaphus, born from Io, our first mother, and child of Zeus: you I summon in foreign cry, oh! in foreign prayers: come, come to this land; your descendants settled here; and the goddesses of twofold name, Persephone and the kindly goddess Demeter the queen of all, Earth the nurse of all, won it for themselves; send to the help of this land those torch-bearing goddesses; for to gods all things are easy.

ETEOCLES: Go, bring Creon, son of Menoeceus, the brother of Jocasta my mother; tell him I want to consult with him on matters public and private, before we set out to battle and the arrangement of the army. But he is here, saving you the trouble; I see him on his way to my house.

CREON: I have been everywhere, lord Eteocles, in my desire to see you, and have gone all round the gates and sentinels of Thebes hunting for you.

ETEOCLES: And I wanted to see you, Creon; for I found the terms of peace far from satisfactory, when I came to confer with Polyneices.

CREON: I hear that he has wider aims than Thebes, relying on his alliance with Adrastus and his army. But we must leave this dependent on the gods; I have come to tell you our chief obstacle.

ETEOCLES: What is that? I do not understand what you say.

CREON: Someone has come who was captured from the Argives.

ETEOCLES: What news does he bring from there?

Part 9

CREON: He says the Argive army intend at once to wind about

ETEOCLES: In that case the city of Cadmus must lead out its army.

CREON: Where? Are you so young that your eyes do not see what they should?

ETEOCLES: Across those trenches, to fight at once.

CREON: Our forces are small, while theirs are plentiful.

ETEOCLES: I know well they are brave in argument.

CREON: Argos has some weight among the Hellenes.

ETEOCLES: Never fear! I will soon fill the plain with their dead.

CREON: I could wish it so; but I see great difficulties in this.

ETEOCLES: I will not keep my army within the walls.

CREON: And yet victory is entirely a matter of good counsel.

ETEOCLES: Do you then want me to turn to some other way?

CREON: Yes, to every one, before running the risk once for all.

ETEOCLES: Suppose we fall on them by night from ambush?

CREON: Yes, if in the event of defeat you can return safely here.

ETEOCLES: Night equalizes risks, though it rather favors daring.

CREON: The darkness of night is a terrible time to suffer disaster.

ETEOCLES: Well, shall I attack them as they sit at dinner?

CREON: That might cause them fright, but victory is what we need.

ETEOCLES: Dirce’s ford is certainly deep enough to prevent their retreat.

Part 10

CREON: No plan so good as to keep well guarded.

ETEOCLES: What if we ride out against the army of Argos?

CREON: Their troops too are fenced all round with chariots.

ETEOCLES: What shall I do, then? Am I to surrender the city to the enemy?

CREON: No indeed! But out of your wisdom form some plan.

ETEOCLES: What forethought is wiser than mine?

CREON: They have seven men, I hear—

ETEOCLES: What is their appointed task? their might is small.

CREON: . . . To attack the seven gates.

ETEOCLES: What are we to do then? I will not wait till every chance is gone.

CREON: You also choose seven men to set against them at the gates.

ETEOCLES: To lead our companies, or to fight single-handed?

CREON: To lead; choose the very bravest ones.

ETEOCLES: I understand; to repel attempts at scaling our walls.

CREON: With others to share the command, for one man doesn’t see everything.

ETEOCLES: Selecting them for courage or thoughtful prudence?

CREON: Both; for one is nothing without the other.

ETEOCLES: It shall be done; I will go to our seven towers and post captains at the gates, as you say, pitting them man for man against the enemy. To tell each one’s name is a great waste of time, when the enemy are camped beneath our very walls. But I will go, that my hands may no longer hang idle. And may I find my brother face to face, meet him in battle and kill him with my spear But if I suffer any misfortune, you must see to the marriage between Antigone, my sister and Haemon, your son; and now, as I take my leave, I ratify their previous betrothal. You are my mother’s brother, no need to speak at length. Take care of her as she deserves, both for your own sake and mine. As for my father, he has been guilty of folly against himself in putting out his eyes; I have small praise for him; by his curses it may be that he will slay us too. One thing we still have to do: ask Teiresias, the seer, if he has anything to say of heaven’s will. I will send your son Menoeceus, who bears your father’s name, to fetch Teiresias here, Creon; for he will readily converse with you, but I have before now so scorned his prophetic art to his face, that he has reasons to reproach me. This commandment, Creon, I lay upon the city and you: if my cause should prevail, never give Polyneices’ corpse a grave in Theban soil, and let the one who buries him die, even if it is a friend. Bring out my weapons and armor, so that I may start at once for the appointed combat, with justice to lead to victory. We will pray to Caution, the most useful goddess, to save our city. Exit Eteocles.

CHORUS: O Ares, god of much suffering! Why, why are you possessed by a love of blood and death, out of harmony with the festivals of Bromius? Not for young girls crowned in the lovely dance do you toss your curls, singing to the flute’s breath a song to charm the dancers’ feet; no, with warriors clad in armor you inspire the Argive army with a lust for Theban blood, leading your revels that are held without music. Nor do you rush with wild waving of the thyrsus, clad in fawnskin, but with chariots and horses you go to the waters of Ismenus, inspiring the Argives with hatred for the Spartans, arraying in bronze armor against these stone-built walls a band of warriors and their shields. Truly Strife is a goddess to fear, who devised these troubles for the princes of this land, for the much-suffering sons of Labdacus.

CHORUS: O snow-capped Cithaeron, dear to Artemis, holy vale of leaves, crowded with wild animals, would that you had never reared the one exposed to die, Oedipus, Jocasta’s child, when as a baby he was cast forth from his home, marked with a golden brooch; and would that the Sphinx, that winged maid, monster from the hills, had never come as a grief to our land with her inharmonious songs, she that once drew near our walls and snatched the sons of Cadmus away in her taloned feet to the untrodden light of heaven, sent by Hades from hell to plague the men of Thebes; once more unhappy strife is coming into bloom between the sons of Oedipus in home and city. For never can wrong be right, nor can there be good in unlawful children, their mother’s birth pangs, their father’s pollution; she came to the bed of her son. . . .

Part 11

CHORUS: O Earth, you once bore—as I heard, I heard the story told by foreigners once in my own home—you bore a race which sprang of the teeth of a snake with blood-red crest, that fed on beasts, to be the glory and reproach of Thebes. In days gone by the sons of heaven came to the wedding of Harmonia, and the walls and towers of Thebes rose to the sound of Amphion’s lyre, in the midst between the double streams where Dirce waters the grass-green field before Ismenus; and Io, our horned ancestress, was mother of the kings of Thebes; thus our city, through an endless succession of various blessings, has set herself upon the heights, crowned with the glory of war.

TEIRESIAS: led in by his daughter. Lead on, my daughter; for you are an eye to my blind feet, as a star is to sailors; lead my steps on to level ground; then go before, so that I do not stumble, for your father has no strength; keep safe for me in your maiden hand the auguries I took when I observed omens from birds, seated in my holy prophet’s chair. Tell me, Menoeceus, son of Creon, how much further toward the city is it, to your father? For my knees grow weary, I have come a long way and can scarcely go on.

CREON: Take heart, Teiresias, for you have reached your harbor and are near your friends; take him by the hand, my child; for just as every chariot has to wait for outside help to lighten it, so does the step of old age.

TEIRESIAS: Enough; I have arrived; why, Creon, do you summon me so urgently?

CREON: I have not forgotten that; but first collect your strength and regain your breath, shaking off the fatigue of your journey.

TEIRESIAS: I am indeed worn out, for I arrived here only yesterday from the court of the Erechtheidae; they too were at war, fighting with Eumolpus. I gave the victory to Cecrops’ sons, and I received this golden crown, as you see, the first-fruits of the enemy’s spoils.

CREON: I take your crown of victory as an omen. We, as you know, are exposed to the waves of war with the Danaids, and great is the struggle for Thebes. Eteocles, our king, is already gone in full armor to meet Mycenae’s champions; and he has bidden me inquire of you our best course to save the city.

TEIRESIAS: For Eteocles I would have closed my lips and refrained from all response, but to you I will speak, since it is your wish to learn. This country, Creon, has been long afflicted, ever since Laius became a father against the will of the gods, begetting hapless Oedipus to be his own mother’s husband. That bloody destruction of his eyes was planned by the gods as an example to Hellas; and the sons of Oedipus went foolishly astray in wishing to throw over it the veil of time—as if they could outrun the gods! For by robbing their father of his due honor and allowing him no freedom, they exasperated the poor sufferer; so he, suffering and disgraced as well, breathed dreadful curses against them. And I, because I left nothing undone or unsaid, incurred the hatred of the sons of Oedipus. But death inflicted by each other’s hands awaits them, Creon; and the many heaps of the slain, some from Argive, some from Theban spears, shall cause bitter lamentation in the land of Thebes. Alas for you, poor city, you are being involved in their ruin, unless I can persuade one man. The best course was to prevent any child of Oedipus becoming either citizen or king in this land, on the ground that they were under a ban and would overthrow the city. But since evil has the mastery of good, there is one other means of safety; but—for it is unsafe for me to tell, and painful too for those whose fortune it is to supply their city with the saving cure—I will go away. Farewell; among the rest I will endure what is to come, if I must; for what else can I do?

CREON: Stay here, old man.

TEIRESIAS: Do not catch hold of me.

CREON: Wait; why do you try to escape?

TEIRESIAS: It is your fortune that tries to escape you, not I.

CREON: Tell me what can save Thebes and her citizens.

TEIRESIAS: Though you want this now, you will not want it soon.

CREON: Not wish to save my country? how can that be?

TEIRESIAS: Do you really wish to hear it, eagerly?

CREON: Yes; for where should I show greater zeal?

TEIRESIAS: Then you will presently hear my prophetic words. But first I would know for certain where Menoeceus is, who led me here.

CREON: Here, not far away, but at your side.

TEIRESIAS: Let him go far from my prophecies.

Part 12

CREON: He is my own son and will be silent as he ought.

TEIRESIAS: Do you want me to tell you in his presence?

CREON: Yes, for he will rejoice to hear the means of safety.

TEIRESIAS: Then hear the intent of my oracle; you must sacrifice Menoeceus, your son here, for your country, since you yourself are calling on fate.

CREON: What do you mean? What is this you have said, old man?

TEIRESIAS: I have said what is, and you must do it.

CREON: O great evil, spoken so briefly!

TEIRESIAS: Evil to you, but to your country great salvation.

CREON: I did not hear; I never listened; I renounce my city!

TEIRESIAS: The man is no longer himself; he is drawing back.

CREON: Go in peace; it is not your prophecy I need.

TEIRESIAS: Is truth dead, because you are unfortunate?

CREON: By your knees and gray hair—

TEIRESIAS: Why implore me? You are demanding evils that are hard to prevent.

CREON: Be silent; do not tell the city your news.

TEIRESIAS: You bid me to act unjustly; I cannot be silent.

CREON: What will you do to me? Kill my child?

TEIRESIAS: That is for others to decide; it is for me to speak.

CREON: How did this curse come on me and my son?

TEIRESIAS: You do right to ask me and to test what I have said. In the chamber where the earth-born dragon kept watch over Dirce’s springs, he must be offered as a sacrifice and shed his blood on the ground, a libation of Cadmus, because of the ancient wrath of Ares, who now avenges the slaughter of his earth-born snake. If you do this, you shall win Ares as an ally. If the earth receives fruit for fruit and human blood for blood, you shall find her kind to you again, who once sent up to us a crop of Sown-men with golden helmets; for one of those born from the dragon’s teeth must die. Now you are our only survivor of the Sown race, pure-blooded both on your mother’s and your father’s side, you and your sons. Haemon’s marriage holds him back from the slaughter, for he is no longer single; even if he has not consummated his marriage, yet he is betrothed. But this tender youth, consecrated to his city, might by dying rescue his country; and bitter will he make the return of Adrastus and his Argives, flinging over their eyes a black spirit of death, and he will glorify Thebes. Choose one of these two destinies: either save the city or your son. Now you have all that I had to say. Daughter, lead me home. The man who practices the prophet’s art is a fool; for if he happens to give an adverse answer, he makes himself disliked by those for whom he takes the omens; while if he pities and deceives those who are consulting him, he wrongs the gods. Phoebus should have been man’s only prophet, for he fears no one. Exit Teiresias.

Part 13

CHORUS LEADER: Creon, why are you so silent, without a word? I too am no less amazed.

CREON: What can one say? It is clear what my words must be. For I will never come to such misfortune as to devote my son to death for the city; for all men love their children, and no one would give his own son to die. Let no man praise me, and kill my child at the same time. I myself, for I am in the prime of life, am ready to die to save my country. But come, my son, before the whole city learns this, fly with all haste away from this land, regardless of these prophets’ reckless warnings; for he will tell all this to our rulers and generals ; now if we can forestall him, you are saved, but if you are too late, we are ruined and you will die.

MENOECEUS: Where can I escape? To what city? To which of our guest-friends?

CREON: Where you will be furthest removed from this land.

MENOECEUS: It is for you to name a place, for me to carry out your bidding.

CREON: After passing Delphi—

MENOECEUS: Where must I go, father?

CREON: To Aetolia.

MENOECEUS: And where must I go from there?

CREON: To the land of Thesprotia.

MENOECEUS: To Dodona’s holy threshold?

CREON: You understand.

MENOECEUS: What protection will I find there?

CREON: The god will send you on your way.

MENOECEUS: How shall I find the means?

CREON: I will supply you with money.

MENOECEUS: A good plan of yours, father. Go now; for I will come to your sister, Jocasta, at whose breast I was suckled when bereft of my mother, a lonely orphan, . Come, come! be going; it isn’t your part to hinder me. Exit Creon. How cleverly, ladies, I banished my father’s fears by crafty words to gain my end; for he is trying to get me away, depriving the city of its chance and surrendering me to cowardice. Though an old man may be pardoned, yet in my case there is no pardon for betraying the country that gave me birth. Know this, I will go and save the city, and give my life up for this land. For it is shameful: those whom no oracles bind and who have not come under divine necessity, stand there, shoulder to shoulder, with no fear of death, and fight for their country before her towers; while I leave the land like a coward, a traitor to my father and brother and city; wherever I live, I shall seem base. No, by Zeus and all his stars, by Ares, god of blood, who established the Sown-men that sprung one day from earth as lords of this land! I will go, and standing on the topmost battlements, will sacrifice myself over the dragon’s deep, dark den, the spot the seer described, and will set my country free. I have spoken. Now I go to make the city a present of my life, no mean offering, to rid this kingdom of its affliction. For if each were to take and expend all the good within his power, contributing it to the common good of his country, our states would experience fewer troubles and would prosper for the future. Exit Menoeceus.

CHORUS: You came, you came, O winged creature, born of earth and hellish viper, to prey upon the sons of Cadmus, full of death, full of sorrow, half a maiden, a murderous monster, with roving wings and ravening claws; you once caught up youths from the haunts of Dirce, with discordant song, and you brought, you brought a murderous grief, a deadly curse to our native land. A deadly god he was who brought all this to pass. Mourning of mothers, mourning of maidens, filled the houses with groans; a lamenting cry, a lamenting song, one after another wailed out, in turn throughout the city. The roar of the groaning was like thunder, whenever the winged maiden bore a man out of sight from the city.

CHORUS: At last came Oedipus, the man of sorrow, sent from Delphi to this land of Thebes, a joy to us then, but afterwards a cause of grief; for, when he guessed the riddle triumphantly, he formed with his mother an unhallowed union, woe to him! polluting the city; and striking down his sons by his curses, he handed them over to loathsome strife, through blood, the wretched man. We admire him, we admire him, who has gone to his death in his country’s cause, leaving tears to Creon, but bringing a crown of victory to our seven fenced towers. May we be mothers in this way, may we have such fair children, dear PalIas, you who with well-aimed stone spilled the serpent’s blood, rousing Cadmus to brood upon the task, from which a demon’s curse swooped upon this land and ravaged it.

MESSENGER: Ho there! Who is at the palace-gates? Open the door, summon Jocasta forth. Ho there! once again I call; in spite of this long delay, come forth; listen, noble wife of Oedipus, cease your lamentation and your tears of woe.

Part 14

JOCASTA: Surely you have not come, dear friend, with the sad news of Eteocles’ death, beside whose shield you have always marched, warding off from him the enemy’s darts? Is my son alive or dead? Tell me.

MESSENGER: He is alive, do not fear that, so that I may rid you of your terror.

JOCASTA: Well? How is it with the seven towers that wall us in?

MESSENGER: They stand unshattered; the city is not plundered.

JOCASTA: Have they been in jeopardy of the Argive spear?

MESSENGER: Yes, on the very brink; but our Theban warriors proved stronger than Mycenae’s might.

JOCASTA: One thing tell me, by the gods, if you know anything of Polyneices; for this too is my concern, if he is alive.

MESSENGER: As yet your sons are living, the pair of them.

JOCASTA: God bless you! How did you succeed in beating off from our gates the Argive army, when beleaguered? Tell me, so that I may go within and cheer the old blind man, since our city is still safe.

MESSENGER: After Creon’s son, who gave up his life for his country, had taken his stand on the turret’s top and plunged a dark-hilted sword through his throat to save this land, your son told off seven companies with their captains to the seven gates to keep watch on the Argive warriors, and stationed cavalry to cover cavalry, and infantry to support infantry, so that assistance might be close at hand for any weak point in the walls. Then from our lofty towers we saw the Argive army with their white shields leaving Teumesus, and, when near the trench, they charged up to our Theban city at a run. In one loud burst from their ranks and from our walls rang out the battle-cry and trumpet-call. First to the Neitian gate, Parthenopaeus, son of the huntress, led a company bristling with thick rows of shields, and he had his own device in the centre of his shield: Atalanta slaying the Aetolian boar with an arrow shot from far. To the gates of Proetus came the prophet Amphiaraus, bringing the victims on a chariot; he had no boastful sign, but weapons chastely plain. Next lord Hippomedon came marching to the Ogygian gates with this device in the middle of his shield: Argus the all-seeing dappled with eyes on the watch, some open with the rising stars, others hiding when they set, as could be seen after he was slain. At the Homoloian gates Tydeus had his post, a lion’s skin with shaggy mane upon his shield, while the Titan Prometheus bore a torch in his right hand, to fire the town. Your own Polyneices led the battle against the Fountain gate; upon his shield for a device were the colts of Potniae galloping at frantic speed, revolving by some clever contrivance on pivots by the handle, so as to appear distraught. At Electra’s gate Capaneus brought up his company, bold as Ares for the battle; this device his shield bore upon its iron back: an earth-born giant carrying on his shoulders a whole city which he had wrenched from its base, a hint to us of the fate in store for Thebes. Adrastus was at the seventh gate; a hundred vipers engraved on his shield, the boast of Argos, and serpents were carrying off in their jaws the sons of Thebes from within our very walls. Now I was able to see each of them, as I carried the watch-word along to the leaders of our companies. To begin with, we fought with bows and thonged javelins, with slings that shoot from far and crashing stones; and as we were conquering, Tydeus and your son suddenly cried aloud: You sons of Danaus, before you are torn to pieces by their attack, why delay to fall upon the gates with all your might, light-armed and cavalry and charioteers? No loitering then, soon as they heard that call; and many fell with bloody head, and many of us you could have seen thrown to the earth like tumblers before the walls, breathing their last, bedewing the dry ground with streams of blood. Then Atalanta’s son, who was not an Argive but an Arcadian, hurling himself like a hurricane at the gates, called for fire and picks to raze the town; but Periclymenus, son of the ocean-god, stayed his wild career, heaving on his head a wagon-load of stone, the coping from the battlements; and it shattered his head with yellow hair and crashed through the seams of the skull, dabbling with blood his fresh cheek; and he will never go back alive to his mother with her lovely bow, the maid of Maenalus. Your son then, seeing these gates secure, went on to the next, and I followed him. I saw Tydeus and his thick rows of targeteers hurling their Aetolian spears into the opening at the top of the turrets, so that our men fled and left the battlements; but your son rallied them once more, as a huntsman cheers his hounds, and stationed them at the towers again. And then we hastened to other gates, after stopping the affliction there. As for the madness of Capaneus, how can I describe it? He was going about with a long scaling-ladder, and boasting that even the holy fire of Zeus would not hold him back from giving the city to utter destruction. And even as he spoke, he climbed up beneath the hail of stones, crouched under the shelter of his shield, rung by smooth rung going up the ladder. But, just as he was scaling the parapet of the wall, Zeus smote him with a thunderbolt; the earth re-echoed, and fear seized everyone; for from the ladder he was hurled, spinnning; his burning corpse fell to the ground. But when Adrastus saw that Zeus was hostile to his army, he drew the Argive troops outside the trench. Meanwhile our armed cavalry, seeing the lucky omen of Zeus before us, were driving forth their chariots, and the armed men charged with spears into the middle of the Argives, and all troubles happened at once: men were dying, hurled headlong from chariots, wheels flew off, axles crashed together, while the dead were heaped up on the dead. So for to-day we have prevented destruction of the towers of our land; but if this land will be fortunate for the future, that rests with the gods; for even now it owes its safety to some deity.

CHORUS LEADER: Victory is fair; and if the gods are growing kinder, it would be well with me.

JOCASTA: The gods and fortune have treated us well; for my sons are alive and my land has escaped ruin. But Creon seems to have had bitter enjoyment from my marriage with Oedipus, by losing his son to his sorrow, a public success, a private grief. But please, come back to your tale again and say what my two sons intend to do next.

MESSENGER: Let the rest be; all is well with you so far.

JOCASTA: Your words rouse my suspicions; I cannot let it be.

MESSENGER: Have you any further wish than your sons’ safety?

JOCASTA: Yes, to hear if I shall fare well in the future.

MESSENGER: Let me go; your son is left without his squire.

JOCASTA: There is some evil you are hiding, veiling it in darkness.

MESSENGER: I would not add ill news to the good you have heard.

JOCASTA: You must, unless you take wings and fly away.

Part 15

MESSENGER: Ah! Why did you not let me go after my good news, instead of forcing me to disclose evil? Those two sons of yours are resolved on deeds of shameful recklessness, a single combat apart from the army; they addressed to Argives and Thebans alike words I would they had never uttered. Eteocles, taking his stand on a lofty tower, after ordering silence to be proclaimed to the army, began: chieftains of Argos here assembled, and you people of Cadmus, do not barter your lives for Polyneices or for me! For I myself excuse you from this risk, and will engage my brother in single combat; and if I slay him, I will possess my house alone, but if I am conquered I will hand down the city to him alone. You men of Argos, give up the struggle and return to your land, do not lose your lives here; there are enough of the Sown-men who lie dead. So he spoke; then your son Polyneices rushed from the battle-line and assented to his proposal. And all the Argives and the people of Cadmus shouted their approval, as though they thought it just. On these terms the armies made a truce, and in the space between them the generals took an oath to abide by. At once, the two sons of the old Oedipus were hiding themselves in bronze armor; and lords of Thebes with friendly care equipped the captain of this land, while Argive chieftains armed the other. There they stood dazzling, nor were they pale, all eagerness to hurl their lances at each other. Then their friends came to their sides first one, then another, with words of encouragement, saying: Polyneices, it rests with you to set up an image of Zeus as a trophy and crown Argos with fair renown. Others to Eteocles: Now you are fighting for your city; now, if victorious, you have the scepter in your power. So they spoke, cheering them to the battle. The seers were sacrificing sheep and noting the tongues and forks of fire, the damp reek which is a bad omen, and the tapering flame which gives decisions on two points, being both a sign of victory and defeat. But, if you have any power or subtle speech or charmed spell, go, restrain your children from this terrible combat, for great is the risk they run. The prize of the contest will be grievous sorrow for you, if to-day you are deprived of both your sons. Exit Messenger.

JOCASTA: Antigone, my daughter, come out of the house; this heaven-sent crisis is no time for dances or girlish pursuits. But you and your mother must prevent two brave men, your own brothers, from plunging into death and falling by each other’s hand.

ANTIGONE: Mother, what new terror are you proclaiming to your friends before the palace?

JOCASTA: Daughter, your brothers’ lives are going to ruin.

ANTIGONE: What do you mean?

JOCASTA: They have resolved on single combat.

ANTIGONE: Oh no! what do you have to say, mother?

JOCASTA: No welcome news; follow me.

ANTIGONE: Where, away from my maiden’s chamber?

JOCASTA: To the army.

ANTIGONE: I cannot face the crowd.

JOCASTA: Coyness is not for you now.

ANTIGONE: But what shall I do?

JOCASTA: You will put an end to your brothers’ strife.

ANTIGONE: How so, mother?

JOCASTA: By falling at their knees with me.

ANTIGONE: Lead on till we are between the armies; we must not delay.

JOCASTA: Haste, my daughter, haste! For, if I can forestall the onset of my sons, I may yet live; but if they are dead, I will lie down in death with them. Exeunt Jocasta and Antigone.

CHORUS: Alas, alas! My mind is trembling with fear, trembling; and through my flesh goes a throb of pity, of pity for the hapless mother. Which of her two sons will stain the other with blood— ah, for the suffering! O Zeus, O earth, alas!—a brother’s throat, a brother’s life, through his shield, through his blood? Ah me! ah me! which of them will I lament as dead?

CHORUS: Ah, the earth! Ah, the earth! Twin savage beasts, two murderous souls with brandished spears will soon be draining the fallen, fallen enemy’s blood. Unhappy, that they ever thought of single combat! In foreign voice I will chant a dirge of tears and wailing, in mourning for the dead. Close to murder stands their fortune; the coming day will decide it. Fatal this slaughter, fatal, because of the Furies.

Part 16

CHORUS LEADER: But hark! I see Creon on his way here to the house with clouded brow, and so I will cease my present lamentations.

CREON: Ah me! what shall I do? Am I to mourn with tears myself or my city, which has a cloud around it ? My son has died for his country, bringing glory to his name, but grievous woe to me. His body I have just now taken from the dragon’s rocky lair and sadly carried the self-slain victim here in my arms; and the house is filled with weeping; but now I have come for my sister Jocasta, age seeking age, that she may bathe my child’s corpse and lay it out. For those who are not dead must reverence the god below by paying honor to the dead.

CHORUS LEADER: Your sister, Creon, has gone out, and her daughter Antigone went with her.

CREON: Where did she go? What happened? Tell me.

CHORUS LEADER: She heard that her sons were about to engage in single combat for the royal house.

CREON: What do you mean? In my tenderness to my dead son, I was not able to learn this.

CHORUS LEADER: It is some time, Creon, since your sister’s departure, and I expect the struggle for life and death is already decided by the sons of Oedipus.

CREON: Alas! I see a sign there, the gloomy look and face of the messenger coming to tell us the whole matter.

MESSENGER: Ah, woe is me! What story can I tell, what lament can I make?

CREON: We are lost; your opening words have no fair appearance.

MESSENGER: Ah, woe is me! I say again; for I am bringing great horrors.

CREON: In addition to the other sorrowful deeds. What is your tale?

MESSENGER: Your sister’s sons are now no more, Creon.

CREON: Alas! you have a great tale of woe for me and the city. O house of Oedipus, have you heard these tidings of sons slain by the same fate?

CHORUS LEADER: A tale to make it weep, if it were endowed with sense.

CREON: Oh! most grievous stroke of fate!

MESSENGER: If you only know the sorrows other than those!

CREON: How can they be more hard to bear than these?

MESSENGER: Your sister has died, with her two sons.

CHORUS: Loudly, loudly raise the wail, and with white hands strike upon your heads!

Part 17

CREON: Oh, wretched Jocasta! what an end to life and marriage you have found the riddling of the Sphinx! Tell me how her two sons accomplished the bloody deed, the struggle caused by the curse of Oedipus.

MESSENGER: Of our successes before the towers you know, for the walls are not far away . Now when they, the young sons of the old Oedipus, had adorned themselves in their bronze armor, they went and took their stand between the armies, for the contest and the single combat. Then Polyneices, turning his eyes towards Argos, lifted up a prayer: O Lady Hera, for I am yours, since I have married the daughter of Adrastus and dwell in your land, grant that I may slay my brother, and give my right hand, which is set against him, the victory, stained with his blood. But Eteocles, looking towards the temple of Pallas with the golden shield, prayed: Daughter of Zeus, grant that this arm may launch the spear of victory against my brother’s breast and slay him who has come to sack my country. When the Tuscan trumpet, like a torch, blew the signal for the bloody battle, they darted wildly against one another; like boars whetting their savage tusks, they joined battle, their beards wet with foam. They kept shooting out their spears, but crouched beneath their shields to let the steel glance off in vain; but if either saw the other’s eye above the rim, he would aim his lance there, eager to outwit him with the point. But both kept such careful outlook through the spy-holes in their shields, that their weapons found nothing to do; while from the onlookers far more than the combatants trickled the sweat caused by terror for their friends. Eteocles, in kicking aside a stone that rolled beneath his tread, exposed a limb outside his shield, and Polyneices, seeing a chance of dealing him a blow, aimed at it, and the Argive shaft passed through his leg; the Danaid army, one and all, cried out for joy. And the wounded man, seeing Polyneices’ shoulder bare in this effort, plunged his spear with all his might into his breast, restoring gladness to the citizens of Thebes, though he broke off the spear-head. And so, at a loss for a weapon, he retreated step by step, till catching up a splintered rock he let it fly and broke the other’s spear in the middle; and now the combat was equal, for each had lost his lance. Then clutching their sword-hilts they closed, and round and round, with shields clashing, they fought a wild battle. And Eteocles introduced the crafty Thessalian trick, having some knowledge of it from his association with that country. Disengaging himself from the immediate contest, he drew back his left foot but kept his eye closely on the pit of the other’s stomach from a distance; then advancing his right foot he plunged the weapon through his navel and fixed it in his spine. Down fell Polyneices, dripping with blood, ribs and belly contracting in his agony. But the other, thinking his victory now complete, threw down his sword and began to despoil him, wholly intent on that, without a thought for himself. And this indeed tripped him up; for Polyneices, who had fallen first, was still faintly breathing, and having in his grievous fall kept his sword, he made a last effort and drove it through the heart of Eteocles. They both lie there, fallen side by side, biting the dust with their teeth, and they have not decided the mastery.

CHORUS LEADER: Ah, ah, how I mourn for your sorrows, Oedipus! The god, it seems, has fulfilled those curses of yours.

MESSENGER: Now hear what further woes succeeded. Just as her two sons had fallen and lay dying, their wretched mother came on the scene, her daughter with her, in great haste. When she saw their mortal wounds, she wailed: O my sons, the help I bring is too late. And throwing herself on each in turn she wept and mourned, sorrowing over all her toil in nursing them, and their sister, by her side, mourned also: Supporters of your mother’ s age, dearest brothers, leaving me forlorn, unwed! Then lord Eteocles with one deep dying gasp, hearing his mother, laid on her his clammy hand, and though he could not say a word, his moistened eye was eloquent to prove his love. And Polyneices was still breathing, and seeing his sister and his old mother he said: Mother, our end has come; I pity you and my sister Antigone and my dead brother. For I loved him though he became my enemy, I loved him in spite of all. Bury me, mother, and you, my sister, in my native land; pacify the city’s wrath that l may get at least that much of my own fatherland, although I lost my home. With your hand, mother, close my eyes—he himself places her fingers on the lids—and farewell; for already the darkness wraps me round. So both at once breathed out their life of sorrow. But when their mother saw this sad event, in her overmastering grief she snatched a sword from the dead, and did a fearful deed; for she drove the steel right through her throat, and there she lies, dead with those she loved so well, her arms thrown round them both. The army sprang to their feet and fell to wrangling, we maintaining that victory rested with my master, they with theirs; and there was strife among the generals, some holding that Polyneices gave the first wound with his spear, others that, as both were dead, victory rested with neither. Meanwhile Antigone crept away from the army. They rushed to their weapons, but by some lucky forethought the people of Cadmus had sat down under arms; and by a sudden attack we surprised the Argive army before it was fully equipped. Not one withstood our onset, and they filled the plain with fugitives, while blood was streaming from the countless dead our spears had slain. When victory had crowned our warfare, some set up an image of Zeus as a trophy, others were stripping the Argive dead of their shields and sending their spoils inside the battlements; and others with Antigone are bringing the dead here for their friends to mourn. So for the city, the result of this struggle hovers between the two extremes of good and evil fortune. Exit Messenger.

CHORUS: No longer do the misfortunes of this house extend to hearsay only; three corpses of the slain lie here at the palace for all to see; by one common death they have drawn their lot, a life of darkness.

ANTIGONE: I do not veil my tender cheek shaded with curls, nor do I feel shame, from maiden modesty, at the dark red beneath my eyes, the blush upon my face, as I hurry on, in bacchic revelry for the dead, casting from my hair its mantle and letting my delicate saffron robe fly loose, a tearful escort to the dead. Ah me! Oh, Polyneices! you were rightly named, after all; woe to you, Thebes! Your strife—not strife, but murder on murder— has brought the house of Oedipus to ruin with dire and grim bloodshed. What harmonious or tuneful wailing can I summon, for my tears, my tears, oh, my home! oh, my home! as I bear these three kindred bodies, my mother and her sons, a welcome sight to the Fury? She destroyed the house of Oedipus, root and branch, when his shrewdness solved the Sphinx’s unsolvable song and killed that savage singer. Alas for you, father! What other Hellene or barbarian, what mortal from a noble line ever endured the anguish of such visible afflictions? Ah! poor girl, how piteous is your cry! What bird, perched on the high-leaved branches of oak or pine, will come to mourn with me, left motherless? With cries of woe, I lament before it comes the piteous lonely life, that I shall live for the rest of time, in streaming tears. On which of these shall I throw my offerings first, plucking the hair from my head? on the breast of the mother that suckled me, or beside the ghastly death-wounds of my brothers’ corpses? Oh, oh! Oedipus, my old father with sightless eyes, leave your house, reveal the misery of your life, you who have cast a mist of darkness over your eyes and draw out a weary existence within the house. Do you hear, you who are wandering with old step across the court, or sleeping on your wretched pallet couch?

OEDIPUS: Why, daughter, have you dragged me to the light by your piteous tears, supporting my blind footsteps, from the gloom of my bed-chamber, gray-haired, invisible as a phantom of the air, or as a spirit from the world below, or as a dream that flies?

ANTIGONE: Father, there are tidings of sorrow for you to bear; no longer do your sons see the light, or your wife, who would always labor to tend your blind footsteps as with a staff. Alas for you, my father!

OEDIPUS: Alas for my sorrows! I may well groan and cry. Three lives! Tell me, child, by what fate they left the light.

ANTIGONE: I do not say this to reproach or mock you, but in sadness: your own avenging curse, with all its load of swords and fire and ruthless war, came on your sons. Alas for you, my father!

OEDIPUS: Ah me!

ANTIGONE: Why that groan?

OEDIPUS: My sons!

ANTIGONE: You are in pain; but if you could look towards the sun-god’s four-horse chariot and turn the light of your eyes on these corpses—

OEDIPUS: The evil fate of my sons is clear; but she, my poor wife, tell me, daughter, by what fate did she die?

ANTIGONE: All saw her weep and heard her moan, as she rushed forth to carry to her sons her last appeal, a mother’s breast. But the mother found her sons at the Electran gate, in a meadow where the lotus blooms, fighting out their duel with spears, like lions in their lair, eager to wound each other, a murderous libation of blood already cold, owed to Hades, poured out by Ares. Then, taking from the dead a sword of hammered bronze, she plunged it in her flesh, and in sorrow for her sons fell with her arms around them. So the god who fulfills these sorrows has brought them all together on this day, father, for our house.

CHORUS LEADER: Today is the beginning of many troubles to the house of Oedipus; may he live to be more fortunate!

CREON: Cease now your lamentations; it is time we thought of their burial. Hear what I have to say, Oedipus. Eteocles, your son, left me to rule this land, by giving it as a dowry to Haemon with his marriage to your daughter Antigone. Therefore I will no longer allow you to dwell in this land; for Teiresias clearly said that the city would never prosper as long as you made your home here. So begone! And I say this not in insult, nor because I am your enemy, but from fear that some calamity will come upon the land, through those avenging fiends of yours.

OEDIPUS: O destiny! From the beginning, how you have created me wretched and unhappy, if any mortal ever was; for before I had left my mother’s womb and seen the light, Apollo foretold to Laius that I, then unborn, should become my father’s murderer; alas for me! So, as soon as I was born, the father who begot me tried to kill me, thinking me his enemy, for it was fated he should die at my hand; so he sent me unweaned to make a pitiful meal for beasts; I escaped from that— would that Cithaeron had sunk into hell’s yawning abyss, because it did not destroy me, but . . . Fate made me a slave in the service of Polybus. And I, poor wretch, after slaying my own father came to my mother’s bed, to her sorrow, and begot sons that were my brothers, whom I have destroyed, by bequeathing to them the legacy of curses I received from Laius. For I was not born so foolish, that I should have contrived these things against my own eyes and my children’s life, without some god. Let that pass. What am I, poor wretch, to do? Who now will be my guide and tend the blind man’s step? The one who is dead? If she were alive, I know well that she would. My pair of noble sons? But they are gone from me. But am I still so young myself that I can find a livelihood? Where? O Creon, why do you seek in this way to kill me utterly? For you will kill me, if you banish me from the land. Yet I will never twine my arms about your knees and seem a coward, for I would not betray my former nobility, no! not for all my ills.

CREON: You have spoken well, in refusing to touch my knees, but I could not allow you to dwell in the land. Of these dead, bear one at once to the palace; but the other, who came with strangers to sack his native town, the dead Polyneices, cast forth unburied beyond the borders of this land. To all the race of Cadmus shall this be proclaimed: Whoever is caught decking his corpse with wreaths or giving it burial, shall be requited with death. As for you, Antigone, leave your mourning for these lifeless three and go indoors, to lead your maiden life until to-morrow, when Haemon waits to marry you.

Part 18

ANTIGONE: O father, in what cruel misery are we plunged! For you I mourn more than for the dead; for in your woes you do not have something that is grievous and something not; but you were born wholly unfortunate, father. As for you, new-made king, I ask you, who do you insult my father with banishment? Why do you make laws over a helpless corpse?

CREON: This was Eteocles’ purpose, not mine.

ANTIGONE: It is senseless, and you are a fool to obey it!

CREON: How so? Isn’t it right to carry out his commands?

ANTIGONE: No; not if they are wrong and ill-advised.

CREON: What? Isn’t it right for that other to be given to the dogs?

ANTIGONE: No, for the vengeance you are exacting is not a lawful one.

CREON: Yes, if he was his country’s enemy, when not born an enemy.

ANTIGONE: Well, he rendered up his destiny to fate.

CREON: Let him now pay the penalty in his burial too.

ANTIGONE: What crime did he commit, in coming to claim his portion of the land?

CREON: Be very sure of this, he shall have no burial.

ANTIGONE: I will bury him, although the state forbids.

CREON: Do so, and you will be making your own grave by his.

ANTIGONE: A noble end, for two so near and dear to lie side by side!

CREON: Seize and take her inside.

ANTIGONE: Oh, no! For I will not let go of this corpse.

CREON: These are the god’s decrees, my girl, not what seems good to you.

ANTIGONE: And this has been decreed, not to insult the dead.

CREON: Be sure that no one will sprinkle over the corpse the moistened dust.

Part 19

ANTIGONE: O Creon, by my mother Jocasta, I implore you!

CREON: Your labor is in vain; you will not gain your prayer.

ANTIGONE: Let me only bathe the dead body.

CREON: That would be part of what is forbidden by the city.

ANTIGONE: At least let me bandage the cruel wounds.

CREON: No; you will never pay honor to this corpse.

ANTIGONE: O my dearest! At least I will kiss your mouth.

CREON: Do not let this mourning bring disaster on your marriage.

ANTIGONE: Marriage! Do you think I will marry your son while I am alive?

CREON: Indeed you must; how will you escape the match?

ANTIGONE: Then that night will find in me another Danaid bride!

CREON: Do you see how boldly she reproaches me?

ANTIGONE: Let the steel know, the sword be my witness!

CREON: Why are you so eager to be released from this marriage?

ANTIGONE: I mean to share my hapless father’s exile.

CREON: A noble spirit yours but there is some folly in it.

ANTIGONE: And I will share his death, I tell you further.

CREON: Go, leave the land; you will not murder my son. Exit Creon.

OEDIPUS: Daughter, for this loyal spirit I thank you.

ANTIGONE: How could I marry, while you went into exile alone, father?

Part 20

OEDIPUS: Stay here and be happy; I will bear my own load of sorrow.

ANTIGONE: And who will tend you in your blindness, father?

OEDIPUS: Where fate appoints, there I will fall and lie down upon the ground.

ANTIGONE: Where is Oedipus, and that famous riddle?

OEDIPUS: Lost! One day blessed me, one destroyed me.

ANTIGONE: May I not also share your sorrows?

OEDIPUS: To wander with her blinded father would be shameful for his daughter.

ANTIGONE: Not so, father, but glory, if she is discreet.

OEDIPUS: Lead me near, so that I may touch your mother’s corpse.

ANTIGONE: There, embrace the aged form so dear to you.

OEDIPUS: O mother, o most wretched wife!

ANTIGONE: Pitiably she lies, who suffered every evil at once.

OEDIPUS: Where are the corpses of Eteocles, and of Polyneices?

ANTIGONE: Here they both lie, stretched out side by side.

OEDIPUS: Lay my blind hand upon their poor faces.

ANTIGONE: There, touch the dead, your children.

OEDIPUS: O dear fallen sons, sad offspring of a sad father!

ANTIGONE: O my brother Polyneices, name most dear to me!

OEDIPUS: Now the oracle of Loxias is being fulfilled, my child.

ANTIGONE: What oracle? Do you have further woes to tell?

Part 21

OEDIPUS: That I should die in Athens after a life of wandering.

ANTIGONE: Where? What fenced town in Attica will take you in?

OEDIPUS: Hallowed Colonus, home of the god of horses. Come then, attend on your blind father, since you are eager to share his exile.

ANTIGONE: Go to unhappy exile; stretch forth your dear hand, my old father, taking me to guide you, like a breeze that guides the ships.

OEDIPUS: See, I am advancing; be my guide, my poor child.

ANTIGONE: I am, I am! The saddest maiden of all in Thebes.

OEDIPUS: Where am I placing my aged step? Bring my staff, child.

ANTIGONE: This way, this way, come to me, place your steps here, like a dream in your strength.

OEDIPUS: Oh, oh, driving the old man in most wretched flight from the country! Oh, oh! the terrible sorrows I have endured!

ANTIGONE: Why do you speak of enduring? Justice does not see the wicked, and does not requite follies.

OEDIPUS: I am the one who came into high songs of victory, because I guessed the baffling riddle of the girl, half-maiden.

ANTIGONE: You are bringing up again the reproach of the Sphinx. Talk no more of past success. This misery was in store for you all the while, to become an exile from your country and die anywhere. Leaving to my girlhood friends sad tears, I go forth from my native land, to roam as no maiden should. Ah! This dutiful resolve towards my father’s suffering will make me famous. Alas for the insults heaped on you and on my brother, whose dead body goes from the house unburied, poor boy! I will bury him secretly, though I have to die for it, father.

OEDIPUS: Show yourself to your companions.

ANTIGONE: My own laments suffice.

OEDIPUS: Go pray at the altars.

ANTIGONE: They have enough of my piteous tale.

OEDIPUS: At least go seek the Bromian god in his untrodden sanctuary among the Maenads’ hills.

ANTIGONE: Bromius, for whom I once dressed in the Theban fawn-skin and danced upon the hills in the holy choir of Semele—shall I now offer the gods homage that is not homage?

OEDIPUS: O citizens of a famous country, look at me; I am Oedipus, who solved the famous riddle, and was the greatest of men, I, who alone controlled the murderous Sphinx’s power, am now myself driven from the land in dishonor and misery. But why do I make this moan and useless lamentation? As a mortal, I must bear the constraint that the gods decree.

CHORUS: Greatly revered Victory, may you occupy my life and never cease to crown me!

Contents — 27 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
13. Part 13
14. Part 14
15. Part 15
16. Part 16
17. Part 17
18. Part 18
19. Part 19
20. Part 20
21. Part 21
22. Part 22
23. Part 23
24. Part 24
25. Part 25
26. Part 26
27. Part 27

Part 1

ELECTRA: There is nothing so terrible to describe, or suffering, or heaven-sent affliction, that human nature may not have to bear the burden of it. The blessed Tantalus—and I am not now taunting him with his misfortunes— Tantalus, the reputed son of Zeus, flies in the air, quailing at the rock which looms above his head; paying this penalty, they say, for the shameful weakness he displayed in failing to keep a bridle on his lips, when admitted by gods, though he was a man, to share the honors of their feasts like one of them. He begot Pelops, the father of Atreus, for whom the goddess, when she had carded her wool, spun a web of strife—to make war with his own brother Thyestes. But why need I retrace that hideous tale? Well, Atreus slew Thyestes’ children and feasted him on them. Atreus, now; I pass over intermediate events; from Atreus and Aerope of Crete were born the famous Agamemnon, if he really was famous, and Menelaus. Now Menelaus married Helen, the gods’ abhorrence; while lord Agamemnon married Clytemnestra, notorious in Hellas; and we three daughters were born: Chrysothemis, Iphigenia, and myself, Electra; also a son Orestes; all from that one accursed mother, who slew her husband, after snaring him in an inextricable robe. Her reason a maiden’s lips may not declare, and so I leave it unclear for the world to guess at. What need for me to charge Phoebus with wrong-doing? Though he persuaded Orestes to slay his own mother, a deed that few approved. Still it was his obedience to the god that made him kill her; I had a share in the murder, in so far as a woman could, After this my poor Orestes, wasting away in a cruel disease, lies fallen on his couch, and it is his mother’s blood that drives him round and round in frenzied fits; I am ashamed to name the goddesses, whose terrors are chasing him—the Eumenides. It is now the sixth day since the body of his murdered mother was committed to the cleansing fire; since then no food has gone down his throat, nor has he washed his skin; but wrapped in his cloak he weeps in his lucid moments, whenever the fever leaves him; at other times he bounds headlong from his couch, as a colt when it is loosed from the yoke. This city of Argos has decreed that no man give us shelter in home or hearth, or speak to matricides like us; and this is the fateful day on which the Argives will take a vote, whether we are both to die by stoning. There is, it is true, one hope of escape from death: Menelaus has landed from Troy; his fleet now crowds the haven of Nauplia where he has come to anchor on the shore, returned at last from Troy after ceaseless wanderings; but Helen, that so-called lady of sorrows, he has sent on to our palace, waiting for the night, lest any of those parents whose sons died at Troy might see her if she went by day, and set to stoning her. Within she sits, weeping for her sister and the calamities of her family, and yet she has still some solace in her woe; for Hermione, the child she left at home when she sailed for Troy, the maid whom Menelaus brought from Sparta and entrusted to my mother’s keeping, is still a cause of joy to her and a reason to forget her sorrows. I am watching each approach, until I see Menelaus arriving; for unless we find some safety from him, we have only a feeble anchor to ride on otherwise. A helpless thing, an unlucky house!

HELEN: Daughter of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, unhappy Electra, a maiden for so long, how is it with you and your brother, this ill-starred Orestes who slew his mother? For referring the sin as I do to Phoebus, I incur no pollution by addressing you; and yet I am truly sorry for the death of my sister Clytemnestra, whom I never saw after I was driven by heaven-sent frenzy to sail as I did to Ilium; but now that I am parted from her, I bewail our misfortunes.

ELECTRA: Helen, why should I speak of that which your own eyes can see? Beside his wretched corpse I sit, sleepless—for corpse he is, so faint his breath— not that I reproach him with his sufferings; but you are highly blessed and your husband too.

HELEN: How long has he lain in this way on the couch?

ELECTRA: Ever since he spilt his mother’s blood.

HELEN: Unhappy wretch! unhappy mother! what a death she died.

ELECTRA: Unhappy enough to succumb to his misery.

HELEN: By the gods, would you hear me a moment, maiden?

ELECTRA: Yes, with such leisure as this watching over a brother leaves.

HELEN: Will you go for me to my sister’s tomb?

ELECTRA: Would you have me seek my mother’s tomb? Why?

HELEN: To carry an offering of hair and a libation from me.

ELECTRA: Isn’t it right for you to go to the tomb of one you love?

HELEN: No, for I am ashamed to show myself in Argos.

ELECTRA: A late repentance surely for one who left her home so shamefully then.

HELEN: You have told the truth, but your telling is not kind to me.

ELECTRA: What is this supposed shame before the eyes of Mycenae that possesses you?

HELEN: I am afraid of the fathers of those who lie dead at Ilium.

ELECTRA: Good cause for fear; your name is on every tongue in Argos.

HELEN: Then free me of my fear and grant me this favor.

Part 2

ELECTRA: I could not bear to look upon my mother’s grave.

HELEN: And yet it would be shame indeed for servants to bear these offerings.

ELECTRA: Then why not send your daughter Hermione?

HELEN: It is not good for maidens to go into a crowd.

ELECTRA: And yet she would be repaying her dead foster-mother’s care.

HELEN: You have told the truth and have convinced me, maiden. Calling. Hermione, my child, come out, before the palace. Take these libations and these tresses of mine in your hands, and go pour round Clytemnestra’s tomb a mingled cup of honey, milk, and frothing wine; then stand upon the heaped-up grave, and say this: Helen, your sister, sends you these libations as her gift, fearing herself to approach your tomb from terror of the Argive mob and bid her harbor kindly thoughts towards me and you and my husband; towards these two wretched sufferers, too, whom the gods have destroyed. And promise that I will pay in full whatever funeral gifts are due from me to a sister. Now go, my child, and hurry; and soon as you have made the libations at the tomb, think of your return. Exit Helen.

ELECTRA: O human nature, how great an evil you are in men! and what salvation, too, to those who have a goodly heritage there. Did you see how she cut off her hair only at the ends, to preserve its beauty? She is the same woman as of old. May the gods hate you! for you have proved the ruin of me and my brother and all Hellas. Alas! here are my friends once more, coming to unite their plaintive dirge with mine; they will soon put an end to my brother’s peaceful sleep, and cause my tears to flow when I see him in frenzy.

CHORUS: Hush, hush! let your footsteps fall lightly! not a sound!

ELECTRA: Go further from his couch, further, I beseech you!

CHORUS: There, I obey.

ELECTRA: Ah, ah! Speak like the breath of a slender reed-pipe, my dear, I pray.

CHORUS: See, how soft and low I drop my voice.

ELECTRA: Yes, do so; approach now, softly, softly! Give me an account of why you have come here. For at last he has lain down, and sleeps.

CHORUS: How is he? You give us an account, my dear; what has happened, what misfortune?

ELECTRA: He is still breathing, but his moans grow feeble.

CHORUS: What are you saying? turning to Orestes. Unhappy Orestes!

ELECTRA: You will kill him, if you disturb him from the sweet sleep he now enjoys.

CHORUS: Poor sufferer, for his hateful deeds, inspired by a god!

ELECTRA: Ah, misery! Injustice it was, after all, from an unjust mouth, when Loxias on the tripod of Themis decreed my mother’s most unnatural murder.

CHORUS: Do you see? He stirs beneath his robe!

Part 3

ELECTRA: Alas! Your noisy chatter has roused him from his sleep.

CHORUS: No, I think he is asleep.

ELECTRA: Leave us, go away from the house! circle back again! cease this noise!

CHORUS: He is asleep.

ELECTRA: You are right. O Lady Night, giver of sleep to hard-working mortals, come from Erebus, come, wing your way to the palace of Agamemnon. For with misery and woe we are lost, we are gone. There! To the Chorus. that noise again! Do be still and keep the sound of your voice away from his couch; let him enjoy his sleep in peace, my dear!

CHORUS: Tell me, what end of troubles awaits him.

ELECTRA: Death, death; what else? For he has no desire for food.

CHORUS: Then his destiny is already clear.

ELECTRA: Phoebus offered us up for sacrifice, when he ordered the pitiable, unnatural murder of our mother, who killed our father.

CHORUS: It was just.

ELECTRA: But it was not well done. You killed and were killed, my mother! and you have slain a father and your own children; for we are dead or as good as dead. You are in your grave, and the greater part of my life is spent in weeping and wailing, and tears at night; unmarried, childless, I drag out forever a joyless existence.

CHORUS LEADER: Electra, you are nearby; see whether your brother has not died without your knowing it; for I do not like his utter prostration.

ORESTES: Sweet charm of sleep, savior in sickness, how sweetly you came to me, how needed! Revered forgetfulness of troubles, how wise a goddess you are, and invoked by every suffering soul! Addressing Electra. Where have I come from? How am I here? For I have lost all previous recollection and remember nothing.

ELECTRA: My dearest, how glad I was to see you fall asleep! Do you want me take you in my arms and lift your body?

ORESTES: Take, oh! take me in your arms, and from this sufferer’s mouth and eyes wipe off the flakes of foam.

ELECTRA: There! The service is sweet, and I do not refuse to tend a brother’s limbs with a sister’s hand.

ORESTES: Prop me up, your side to mine; brush the matted hair from my face, for I see dimly.

ELECTRA: Ah, poor head, how dirty your hair! How savage you look, remaining so long unwashed!

ORESTES: Put me once more upon the couch; whenever the madness leaves me, I am unnerved and weak.

ELECTRA: As she lays him down. There! His couch is welcome to the sick man, a painful possession, but a necessary one.

Part 4

ORESTES: Set me upright once again, turn my body round; it is their helplessness that makes the sick so hard to please.

ELECTRA: Will you set your feet upon the ground and take a step at last? Change is always pleasant.

ORESTES: Oh, yes; for that has a semblance of health; and the semblance is preferable, though it is far from the truth.

ELECTRA: Hear me now, my brother, while the Furies permit you to use your senses.

ORESTES: You have news to tell; if it is good, you do me a kindness; but if it tends to my hurt, I have suffered enough.

ELECTRA: Menelaus, your father’s brother, has come; his ships are moored in Nauplia.

ORESTES: What did you say? Has he come to be a light in our troubles, a man of our own family, who owes gratitude to our father?

ELECTRA: He has come, and is bringing Helen from the walls of Troy—accept this as proof of what I say.

ORESTES: If he had returned alone in safety, he would be more enviable; but if he is bringing his wife, he has come with great mischief.

ELECTRA: Tyndareus begot a race of daughters notorious for blame, infamous throughout Hellas.

ORESTES: Then you be different from that evil brood, for you can be; and not only in words, but also in heart.

ELECTRA: Ah! brother, your eye is growing wild, and in a moment you are turning mad again, when you were just now sane.

ORESTES: Mother, I implore you! Do not shake at me those maidens with their bloodshot eyes and snaky hair. Here they are, close by, to leap on me!

ELECTRA: Lie still, poor sufferer, on your couch; your eye sees nothing, you only imagine that you recognize them.

ORESTES: O Phoebus! they will kill me, the hounds of hell, death’s priestesses with glaring eyes, the dreadful goddesses.

ELECTRA: I will not let you go; but with arms twined round you, I will prevent your piteous leaping.

ORESTES: Let me go! you are one of my Furies, and are gripping me by the waist to hurl me into Tartarus!

ELECTRA: Alas for me! What aid can I find, when we have Heaven’s forces set against us?

ORESTES: Give me my horn-tipped bow, Apollo’s gift, with which he told me to ward off the goddesses, if ever they sought to scare me with wild transports of madness. A mortal hand will wound one of them, unless she departs from my sight. Don’t you hear me? Don’t you see the feathered arrows springing out from my far-shooting bow? What! Do you linger still? Mount the sky on your wings, and blame those oracles of Phoebus. Ah! why am I raving, gasping? Where, oh! where have I leapt, from my couch? Once more the storm is past, I see a calm. Sister, why do you weep, your head wrapped in your robe? I am ashamed that I should make you a partner in my sufferings and distress a maiden like you through my sickness. Do not waste away over my troubles; for though you consented to it, yet I was the one that spilled our mother’s blood. I blame Loxias, for urging me on to do a deed most unholy, encouraging me with words but not in deed. I believe that, if I had asked my father to his face whether I must slay my mother, he would have strongly entreated me, by this beard, never to plunge a sword into her throat, since he would not regain his life, and I, poor wretch, would accomplish such evil! And now, my sister, unveil your face and cease to weep, despite our misery. Whenever you see me give way to despair, it is for you to calm and soothe the terrors and distorted fancies of my brain. Whenever sorrow comes to you, I must be at your side and give you comforting advice; for to help our friends like this is noble. Go in the house now, my poor sister; lie down and close your sleepless eyes; take food and bathe your body. For if you leave me or fall sick from nursing me, I am lost. You are my only ally; I am deserted by all the rest, as you see.

ELECTRA: I will not leave you; with you I will choose to live and die; for it is the same: if you die, what shall I, a woman, do? How shall I escape alone, with no brother, or father, or friends? Still, if you think it right, I must do your bidding. But lie down upon your couch, and do not pay too great heed to the terrors and alarm that scare you from your rest; lie still upon your pallet. For even if you are not sick, but only think you are, this brings weariness and perplexity to mortals. Exit Electra.

Part 5

CHORUS: Ah! ah! you goddesses swiftly careering on your wings, whose lot it is to hold a revel, not with Bacchic rites, in tears and groans; you black-skinned avenging spirits, that dart along the spacious air, exacting a penalty for blood, a penalty for murder, I beg you, I beg you! Allow the son of Agamemnon to forget his wild whirling frenzy. Alas for the toils which you, poor wretch, strove after to your ruin, when you heard the voice from the tripod, proclaimed by Phoebus, at his sanctuary, where the hollows are called the navel of the earth.

CHORUS: O Zeus! What pity, what deadly struggle is here, hurrying you on, the wretch on whom some avenging fiend is heaping tears upon tears, bringing to the house your mother’s blood, which drives you raving mad? Great prosperity is not secure among mortals. I lament, I lament! But some divine power, shaking it to and fro like the sail of a swift ship, plunges it deep in the waves of grievous affliction, violent and deadly as the waves of the sea. For what other family must I still revere, rather than the one from a divine marriage, from Tantalus.

CHORUS LEADER: And see, a king draws near, lord Menelaus; from his magnificence it is plain to see that he belongs to the blood of the Tantalids. All hail! you that set out with a thousand ships to Asia’s land; good fortune is your friend, for you have accomplished, with divine aid, all that you prayed for.

MENELAUS: O my home, some joy I feel to see you again on my return from Troy, but I also grieve at the sight; for never have I seen another house more closely encircled by dire affliction. For I learned Agamemnon’s fate and the death he died at his wife’s hands, as I was trying to put in at Malea; when the sailors’ prophet, the truthful god Glaucus, Nereus’ seer, brought the news to me from the waves; he stationed himself in full view and told me this: Menelaus, your brother lies dead, plunged in a fatal bath, the last his wife will ever give him. My sailors and I wept greatly at his words. When I arrived at Nauplia, my wife already on the point of starting here, I was expecting to give a fond embrace to Orestes, Agamemnon’s son, and his mother, thinking that they were doing well, when I heard from a sailor the unholy murder of Tyndareus’ child. And now tell me, young ladies, where to find the son of Agamemnon, who dared such evil. For he was a baby in Clytemnestra’s arms when I left my home to go to Troy, so that I would not recognize him if I saw him.

ORESTES: Menelaus, I am Orestes, whom you are asking about. I will of my own accord inform you of my sufferings. But as my first portion, I clasp your knees as a suppliant, giving you prayers from the mouth of one without the suppliant’s bough; save me, for you have come at the crisis of my troubles.

MENELAUS: O gods, what do I see? What living corpse greets my sight?

ORESTES: You are right; I am dead through misery, though I still gaze upon the light.

MENELAUS: How savage the look your unkempt hair gives you, poor wretch!

ORESTES: It is not my looks, but my deeds that torture me.

MENELAUS: Your tearless eyes glare dreadfully!

ORESTES: My body is gone, though my name has not deserted me.

MENELAUS: Unsightly apparition, so different from what I expected!

ORESTES: Here I am, the murderer of my wretched mother.

MENELAUS: I have heard, spare your words; evils should be seldom spoken.

ORESTES: I will be sparing; but the deity is lavish of woe in my case.

MENELAUS: What ails you? what is your deadly sickness?

ORESTES: My conscience; I know that I am guilty of a dreadful crime.

MENELAUS: What do you mean? Wisdom is shown in clarity, not in obscurity.

ORESTES: Grief especially has ruined me—

MENELAUS: Yes, she is a dreadful goddess, yet are there cures for her.

Part 6

ORESTES: And fits of madness, the vengeance of a mother’s blood.

MENELAUS: When did your madness begin? Which day was it?

ORESTES: On the day I was heaping the mound over my poor mother’s grave.

MENELAUS: When you were in the house, or watching by the pyre?

ORESTES: As I was waiting by night to gather up her bones.

MENELAUS: Was any one else there, to help you rise?

ORESTES: Pylades who shared with me the bloody deed, my mother’s murder.

MENELAUS: You are sick from phantom shapes; what sort?

ORESTES: I seemed to see three maidens, black as night.

MENELAUS: I know whom you mean, but I do not want to name them.

ORESTES: Yes, for they are revered; you were well-informed, to avoid naming them.

MENELAUS: Are these the ones that drive you to frenzy, with the curse of kindred blood?

ORESTES: Oh! the torment I endure from their pursuit!

MENELAUS: It is not strange, if those who have done dreadful things should suffer them.

ORESTES: But I have a way to recover from these troubles.

MENELAUS: Do not speak of death; that is not wise.

ORESTES: It is Phoebus, who commanded me to kill my mother.

MENELAUS: Showing a strange ignorance of what is fair and right.

ORESTES: We are slaves to the gods, whatever those gods are.

MENELAUS: And does Loxias not help your affliction?

Part 7

ORESTES: He will in time; this is the nature of gods.

MENELAUS: How long is it since your mother breathed her last?

ORESTES: This is the sixth day; her funeral pyre is still warm.

MENELAUS: How soon the goddesses arrived to avenge your mother’s blood!

ORESTES: I am not clever, but I am by nature a true friend to my friends.

MENELAUS: Does your father give you any help at all, for your avenging him?

ORESTES: Not yet; I call delay the equal of inaction.

MENELAUS: How do you stand in the city after that deed of yours?

ORESTES: I am so hated that no one will speak to me.

MENELAUS: Have your hands not even been cleaned of blood, according to custom?

ORESTES: No, for wherever I go, the door is shut against me.

MENELAUS: Which citizens are driving you from the land?

ORESTES: Oeax, who refers to my father his reason for hating Troy.

MENELAUS: I understand; he is avenging on you the blood of Palamedes.

ORESTES: That was nothing to do with me; yet I am destroyed for three reasons.

MENELAUS: Who else? Some of the friends of Aegisthus, I suppose?

ORESTES: They insult me, and the city listens to them now.

MENELAUS: Will the city allow you to keep the scepter of Agamemnon?

ORESTES: How, seeing that they will not allow me to remain alive?

MENELAUS: What is their method? Can you tell me plainly?

Part 8

ORESTES: A vote will be taken against us today.

MENELAUS: To leave the city? Or to die, or not to die?

ORESTES: Death by stoning at the hands of the citizens.

MENELAUS: Then why not cross the border and try to escape?

ORESTES: Because we are encircled by men fully armed.

MENELAUS: Private foes or Argive troops?

ORESTES: All the citizens, so that I may die; it is shortly told.

MENELAUS: Poor wretch! you have arrived at the extremity of woe.

ORESTES: In you I have hopes of escape from my troubles. But since you have come with good fortune, share with your friends, who are wretched, your prosperity; do not hold aside that goodness for yourself alone; but partake of troubles in your turn, and so pay back my father’s kindness to those who have a claim on you. For such friends as desert us in adversity are friends in name but not in deed.

CHORUS LEADER: And here is Tyndareus, the Spartan, struggling with aged step, clad in black robes, with his hair cut short in mourning for his daughter.

ORESTES: Menelaus, I am ruined. See, Tyndareus approaches us, the man of all others I most shrink from facing, because of the deed I have done. For he nursed me when I was small, and lavished on me many a fond caress, carrying me about in his arms as the son of Agamemnon; and so did Leda; for they both honored me no less than the Dioscuri. Ah me! my wretched heart and soul, it was a sorry return I made them! What darkness can I find for my face? What cloud can I spread before me in my efforts to escape the old man’s eye?

TYNDAREUS: Where, where may I see Menelaus, my daughter’s husband? For as I was pouring libations on Clytemnestra’s grave I heard that he had come to Nauplia with his wife, safe home again after many years. Lead me to him; for I want to approach him and clasp his hand, as a friend whom at last I see again.

MENELAUS: Hail, old man, rival of Zeus for a bride!

TYNDAREUS: All hail to you, Menelaus, my kinsman! Catching sight of Orestes. Ah! What an evil it is to be ignorant of the future! There is that matricide before the house, a viper darting venomous flashes from his eyes, whom I loathe. Menelaus, are you speaking to that godless wretch?

MENELAUS: And why not? He is the son of one whom I loved.

TYNDAREUS: This is his son, this creature here?

MENELAUS: Yes, his son; if he is in misfortune, he ought to be honored.

TYNDAREUS: You have been so long among barbarians that you have become one of them.

MENELAUS: Always to honor one’s kin is a custom in Hellas.

TYNDAREUS: And another custom is to yield a willing deference to the laws.

Part 9

MENELAUS: The wise hold that everything which depends on necessity is a slave.

TYNDAREUS: Keep that wisdom for yourself; I will not have it.

MENELAUS: Yes, for you are angry, and also old age is not wise.

TYNDAREUS: What does a dispute about foolishness have to do with him? If right and wrong are clear to all, who was ever more senseless than this man, because he never weighed the justice of the case, nor appealed to the universal law of Hellas? For instance, when Agamemnon breathed his last a most foul deed, which I will never defend, he should have brought a charge against his mother and inflicted a holy penalty for bloodshed, banishing her from his house; thus he would have gained moderation instead of calamity, keeping strictly to the law and showing his piety as well. As it is, he has come into the same fate as his mother. for though he had just cause for thinking her a wicked woman, he has become more wicked by murdering her. I will ask you, Menelaus, just one question. If a man’s wedded wife should kill him, and his son in turn will kill his mother in revenge; next the avenger’s son to expiate this murder will commit another: where will the chain of horrors end? Our forefathers settled these matters the right way. They forbade any one with blood upon his hands to appear in their sight or cross their path; but they purified him by exile, they did not kill him in revenge. Otherwise someone, by taking the pollution last upon his hands, is always going to be liable to have his own blood shed. Now I hate wicked women, especially my daughter who killed her husband; Helen, too, your own wife, I will never commend, nor would I even speak to her; and I do not envy you a voyage to Troy for a worthless woman. But the law I will defend with all my might, to put an end to this brutal spirit of murder, which is always the ruin of countries and cities alike. Turning to Orestes Wretch! Had you no heart when your mother was baring her breast in her appeal to you? I, who did not see that awful deed, weep unhappy tears from my old eyes. One thing at least agrees with what I say: you are hated by the gods, and you pay atonement for your mother by your fits of madness and terror. Why do I need to hear from other witnesses what I can see for myself? Therefore, Menelaus, take heed; do not oppose the gods in your wish to help this man; but leave him to be stoned to death by the citizens, or do not set foot on Spartan land. My daughter is dead, and rightly; but it should not have been his hand that slew her. In all except my daughters I have been a happy man; there I am not blessed.

CHORUS LEADER: He is enviable, who is fortunate in his children, and does not bring hazardous notoriety on himself.

ORESTES: Old man, I am afraid to speak before you, in a matter where I am sure to grieve you to the heart. I am unholy because I killed my mother, I know it, yet holy on another count, because I avenged my father. Only let your years, which frighten me from speaking, set no barrier in the path of my words, and I will go forward; but now I fear your gray hairs. What ought I to have done? Set one thing against another. My father begot me; your daughter gave me birth, being the field that received the seed from another; for without a father no child would ever be born. So I reasoned that I ought to stand by the author of my being rather than the woman who undertook to rear me. Now your daughter—I am ashamed to call her mother—came to a man’s bed in a private and unchaste wedding; I speak against myself when I speak badly of her, yet I will speak. Aegisthus was her secret husband in the home; I killed him, and I sacrificed my mother, an unholy crime, no doubt, but done to avenge my father. Now, as regards the matters for which I deserve to be stoned as you threatened, hear the service I am conferring on all Hellas. For if women become so bold as to murder their husbands, taking refuge in their children, with the mother’s breast to catch the pity, they would think nothing of destroying their husbands on any charge whatsoever. But I, by a horrible crime, as you boast it to be, have put an end to this custom. I hated my mother and killed her justly. She was false to her husband when he was gone from his home to fight for all Hellas at the head of its armies, and she did not keep his bed undefiled; and when her sin had found her out, she did not impose punishment on herself, but, to avoid paying the penalty to her husband, punished my father by death. By the gods! it is not a good time for me to mention the gods, when defending the charge of murder; but if I consented by my silence to my mother’s conduct, what would the murdered man have done to me? Would he not now in hatred be tormenting me with the Furies? Or does my mother have goddesses as allies, but he does not, in his deeper wrong? You, yes! you, old man, have been my ruin by begetting a wicked daughter; for it was owing to her audacious deed that I lost my father and became my mother’s murderer. You see, Telemachus did not kill the wife of Odysseus, because she did not marry husband upon husband, but the marriage-bed remained untainted in her home. And you see Apollo, who makes the navel of the earth his home, dispensing to mortals unerring prophecies, whom we obey in all he says; I killed my mother in obedience to him. Find him guilty of the crime, slay him; his was the sin, not mine. What ought I to have done? or is the god not competent to expiate the pollution when I refer it to him? Where then should anyone flee, if he will not rescue me from death after giving his commands? Do not say that the deed was done badly, but unfortunately for the ones who did it. A blessed life those mortals lead who make wise marriages; but those for whom it does not fall out well are unfortunate in their public and private concerns.

CHORUS LEADER: Women by nature always meddle in the doings of men, with unfortunate results.

TYNDAREUS: Since you are so bold and suppress nothing, but answer me back in such a way as to vex my heart, you will lead me to go to greater lengths in procuring your execution; and I shall regard this as a fine addition to my labors in coming here to adorn my daughter’s grave. Yes, I will go to the chosen band of Argives and set the city, willing or not, on you and your sister, to pay the penalty of stoning. She deserves to die even more than you, for it was she who embittered you against your mother, always carrying tales to your ear to increase your hate the more, announcing dreams from Agamemnon, and Aegisthus’ bed, may the gods in Hades loathe it! for even here on earth it was bitter; till she set the house ablaze with fires never kindled by Hephaestus. Menelaus, I tell you this, and I will do it, too: if you then consider my hatred or our marriage connection of any account, do not ward off this man’s doom in defiance of the gods, but leave him to be stoned to death by the citizens, or do not set foot on Spartan land. Remember you have been told all this, and do not choose the ungodly as friends, pushing aside the more righteous. Servants, lead me from this house. Exit Tyndareus.

ORESTES: Go, so that the remainder of my speech may come to this man without interruption, free from your old age. Menelaus, why are you pacing round and round in thought, going back and forth, in a dilemma?

MENELAUS: Let me alone! When I think it over, I am perplexed to know where to turn in these events.

ORESTES: Do not come to a final decision now, but after first hearing what I have to say, then make up your mind.

MENELAUS: Good advice! Speak. There are times when silence would be better than speech, and the reverse also.

ORESTES: I will speak now. A long statement has advantages over a short one and is more intelligible to listen to. Give me nothing of your own, Menelaus, but repay what you received from my father. As Menelaus makes a deprecating gesture. I am not speaking of possessions; if you save my life, you will save my dearest possession. I have done wrong; I ought to have a little wrong-doing from you to requite that evil, for my father Agamemnon also did wrong in gathering the Hellenes and going to Ilium, not that he had sinned himself, but he was trying to find a cure for the sin and wrong-doing of your wife. So this is one thing you are bound to pay me back. For he really gave his life, as friends should, toiling hard in battle with you, so that you might have your wife again. Pay back to me the same thing you got there. For one day exert yourself, on my behalf standing up in my defense, not ten full years. As for what Aulis took, the sacrifice of my sister, I let you have that; do not kill Hermione. For in my present plight, you must have an advantage over me and I must pardon it. But give to my miserable father my life and the life of my sister, a maiden so long; for by my death I shall leave my father’s house without an heir. You will say it is impossible. That’s the point; friends are bound to help friends in trouble. But when fortune gives of its best, what need of friends? For the god’s help is enough of itself when he is willing to give it. All Hellas believes that you love your wife, and I am not saying this to flatter or wheedle you; by her I implore you. As Menelaus turns away. Ah me, my misery! to what have I come! Well? (preparing to make a final appeal) I must suffer, for I am making this appeal on behalf of my whole family. O my uncle, my father’s own brother! Imagine that the dead man in his grave is listening, that his spirit is hovering over you and saying what I say, this much for tears and groans and misfortunes. I have spoken and I have begged for my safety, hunting what all seek, not myself alone.

CHORUS LEADER: I, too, though I am only a woman, beseech you to help those who need it; for you have the power.

MENELAUS: Orestes, you are a man for whom I have a deep regard, and I want to take part in your troubles; it is a duty, too, to help relatives bear their ills, by dying or killing enemies, if god gives the power to do so. I wish I had that power granted me by the gods. For I have come quite destitute of allies, after my long weary wanderings, with the small strength of my surviving friends. We should never get the better of Pelasgian Argos by fighting; if we should prevail by soothing speeches, we will come to some hope there. For how can you win a great cause by small For when the people fall into a vigorous fury, they are as hard to quench as a raging fire; but if you gently slacken your hold and yield a little to their tension, cautiously watching your opportunity, they may possibly calm down; if their gusts abate, you may obtain whatever you want from them easily. They have pity, and a hot temper too, an invaluable quality if you watch it closely. So for you I will go and try to persuade Tyndareus and the city to moderation. A ship also dips if its sheet is hauled too taut, but rights itself again if it is let go. The god hates excessive eagerness, and the citizens do also; I must save you, I don’t deny it, by cleverness, not by violence against those who are stronger. I could not do it by strength, as you perhaps imagine; for it is not easy to triumph single-handed over the troubles that beset you. I would never have tried to bring the Argive land over to softness; but it is necessary. Exit Menelaus.

ORESTES: O you that have no use, except to lead an army in a woman’s cause! O worst of men in your friends’ defense, do you turn your back on me and flee, the deeds of Agamemnon lost and gone? After all, father, you had no friends in adversity. Alas! I am betrayed; no longer do I have any hope of finding a refuge where I may escape the death-sentence of Argos; for this man was my haven of safety. But I see Pylades, the best of friends, coming at a run from Phocis—a pleasant sight! A man who can be trusted in troubles is a better sight than a calm to sailors.

PYLADES: I have come through the city quickly, as I should, having heard and myself clearly seen the citizens assembling, against you and your sister, to kill you at once. What is happening? How is it with you? How are you doing, my best of comrades, friends and kin? For you are all these to me.

ORESTES: I am ruined, to make plain to you my troubles in brief.

PYLADES: You must destroy me also; for friends have all in common.

ORESTES: Menelaus is the worst of men to me and my sister.

Part 10

PYLADES: It is natural for the husband of an evil woman to become evil.

ORESTES: He no more repaid me by coming here, than if he had never come.

PYLADES: Oh, has he really arrived in this land?

ORESTES: He took a long time, but he was very soon detected as evil to his friends.

PYLADES: And did he bring his wife, the worst of women, with him on his ship?

ORESTES: It was not he who brought her here, but she who brought him.

PYLADES: Where is she, the one woman who proved the ruin of so many Achaeans?

ORESTES: In my house; if, that is, I ought to call it mine.

PYLADES: And what did you say to your father’s brother?

ORESTES: Not to see me and my sister killed by the citizens.

PYLADES: By the gods! What did he say to that? I would like know this.

ORESTES: He was cautious, the usual policy of ignoble friends.

PYLADES: What excuse did he advance? When I have learned that, I know everything.

ORESTES: There was a new arrival, the father who begot those noble daughters.

PYLADES: You mean Tyndareus; he was angry with you, perhaps, for his daughter’s sake?

ORESTES: You understand. And Menelaus preferred the family relationship with him to that with my father.

PYLADES: He did not have the courage to share your troubles, when he was here?

ORESTES: No, for he was not born a warrior, though strong among women!

PYLADES: Your case is desperate, it seems, and you must die.

ORESTES: The citizens must give their vote about us on the murder.

Part 11

PYLADES: And what is that to decide? Tell me, for I am alarmed.

ORESTES: Our life or death; a brief speech on a large subject.

PYLADES: Leave the palace with your sister now and try to escape.

ORESTES: Don’t you see? We are being watched by guards on every side.

PYLADES: I saw that the streets of the city were secured with armed men.

ORESTES: We are as closely beleaguered as a city by its foes.

PYLADES: Ask me now of my state; for I too am ruined.

ORESTES: By whom? This would be a further trouble to add to mine.

PYLADES: Strophius, my father, in a fit of anger, has banished me from his house.

ORESTES: Bringing against you a private charge, or one in which the citizens share?

PYLADES: He says it is an unholy crime to have helped you slay your mother.

ORESTES: Alas! It seems my troubles will cause you grief as well.

PYLADES: I am not like Menelaus in character; this must be endured.

ORESTES: Are you not afraid that Argos will desire your death as well as mine?

PYLADES: I am not theirs to punish; I belong to Phocis.

ORESTES: A terrible thing is the mob, whenever it has villains to lead it.

PYLADES: But with honest leaders its counsels are always honest.

ORESTES: Very well; we must consult together.

PYLADES: About what necessity?

ORESTES: Suppose I go and tell the citizens—

Part 12

PYLADES: That your action was just?

ORESTES: In avenging my father?

PYLADES: I am afraid they would be glad to catch you.

ORESTES: Well, am I to crouch in fear and die without a word?

PYLADES: That is cowardly.

ORESTES: How then should I act?

PYLADES: Suppose you stay here, what means of safety do you have?

ORESTES: I have none.

PYLADES: And if you go, is there any hope of escaping your troubles?

ORESTES: There might be, possibly.

PYLADES: Then that is better than staying.

ORESTES: Then I will go.

PYLADES: At least you die in this way, you will die more honorably.

ORESTES: You are right; in this way I escape cowardice.

PYLADES: Better than by staying.

ORESTES: After all, my action was just.

PYLADES: Pray that this may be the only view they take.

ORESTES: Some one or two might pity me—

PYLADES: Yes, your noble birth is a great point.

ORESTES: Resenting my father’s death.

Part 13

PYLADES: That is all quite clear.

ORESTES: I must go, for to die ignobly is a coward’s part.

PYLADES: Well said.

ORESTES: Shall we tell my sister?

PYLADES: God forbid!

ORESTES: True, there might be tears.

PYLADES: That would be a grave omen.

ORESTES: Yes, silence is clearly better.

PYLADES: And you will gain time.

ORESTES: There is only one obstacle in my way.

PYLADES: What fresh objection now?

ORESTES: I am afraid the goddesses will prevent me by madness.

PYLADES: But I will take care of you.

ORESTES: It is annoying to have to touch a sick man.

PYLADES: Not to me, when it is you.

ORESTES: Beware of becoming a partner in my madness.

PYLADES: Let that pass.

ORESTES: You will not hesitate?

PYLADES: No, for hesitation is a grave mischief among friends.

ORESTES: On then, pilot of my course!

Part 14

PYLADES: A service I am glad to render.

ORESTES: And guide me to my father’s tomb.

PYLADES: For what purpose?

ORESTES: That I may appeal to him to save me.

PYLADES: Yes, that is the proper way.

ORESTES: May I not see my mother’s grave!

PYLADES: No; she was an enemy. But hasten, so that the vote of Argos may not catch you first, supporting those limbs, slow from sickness, on mine; for I will carry you through the town, thinking little of the mob and unashamed. For how shall I prove my friendship, if not by helping you in sore distress?

ORESTES: Ah! the old saying again, get friends, not relations only. For a man who fuses into your ways, though he is an outsider, is better for a man to possess as a friend than a whole host of relations. Exeunt Orestes and Pylades.

CHORUS: The great prosperity and the prowess, proudly boasted throughout Hellas and by the streams of Simois, went back again from good fortune for the Atreidae long ago, from an old misfortune to their house, when strife came to the sons of Tantalus over a golden ram, to end in most pitiable banqueting and the slaughter of high-born children; and this is why murder exchanges for murder, through blood, and does not leave the two Atreidae.

CHORUS: What seemed good was not good, to cut a mother’s flesh with ruthless hand and show the sword stained black with blood to the sun’s bright beams; to commit a noble crime is an impious, subtle, malignant madness! The wretched daughter of Tyndareus in terror of death screamed to him: My son, this is unholy, your bold attempt upon your mother’s life; do not, while honoring your father, fasten on yourself an eternity of shame.

CHORUS: What affliction on earth surpasses this? What calls for keener grief or pity, than to shed with your hand a mother’s blood? Oh! what a dreadful crime he committed, and now is raving mad, a prey to the Furies, whirling blood with racing eyes, the son of Agamemnon! O the wretch! when he saw a mother’s bosom over her robe of golden weave, and yet he made her his victim, in recompense for his father’s sufferings.

ELECTRA: Women, has my poor Orestes left the house, mastered by the heaven-sent madness?

CHORUS LEADER: Not at all; he has gone to the Argive people to stand the appointed trial for his life, in which he and you must live or die.

ELECTRA: Oh! Why did he do it? Who persuaded him?

CHORUS LEADER: Pylades; but this messenger will no doubt soon tell us what happened to your brother there.

MESSENGER: Wretched, unhappy daughter of the general Agamemnon, my lady Electra, hear the sad tidings I bring you.

ELECTRA: Alas! we are ruined; your words show it; you have clearly come with tidings of woe.

MESSENGER: The Pelasgians have decided by vote that you, poor lady, and your brother are to die this day.

ELECTRA: Alas! my expectations are realized; I have long feared this, and have been wasting away in mourning for what was sure to happen. But what was the trial, what was said by the Argives, to condemn us and ratify our death? Tell me, old friend; must I die by stoning or the sword? For I share my brother’s misfortunes.

MESSENGER: I had just come from the country and was entering the gates, needing to learn what was decided about you and Orestes, for I was always well disposed to your father when he was alive, and it was your house that reared me, poor indeed, yet loyal in the service of friends. I saw a crowd going and taking their seats on the height, where they say Danaus first gathered his people for a meeting, making amends to Aegyptus. So, when I saw the throng, I asked a citizen: What news in Argos? Tidings of the enemy haven’t ruffled the city of Danaus, have they? But he said: Don’t you see Orestes there, on his way to he tried for his life? I saw an unexpected sight, which I wish I had not seen, Pylades and your brother approaching together, the one with his head down, weakened by sickness; the other sharing his friend’s sorrow like a brother, tending his illness with constant care. Now when the Argives were fully gathered, a herald rose and said: Who wishes to give his opinion whether Orestes should be slain or not for the murder of his mother? Then up stood Talthybius, who helped your father sack the Phrygians. He spoke out of both sides of his mouth, a mere tool of those in power as he always is, expressing high admiration for your father, but not praising your brother, urging his crooked sentiments in specious words, that it would establish laws as to parents that are not good; and all the while he was darting lively glances at the friends of Aegisthus. Such is that tribe; heralds always trip across to the lucky side; the one who has power in the city or a post in the government is their friend. After him lord Diomedes made a speech; he said they should not kill you and your brother, but keep clear of guilt by punishing you with exile. Some roared out that his words were good, but others disapproved. Next stood up a fellow, who cannot close his lips; one whose impudence is his strength; an Argive, but not of Argos, forced on us; confident in bluster and ignorant free speech, and plausible enough to involve them in some mischief sooner or later; He was for stoning you and Orestes to death, but it was Tyndareus who kept suggesting arguments of this kind to him as he urged the death of both of you. Another then stood up and said the opposite; he was not handsome in appearance, but a brave man, rarely coming in contact with the town or the circle in the market-place; a farmer—and they are the only ones who preserve our land—but clever, and eager to grapple with the arguments, his character without a blemish, his walk in life beyond reproach. He said that they should crown Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, for showing his willingness to avenge a father by the murder of a wicked and godless woman who would prevent men from taking up arms and going on foreign service, if those who remain behind, corrupt and seduce wives left at home to keep house. To the better sort, at least, his word carried conviction. No one spoke after him. Then your brother came forward and said: You dwellers in the land of Inachus! I helped you no less than my father when I slew my mother; for if the murder of men by women is to be sanctioned, then the sooner you die, the better, or you must become the slaves of women; and that will be doing the very reverse of what you should. As it is, she who betrayed my father’s bed has died, but if you take my life, the law becomes relaxed, and the sooner each one of you dies, the better; for it will never be daring at any rate that they will lack. Yet, for all he seemed to speak well, he did not persuade the assembly; but that villain who spoke in favor of slaying you and your brother gained his point by appealing to the mob. Poor Orestes scarcely persuaded them not to kill him by stoning, promising to die by his own hand, with you, on this day. Pylades, in tears, is now bringing him from the conclave; and his friends bear him company, with wailing and lamentation; so he comes, a bitter sight and piteous vision. Make ready the sword or prepare the noose for your neck, for you must leave the light; your noble birth availed you nothing, nor did Phoebus from his seat on the tripod at Delphi; he was your undoing. Exit Messenger.

Part 15

ELECTRA: O Pelasgia, I take up the dirge, doing bloody outrage on my cheeks with white nail, and beating on my head; these are the portion of Persephone, fair young goddess of the nether world. Let the Cyclopian land break forth into wailing for the sorrows of our house, laying the steel upon the head to crop it close. This is the piteous, piteous strain that goes up for those who are about to die, once the battle-leaders of Hellas.

ELECTRA: It has gone, it has gone, and is lost, all the race of Pelops, and the glory that crowned their happy home once; the envy of heaven seized them and that cruel murdering vote among the citizens. Oh, oh! you tribes of short-lived men, full of tears, full of suffering, see how fate runs counter to your hopes! All receive in turn their different troubles in length of time; and the whole of mortal life is uncertain.

ELECTRA: Oh! to reach that rock which hangs suspended midway between earth and heaven, that fragment from Olympus, which swings on chains of gold, so that I may utter my lament to Tantalus, my forefather, who begot the ancestors of my house. They saw infatuate ruin, the chase of winged steeds, when Pelops in four-horse chariot drove over the sea, hurling the body of murdered Myrtilus into the ocean swell, after his race near Geraestus’ strand, foam-flecked from the tossing sea. From this came a woeful curse upon my house, brought to birth among the sheep by the son of Maia, when there appeared a baleful, baleful portent of a lamb with golden fleece, for Atreus, breeder of horses; from which Strife changed the course of the sun’s winged chariot, fitting the westward path of the sky towards the single horse of Dawn; and Zeus diverted the career of the seven Pleiads into a new track and exchanged . . . death for death: both the banquet to which Thyestes gave his name, and the treacherous love of Cretan Aerope, in her treacherous marriage; but the crowning woe has come on me and on my father by the bitter constraints of our house.

CHORUS LEADER: Look, here comes your brother, condemned to die, and with him Pylades, most loyal of friends, true as a brother, guiding his feeble steps, his yoke-fellow, pacing carefully.

ELECTRA: Alas! I weep to see you stand before the tomb, my brother, face to face with the funeral pyre. Alas, again! as I take my last look at you, my senses leave me.

ORESTES: Be silent! an end to womanish lamenting! resign yourself to your fate. It is piteous, but nevertheless

ELECTRA: How can I be silent, when we poor sufferers are no longer to gaze upon the sun-god’s light?

ORESTES: Oh! spare me that death! Enough that this unhappy wretch is already slain by Argives; let our present sufferings be.

ELECTRA: Alas for your unhappy youth, Orestes, and for your fated untimely death! When you should have lived, you are going to die.

ORESTES: By the gods, do not unman me, bringing me to tears by the recollection of my sorrows.

ELECTRA: We are about to die; it is not possible for me not to grieve over our troubles; it is a piteous thing for all men to lose life, that is so sweet.

ORESTES: This is the day appointed for us; we must fit the dangling noose about our necks or whet the sword for use.

ELECTRA: You be the one to kill me, brother, so that no Argive may insult Agamemnon’s son by my death.

ORESTES: Enough that I have a mother’s blood upon me; I will not kill you, but die by your own hand, however you wish.

ELECTRA: Agreed; I will not be behind you in using the sword; only I long to throw my arms about your neck.

ORESTES: Enjoy that empty satisfaction, if embraces have any joy for those who have come so near to death.

ELECTRA: My dearest, you who have a name that sounds most loved and sweet to your sister, partner in one soul with her!

ORESTES: Oh, you will melt my heart! I want to give you back a fond embrace. And why should such a wretch as I still feel any shame? Embracing Electra Heart to heart, my sister! how sweet to me this close embrace! In place of children and the marriage bed .

ELECTRA: Ah! If only the same sword, if it is right, could kill us both, and one coffin of cedar-wood receive us!

ORESTES: That would be very sweet; but surely you see we are too destitute of friends to be allowed one tomb between us.

Part 16

ELECTRA: Did that coward Menelaus, that traitor to my father, not even speak for you, or make an effort to save your life?

ORESTES: He did not even show himself, but, with his hopes centered on the throne, he was careful not to attempt the rescue of his friends. But let us see how we may die a noble death, one most worthy of Agamemnon. I, for my part, will let the city see my noble spirit when I plunge the sword to my heart, and you in turn must imitate my daring. Pylades, be the arbitrator of our slaughter and, when we both are dead, lay out our bodies decently; carry them to our father’s grave and bury us there with him. Farewell, now; I am leaving for the deed, as you see.

PYLADES: Stop! there is first one point I have to blame you for, if you thought I would care to live when you are dead.

ORESTES: But why are you called on to die with me?

PYLADES: Do you ask? What is life to me without your companionship?

ORESTES: You did not kill your mother, as I did to my sorrow.

PYLADES: At least I helped you; and so I ought to suffer the same penalty.

ORESTES: Surrender to your father, do not die with me. You still have a city, while I no longer have, and your father’s home, and a great refuge of wealth. You have failed to marry my poor sister, whom I betrothed to you from a deep regard for your companionship; but find another bride and rear a family; for the marriage-tie which bound us is no more. Farewell, be happy, my beloved friend; we cannot, but you may; for we, the dead, are robbed of happiness.

PYLADES: How far you are from grasping what I mean! May the fruitful earth, the radiant sky refuse to hold my blood, if ever I turn traitor and desert you when I have freed myself. For I shared in the murder, which I will not deny, and also schemed the whole plot, for which you are now paying the penalty; and so I ought to die together with you and her. For I consider her, whom you betrothed to me, as my wife. Whatever shall I say, when I reach Delphi, the citadel of Phocis, if I was your friend before your misfortunes, but ceased to be your friend, when you were unfortunate? That must not be; no, this concerns me, too. But since we are to die, let us take counsel together that Menelaus may share our misfortune.

ORESTES: Best of friends! if only I could see this before I die.

PYLADES: Listen to me, and delay the stroke of the sword.

ORESTES: I will, if I may take vengeance on my enemy.

PYLADES: Hush now! I have small confidence in women.

ORESTES: Have no fear of these; for they are our friends who are here.

PYLADES: Let us kill Helen, a bitter grief to Menelaus.

ORESTES: How? I am ready, if there is any chance of success.

PYLADES: With our swords; she is hiding in your house.

ORESTES: Indeed she is; and already she is putting her seal on everything.

PYLADES: No longer, after she is married to Hades.

ORESTES: But how? She has her barbarian attendants.

Part 17

PYLADES: Barbarians indeed! I am not the man to fear any Phrygian.

ORESTES: They are only fit to look after mirrors and perfumes!

PYLADES: Has she brought Trojan luxury with her here?

ORESTES: So much so, that Hellas is too small for her to live in.

PYLADES: The race of slaves is nothing to those who are free.

ORESTES: Well, if I can do this deed, I do not shrink from dying twice over.

PYLADES: No, nor I either, if it is you I am avenging.

ORESTES: Explain the matter, and continue describing your plan.

PYLADES: We will enter the house on the pretence of going to our death.

ORESTES: So far I follow you, but not beyond.

PYLADES: We will lament our sufferings to her.

ORESTES: So that she will shed tears, although her heart is glad.

PYLADES: And our condition will be like hers.

ORESTES: How shall we proceed next in our contest?

PYLADES: We shall have swords concealed in our cloaks.

ORESTES: Will we dispose of her attendants first?

PYLADES: We will shut them up in different parts of the house.

ORESTES: And whoever refuses to be quiet, we must kill.

PYLADES: And then the deed itself shows us where we must exert ourselves.

ORETES: To kill Helen; I understand that watchword.

Part 18

PYLADES: You have it; now hear how sound my scheme is. If we drew the sword upon a woman of greater chastity, the murder would be infamous; but, as it is, she will be punished for the sake of all Hellas, whose fathers she slew, whose children she destroyed, and made widows out of brides. There will be shouts of joy, and they will kindle the altars of the gods, invoking on our heads many blessings, because we shed a wicked woman’s blood. After killing her, you will not be called the matricide, but, resigning that title, you will succeed to a better, and be called the slayer of Helen the murderess. It can never, never be right that Menelaus should prosper, and your father, your sister and you should die, and your mother—but I pass that by, for it is not seemly to mention it—and for him to possess your home, though it was by Agamemnon’s prowess that he recovered his bride. May I die, if we do not draw our swords upon her! But if we do not accomplish Helen’s death, we will set fire to the house and die. For we will not fail to achieve one distinction, an honorable death or an honorable escape.

CHORUS LEADER: The daughter of Tyndareus, who has brought shame on her sex, has justly earned the hatred of every woman.

ORESTES: Ah! there is nothing better than a trusty friend, neither wealth nor monarchy; a crowd of people is of no account in exchange for a noble friend. You were the one who devised the vengeance against Aegisthus, and stood by me in danger, and now again you are offering me a means to punish my foes and do not stand aside—but I will cease praising you, for there is something wearisome even in being praised to excess. Now since in any case I must breathe my last, I want to do something to my enemies before my death, so that I may requite with ruin those who betrayed me, and so that those who made me suffer may grieve. Yes! I am the son of Agamemnon, who was considered worthy to rule Hellas, no tyrant but yet god-like in power; I will not disgrace him by submitting to die like a slave; my last breath shall be free and I will take vengeance on Menelaus. For if we could secure one object, we would be lucky, if a means of safety should unexpectedly come our way from somewhere, and we should be the slayers, not the slain; this is what I pray for. This wish of mine is a pleasant dream to cheer the heart, without cost, by means of the mouth’s winged words.

ELECTRA: I think I have it, brother, a means of safety for you, and for him and thirdly for myself.

ORESTES: You mean divine providence. But why do I say that? Since I know the natural shrewdness of your heart.

ELECTRA: Listen to me now; and you (to Pylades) pay attention also.

ORESTES: Speak; the prospect of good news holds a certain pleasure.

ELECTRA: You know Helen’s daughter? Of course you do.

ORESTES: I know her, Hermione, whom my mother reared.

ELECTRA: She has gone to Clytemnestra’s tomb.

ORESTES: To do what? What hope are you hinting at?

ELECTRA: She was going to pour a libation over the tomb of our mother.

ORESTES: Well, how does what you have said lead to our safety?

ELECTRA: Seize her as a hostage on her way back.

ORESTES: What good can your suggested remedy do us three friends?

ELECTRA: If, after Helen’s slaughter, Menelaus tries to do anything to you or to Pylades and me—for this bond of friendship is wholly one—say that you will kill Hermione; you must draw your sword and hold it to the maiden’s throat. If Menelaus, when he sees Helen fallen in her blood, tries to save you to insure the girl’s life, allow him to take his daughter to his arms; but if he makes no effort to curb the angry outburst and leaves you to die, then cut the maiden’s throat. And I think if he puts in a mighty appearance at first, he will calm down in time; for he is not bold or brave by nature. That is my line of defense for our safety. My speech is over.

ORESTES: O you that have the spirit of a man, though your body shows you to be a woman, how far more worthy you are to live than to die! Pylades, you will lose such a woman to your sorrow, or if you live, you will have a blessed marriage.

PYLADES: Then may it be so, and may she come to the city of Phocis with all the honors of a happy wedding.

ORESTES: How soon will Hermione return to the palace? All the rest was very well said, if we succeed in catching this impious father’s cub.

ELECTRA: Well, I expect she is near the house already, for the length of time agrees exactly.

Part 19

ORESTES: Good; you, Electra, my sister, stay before the palace and await the maiden’s approach; keep watch in case any one, whether an ally or my father’s brother, forestalls us by his entry before the murder is complete; and then make a signal to the house, either by beating on a panel of the door or calling to us within. Let us enter now and arm ourselves with swords for the final struggle, O father, in your home of gloomy night, your son Orestes calls you to come to the rescue of the destitute. It is on your account I am wrongfully suffering, and it is by your brother that I have been betrayed for doing right; it is his wife I wish to take and kill; you be our accomplice for this deed.

ELECTRA: Oh father, come! if within the ground you hear the cry of your children, who are dying for your sake.

PYLADES: O kinsman of my father, Agamemnon, hear my prayers also; save your children.

ORESTES: I killed my mother—

ELECTRA: I held the sword—

PYLADES: I . . . set them free from fear—

ORESTES: To aid you, father.

ELECTRA: Nor did I betray you.

PYLADES: Will you not hear these reproaches and rescue your children?

ORESTES: With tears I pour you a libation.

ELECTRA: And I with laments.

PYLADES: Cease, and let us set about our business. If prayers really do pierce the ground, he hears. O Zeus, god of my fathers, and holy Justice, give success to him and me and her; for there is one struggle for three friends, and one penalty, for all to live or—pay death’s account. Exeunt Orestes and Pylades.

ELECTRA: My dear friends of Mycenae, of foremost rank in Argos, the home of the Pelasgians.

CHORUS: What are you saying to us, mistress? For this honored name is still left for you in the Danaid town.

ELECTRA: Station yourselves, some here along the high road, others there on some other path, to watch the house.

CHORUS: But why do you call me to this service? Tell me, my dear.

ELECTRA: I am afraid that some one, who is stationed at the house for slaughter, may find trouble upon trouble.

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS: Let us make haste and go on; I will keep careful watch upon this road towards the east.

SECOND SEMI-CHORUS: And I on this one, that leads westward.

ELECTRA: Throw a glance sideways.

Part 20

CHORUS: Here and there, then we are looking back again, as you tell us.

ELECTRA: Cast your eyes around, let them see everything, through your tresses.

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS: Who is that on the road? Who is this country-man wandering round your house?

ELECTRA: Ah! friends, we are ruined; he will at once reveal to our enemies the armed ambush.

SECOND SEMI-CHORUS: (Reconnoitring. Calm your fears; the road is not occupied, as you think, my dear.

ELECTRA: (Turning to the other watchers.) Well? Is your side still secure? Give me a good report, if the space before the court-yard is deserted.

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS: All goes well here; look to your own watch, for no Danaid is approaching us.

SECOND SEMI-CHORUS: Your report agrees with mine; there is no noise here either.

ELECTRA: Well then, I will listen in the gateway.

CHORUS: (Calling through the door.) You within the house, why are you delaying to spill your victim’s blood, now that all is quiet?

ELECTRA: They do not hear; alas for my troubles! Can it be that her beauty has blunted their swords? Soon some Argive in full armor, hurrying to her rescue, will attack the palace. Keep a better look-out; it is not a contest of sitting still; turn about, some here, some there.

CHORUS: I am looking everywhere in turn along the road.

HELEN: Oh, Pelasgian Argos! I am being foully murdered.

CHORUS: Did you hear? The men have put their hand to the slaughter. It is Helen screaming, at a guess.

ELECTRA: O eternal might of Zeus, of Zeus, only come to help my friends!

HELEN: Menelaus, I am dying, but you do not help me, though you are near.

ELECTRA: Slay her, kill her, destroy her! Stab with your twin double-edged swords the woman who left her father, left her husband, and killed so many of the men of Hellas, slain beside the river-bank, where tears rained down, by the iron darts all round the eddies of Scamander.

CHORUS LEADER: Hush! hush! I caught the sound of a foot-fall on the road near the house.

ELECTRA: My dearest friends, it is Hermione advancing into the middle of the bloodshed; let our clamor cease. For she comes headlong into the meshes of the net. The prey will be good, if it is caught. Take up your places again with looks composed and faces not betraying what has happened; I too will have a gloomy look, as if I knew nothing of what has been done. Addressing Hermione as she approaches. Ah! maiden, have you come from wreathing Clytemnestra’s grave and pouring libations to the dead?

HERMIONE: Yes, I have returned after securing her favor; but I was filled with some alarm about a cry I heard from the palace as I was still at a distance.

Part 21

ELECTRA: But why? Our present lot gives cause for groans.

HERMIONE: Oh, don’t say so! What is your news?

ELECTRA: Argos has sentenced Orestes and me to death.

HERMIONE: Oh no! not my own relatives!

ELECTRA: It is decreed; we have put on the yoke of necessity.

HERMIONE: Was this the reason of the cry within?

ELECTRA: Yes, a suppliant cried out as he fell at Helen’s knees—

HERMIONE: Who is he? I know nothing more, if you do not tell me.

ELECTRA: Unhappy Orestes, entreating mercy for himself and me.

HERMIONE: The house then has good reason to shout.

ELECTRA: What else would make someone entreat more earnestly? But come and throw yourself before your mother in her prosperity, join your friends’ supplication that Menelaus may not see us die. O you that were nursed in my mother’s arms, have pity on us and relieve our pain. Come here to the struggle, and I myself will be your guide; for you alone have power over our safety.

HERMIONE: See, I am hastening to the house; as far it as rests with me, regard yourselves as safe. Exit Hermione .

ELECTRA: Now, friends in the house with swords, seize the prey!

HERMIONE: Oh no! Who are these I see?

ORESTES: (within.) Silence! You are here for our safety, not yours.

ELECTRA: Hold her, hold her! Point a sword at her throat, then wait in silence, that Menelaus may learn that he has found men, not Phrygian cowards, and he has been treated as cowards deserve.

CHORUS: Oh, oh, friends! raise a din, a din and shouting before the house, that the murder when done may not inspire the Argives with wild alarm, to make them bring aid to the palace, before I see for certain that Helen’s corpse lies bloody in the house, or hear the news from one of her attendants; for I know a part of the tragedy, of the rest I am not sure. In justice, retribution from the gods has come to Helen; for she filled all Hellas with tears, through that accursed, accursed Paris of Ida, who drew Hellas to Troy.

PHRYGIAN: (expressing the most abject terror.) I have escaped from death by Argive sword, in my Asian slippers, by clambering over the cedar-beams that roof the porch and the Doric triglyphs, away, away! O Earth, Earth! in barbaric flight! Alas! You foreign women, where can I escape, flying through the clear sky or over the sea, which bull-headed Ocean rolls about as he circles the world in his embrace?

CHORUS LEADER: What is it, Helen’s slave, creature from Ida?

PHRYGIAN: Ilium, Ilium, oh me! city of Phrygia, and Ida’s holy hill with fruitful soil, how I mourn for your destruction with barbarian cry; destroyed through her beauty, born from a bird, swan-feathered, Leda’s cub, hellish Helen! to be a curse to Apollo’s tower of polished stone. Ah! Alas! woe to Dardania, its wailing, wailing, for the horsemanship of Ganymede, bedfellow of Zeus.

Part 22

CHORUS LEADER: Tell us clearly each event within the house.

PHRYGIAN: Ah, for Linus! Ah, for Linus! That is what barbarians say, alas, in their eastern tongue as a prelude to death, whenever royal blood is spilled upon the ground by deadly iron blades. To tell you everything in turn, they came into the house, two twin lions of Hellas; one was called the general’s son; the other was the son of Strophius, a crafty plotter, like Odysseus, treacherous in silence, but true to his friends, bold for the fight, clever in war and a deadly serpent. Curse him for his quiet plotting, the villain! In they came to the throne of the wife of Paris the archer, faces wet with tears, and took their seats in all humility, one on this side, one on that, each with weapons. They threw, they threw their suppliant arms round the knees of Helen. Her Phrygian servants sprang up frantic, frantic; they called to each other in terror that there was treachery. To some there seemed no cause, but others thought that the viper who killed his mother was entangling the daughter of Tyndareus in the snare of his plot.

CHORUS LEADER: And where were you? fled long before in terror?

PHRYGIAN: It happened that I, in Phrygian style, Phrygian, was wafting the breeze, the breeze by the curls of Helen, Helen, with a round feathered fan, before her face, in barbarian style; and she was twisting flax on her distaff with her fingers, and letting her yarn fall on the floor, for she wanted to sew with her flax purple cloth as adornment for the tomb from the Trojan spoils, a gift to Clytemnestra. Orestes said to the Spartan girl: Daughter of Zeus, get up from your chair and come here to the old hearth of Pelops, our ancestor, to hear something I have to say. He led her, led her, and she followed, no prophet of the future. But his accomplice, the Phocian villain, was off on other business: Out of my way! Well, Phrygians always were cowards. So he shut them up in different parts of the house, some in the stables, others in the halls, one here, one there, disposing of them at a distance from their mistress.

CHORUS LEADER: What happened next?

PHRYGIAN: Mother of Ida, great, great mother! Oh! the murderous scenes and lawless wickedness that I saw, I saw, in the palace! They drew forth swords from hiding under their purple-bordered cloaks, each darting his eye a different way, lest anyone should be near. Like boar of the hills, they stood opposite the woman and said: You will die, you will die; your cowardly husband is killing you, because he betrayed his brother’s son to death in Argos. She screamed, oh, oh! she screamed, and brought down her white arm upon her breast and beat her poor head; then turned her golden-sandalled steps in flight, in flight; but Orestes got before her in his Mycenean boots and clutched his fingers in her hair, and, bending back her neck on to her left shoulder, was on the point of driving the black sword into her throat.

CHORUS LEADER: Where were you Phrygians in the house to help her?

PHRYGIAN: With a loud cry from the house we battered down with bars the doors and doorposts where we had been, and ran to her assistance from every direction, one with stones, another with javelins, a third with a drawn sword; but Pylades came to meet us, undaunted, like Hector of Troy or Ajax triple-plumed, as I saw him, saw him, in Priam’s gateway; and we met at sword’s point. But then it was very clear how the Phrygians were, how much less we were in battle strength to the Hellene might. There was one man gone in flight, another slain, another wounded, yet another pleading to stave off death; but we escaped under cover of the darkness; while some were falling, some were about to fall, and others were lying dead. And just as her unhappy mother sank to the ground to die, the luckless Hermione came in. Those two, like Bacchantes when they drop the thyrsus for a mountain cub, rushed and seized her; then turned again to the daughter of Zeus to slay her; but she had vanished from the room, passing right through the house, O Zeus and Earth and light and night! whether by magic spells or wizards’ arts or heavenly theft. What happened afterwards I do not know; for I stole out of the palace, a runaway. So Menelaus endured his painful, painful suffering to recover his wife Helen from Troy to no purpose.

CHORUS LEADER: And look, here is a strange sight succeeding others; for I see Orestes sword in hand before the palace, advancing with excited steps.

ORESTES: Where is the one who fled from the palace to escape my sword?

PHRYGIAN: Before you I prostrate myself, lord, and supplicate you in my foreign way.

ORESTES: We are not in Ilium, but the land of Argos.

PHRYGIAN: Everywhere, the wise find life sweeter than death.

ORESTES: I suppose that shouting of yours was not for Menelaus to come to the rescue?

PHRYGIAN: Oh no! it was to help you I called out, for you are more deserving.

ORESTES: Did the daughter of Tyndareus die justly, then?

PHRYGIAN: Most justly, even if she had three throats to die with.

ORESTES: Your cowardice makes you glib; this is not what you really think.

PHRYGIAN: Why, surely she deserved it, the one who destroyed Hellas and the Phrygians too?

ORESTES: Swear you are not saying this to humor me, or I will kill you.

Part 23

PHRYGIAN: I swear by my life, an oath I would keep!

ORESTES: Did every Phrygian in Troy show the same terror of steel as you do?

PHRYGIAN: Take your sword away! Held so near it flashes a dreadful gleam of blood.

ORESTES: Are you afraid of being turned to a stone, as if you had seen a Gorgon?

PHRYGIAN: To a stone, no! but to a corpse; I don’t know this Gorgon’s head.

ORESTES: A slave, and yet you fear death, which will release you from trouble?

PHRYGIAN: Slave or free, every one is glad to gaze upon the light.

ORESTES: Well said! Your shrewdness saves you; go inside.

PHRYGIAN: You will not kill me after all?

ORESTES: You are spared.

PHRYGIAN: How well you said that!

ORESTES: Now it’s time to change my plans.

PHRYGIAN: You didn’t say that well!

ORESTES: You fool! Do you think I could endure to make your throat bloody? You weren’t born a woman, nor do you belong among men. The reason I left the palace was to stop your shouting; for Argos is quickly roused, once it hears a cry to the rescue. As for Menelaus, I am not afraid of measuring swords with him; let him come, proud of the golden ringlets on his shoulders; for if, to avenge the slaying of Helen, he gathers the Argives and leads them against the palace, refusing to attempt the rescue of me, my sister, and Pylades, my fellow conspirator, he will have two corpses to behold, his daughter’s as well as his wife’s. Exeunt Orestes and The Phrygian Slave.

CHORUS: Ah, fortune! Again and yet again the house comes to a fearful contest, for the race of Atreus. What are we to do? Carry tidings to the town? Or hold our peace? It is safer, friends. Look, look at that sudden rush of smoke to the sky in front of the palace, telling its tale! They are kindling torches to fire the halls of Tantalus; nor do they hold back from murder. A god determines the end where he wishes, for mortals. Great is the power; by avenging fiends, this house has fallen, fallen, through blood, by reason of the hurling Myrtilus from the chariot.

CHORUS LEADER: But look! I see Menelaus approaching the palace in haste; no doubt he has heard what is happening here. Descendants of Atreus within, make haste and secure the doors with bars. A man in luck is a dangerous adversary for luckless wretches like you, Orestes.

MENELAUS: I have come at the report of strange and violent deeds perpetrated by a pair of lions, men I do not call them. What I heard was that my wife was not dead, but had vanished out of sight, an idle rumor which someone fooled by his own fear brought me. But that is a plot of the matricide’s—ridiculous! Open the doors! I tell my servants to force the gates, so that I may rescue my child at any rate from the hands of those blood-stained men and recover my poor wretched wife, while the ones who destroyed her must die at my hands.

ORESTES: You there! Keep your hands off those bolts; I mean you, Menelaus, towering in your audacity! Or I will tear off the ancient parapet, the work of masons, and shatter your skull with this coping-stone. The doors are bolted and barred, which will prevent your eagerness to bring aid and keep you from entering.

MENELAUS: Oh! What is this? I see a blaze of torches and men standing at bay on the top of the house, with a sword guarding my daughter’s throat.

ORESTES: Would you question me or hear me speak?

Part 24

MENELAUS: Neither; but I suppose I must hear you.

ORESTES: I intend to kill your daughter, if you want to know.

MENELAUS: After slaying Helen, you will add murder to murder?

ORESTES: Would I had accomplished that, instead of being duped by the gods!

MENELAUS: Do you deny having slain her, and say this out of wanton insult?

ORESTES: Yes, I do deny it, to my sorrow. If only I had—

MENELAUS: Done what? You frighten me!

ORESTES: Hurled the pollution of Hellas to Hades!

MENELAUS: Give back my wife’s dead body, so that I may bury her.

ORESTES: Ask the gods for her; but I will kill your daughter.

MENELAUS: This matricide is adding murder to murder.

ORESTES: This champion of his father, betrayed by you to death.

MENELAUS: Are you not content with the present stain of your mother’s blood?

ORESTES: I would not grow tired if I had these wicked women to slay for ever.

MENELAUS: Are you too, Pylades, a partner in this bloody work?

ORESTES: His silence says he is; let it suffice for me to say it.

MENELAUS: You’ll say it to your cost, unless you fly away!

ORESTES: We will not try to escape; we will set fire to the palace.

MENELAUS: What! will you destroy the home of your ancestors?

ORESTES: Yes, so that you don’t have it, and I will offer this girl in sacrifice on the fire.

Part 25

MENELAUS: Kill her; and if you do, I will punish you for it.

ORESTES: All right, then.

MENELAUS: No, no! Don’t do it!

ORESTES: Silence! Your sufferings are just; endure them.

MENELAUS: Well, is it just that you should live?

ORESTES: And rule a kingdom, yes.

MENELAUS: A kingdom, where?

ORESTES: Here in Pelasgian Argos.

MENELAUS: You are so well qualified to handle holy water!

ORESTES: And why not?

MENELAUS: And to slay victims before battle!

ORESTES: Well, are you?

MENELAUS: Yes, my hands are clean.

ORESTES: But not your heart.

MENELAUS: Who would speak to you?

ORESTES: The one who loves his father.

MENELAUS: And the one who honors his mother?

ORESTES: He was born fortunate.

MENELAUS: Not like you!

ORESTES: No, for I do not delight in these wicked women.

Part 26

MENELAUS: Remove that sword from my daughter!

ORESTES: You are a liar.

MENELAUS: Will you kill my daughter?

ORESTES: Now you are not a liar!

MENELAUS: Ah me! what shall I do?

ORESTES: Go to the Argives and persuade them—

MENELAUS: Persuade them what?

ORESTES: Not to kill us; entreat the city.

MENELAUS: Or you will slay my child?

ORESTES: That is correct.

MENELAUS: O wretched Helen—

ORESTES: Am I not wretched?

MENELAUS: I brought you back from Troy to be a victim—

ORESTES: If only she had been!

MENELAUS: After innumerable troubles.

ORESTES: Except where I was concerned.

MENELAUS: I have suffered dreadfully!

ORESTES: Yes, for you would not help me then.

MENELAUS: You have me there.

ORESTES: Your own cowardice has you. Calling from the roof to Electra Fire the palace from beneath, Electra; and, Pylades, my most trusty friend, kindle the parapet of these walls. The palace is seen to be ablaze.

Part 27

MENELAUS: O Danaid earth! Dwellers in Argos, city of horses, put on your armor and come to help! For this fellow is forcing his life from your whole city, though he has caused pollution by shedding his mother’s blood.

APOLLO: Appearing in the clouds. Menelaus, calm your anger that has been whetted; I am Phoebus, the son of Leto, drawing near to call you by name. And you also, Orestes, who are keeping guard on the girl, sword in hand, so that you may hear what I have come to say. Helen, whom all your eagerness failed to destroy, when you were seeking to anger Menelaus, I saved her and snatched her from beneath your sword at the bidding of father Zeus, for she, his child, must be immortal, and take her seat with Castor and Polydeuces in the enfolding air, a savior to mariners. Choose another bride and take her to your home; for the gods by that one’s loveliness joined Troy and Hellas in battle, causing death so that they might draw off from the earth the outrage of unstinting numbers of mortals. So much for Helen; as for you, Orestes, you must cross the broders of this land and dwell for one whole year on Parrhasian soil, which from your flight shall be called the land of Orestes by Azanians and Arcadians. And when you return from there to the city of Athens, undergo your trial by the Avenging Three for your mother’s murder; the gods will be arbitrators of your trial, and will take a most righteous vote on you at the hill of Ares, where you are to win your case. And it is destined, Orestes, that you will marry Hermione, at whose neck you are holding your sword; Neoptolemus shall never marry her, though he thinks he will; for he is fated to die by a Delphian sword, when he claims satisfaction of me for the death of his father Achilles. Give your sister in marriage to Pylades, to whom you formerly promised her; the life awaiting him is one of happiness. Menelaus, leave Orestes to rule Argos; go and reign over the Spartan land, keeping it as the dowry of a wife who till this day never ceased causing you innumerable troubles. I will set matters straight between Orestes and the citizens, for I forced him to murder his mother.

ORESTES: Hail, prophetic Loxias, for your oracles! You were not a lying prophet after all, but a true seer; and yet I was afraid that it was some fiend I had listened to, when I seemed to hear your voice; but all is ending well, and I obey your word. There! I release Hermione from slaughter and agree to make her my wife whenever her father gives her.

MENELAUS: All hail, Helen, daughter of Zeus! I wish you joy of your home in heaven’s happy courts. To you, Orestes, I betroth my daughter, as Phoebus said; being noble yourself, may you have benefit from a noble wife, and may I also, in giving her to you.

APOLLO: Go now each one to the place appointed by me; reconcile your quarrels.

MENELAUS: I must obey.

ORESTES: And so must I; I make a truce with my fate, Menelaus, and with your oracles, Loxias.

APOLLO: Go your ways, and honor Peace, fairest of goddesses; I will bring Helen to the halls of Zeus, when I have come to the sky, bright with stars. There, enthroned beside Hera and Hebe, the bride of Heracles, she will be honored by men with libations as a goddess for ever; along with those Zeus-born sons of Tyndareus, she will be a guardian of the sea, for the good of sailors.

CHORUS: Greatly revered Victory, may you occupy my life, and never cease to crown me!

Contents — 17 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
13. Part 13
14. Part 14
15. Part 15
16. Part 16
17. Part 17

Part 1

DIONYSUS: I, the son of Zeus, have come to this land of the Thebans—Dionysus, whom once Semele, Kadmos’ daughter, bore, delivered by a lightning-bearing flame. And having taken a mortal form instead of a god’s, I am here at the fountains of Dirke and the water of Ismenus. And I see the tomb of my thunder-stricken mother here near the palace, and the remnants of her house, smouldering with the still living flame of Zeus’ fire, the everlasting insult of Hera against my mother. I praise Kadmos, who has made this place hallowed, the shrine of his daughter; and I have covered it all around with the cluster-bearing leaf of the vine. I have left the wealthy lands of the Lydians and Phrygians, the sun-parched plains of the Persians, and the Bactrian walls, and have passed over the wintry land of the Medes, and blessed Arabia, and all of Asia which lies along the coast of the salt sea with its beautifully-towered cities full of Hellenes and barbarians mingled together; and I have come to this Hellene city first, having already set those other lands to dance and established my mysteries there, so that I might be a deity manifest among men. In this land of Hellas, I have first excited Thebes to my cry, fitting a fawn-skin to my body and taking a thyrsos in my hand, a weapon of ivy. For my mother’s sisters, the ones who least should, claimed that I, Dionysus, was not the child of Zeus, but that Semele had conceived a child from a mortal father and then ascribed the sin of her bed to Zeus, a trick of Kadmos’, for which they boasted that Zeus killed her, because she had told a false tale about her marriage. Therefore I have goaded them from the house in frenzy, and they dwell in the mountains, out of their wits; and I have compelled them to wear the outfit of my mysteries. And all the female offspring of Thebes, as many as are women, I have driven maddened from the house, and they, mingled with the daughters of Kadmos, sit on roofless rocks beneath green pines. For this city must learn, even if it is unwilling, that it is not initiated into my Bacchic rites, and that I plead the case of my mother, Semele, in appearing manifest to mortals as a divinity whom she bore to Zeus. Now Kadmos has given his honor and power to Pentheus, his daughter’s son, who fights against the gods as far as I am concerned and drives me away from sacrifices, and in his prayers makes no mention of me, for which I will show him and all the Thebans that I was born a god. And when I have set matters here right, I will move on to another land, revealing myself. But if ever the city of Thebes should in anger seek to drive the the Bacchae down from the mountains with arms, I, the general of the Maenads, will join battle with them. On which account I have changed my form to a mortal one and altered my shape into the nature of a man. But, you women who have left Tmolus, the bulwark of Lydia, my sacred band, whom I have brought from among the barbarians as assistants and companions to me, take your drums, native instruments of the city of the Phrygians, the invention of mother Rhea and myself, and going about this palace of Pentheus beat them, so that Kadmos’ city may see. I myself will go to the folds of Kithairon, where the Bacchae are, to share in their dances.

CHORUS: From the land of Asia, having left sacred Tmolus, I am swift to perform for Bromius my sweet labor and toil easily borne, celebrating the god Bacchus. Who is in the way? Who is in the way? Who? Let him get out of the way indoors, and let everyone keep his mouth pure , speaking propitious things. For I will celebrate Dionysus with hymns according to eternal custom.

CHORUS: Blessed is he who, being fortunate and knowing the rites of the gods, keeps his life pure and has his soul initiated into the Bacchic revels, dancing in inspired frenzy over the mountains with holy purifications, and who, revering the mysteries of great mother Kybele, brandishing the thyrsos, garlanded with ivy, serves Dionysus. Go, Bacchae, go, Bacchae, escorting the god Bromius, child of a god, from the Phrygian mountains to the broad streets of Hellas—Bromius,

CHORUS: Whom once, in the compulsion of birth pains, the thunder of Zeus flying upon her, his mother cast from her womb, leaving life by the stroke of a thunderbolt. Immediately Zeus, Kronos’ son, received him in a chamber fit for birth, and having covered him in his thigh shut him up with golden clasps, hidden from Hera. And he brought forth, when the Fates had perfected him, the bull-horned god, and he crowned him with crowns of snakes, for which reason Maenads cloak their wild prey over their locks.

CHORUS: O Thebes, nurse of Semele, crown yourself with ivy, flourish, flourish with the verdant yew bearing sweet fruit, and crown yourself in honor of Bacchus with branches of oak or pine. Adorn your garments of spotted fawn-skin with fleeces of white sheep, and sport in holy games with insolent thyrsoi . At once all the earth will dance— whoever leads the sacred band is Bromius—to the mountain, to the mountain, where the crowd of women waits, goaded away from their weaving by Dionysus.

CHORUS: O secret chamber of the Kouretes and you holy Cretan caves, parents to Zeus, where the Korybantes with triple helmet invented for me in their caves this circle, covered with stretched hide; and in their excited revelry they mingled it with the sweet-voiced breath of Phrygian pipes and handed it over to mother Rhea, resounding with the sweet songs of the Bacchae; nearby, raving Satyrs were fulfilling the rites of the mother goddess, and they joined it to the dances of the biennial festivals, in which Dionysus rejoices.

CHORUS: He is sweet in the mountains , whenever after the running dance he falls on the ground, wearing the sacred garment of fawn skin, hunting the blood of the slain goat, a raw-eaten delight, rushing to the Phrygian, the Lydian mountains, and the leader of the dance is Bromius, evoe! The plain flows with milk, it flows with wine, it flows with the nectar of bees. The Bacchic one, raising the flaming torch of pine on his thyrsos, like the smoke of Syrian incense, darts about, arousing the wanderers with his racing and dancing, agitating them with his shouts, casting his rich locks into the air. And among the Maenad cries his voice rings deep: Go, Bacchae, go, Bacchae, with the luxury of Tmolus that flows with gold, sing of Dionysus, beneath the heavy beat of drums, celebrating in delight the god of delight with Phrygian shouts and cries, when the sweet-sounding sacred pipe sounds a sacred playful tune suited to the wanderers, to the mountain, to the mountain! And the Bacchante, rejoicing like a foal with its grazing mother, rouses her swift foot in a gamboling dance.

TEIRESIAS: Who is at the gates? Call from the house Kadmos, son of Agenor, who leaving the city of Sidon built this towering city of the Thebans. Let someone go and announce that Teiresias is looking for him. He knows why I have come and what agreement I, an old man, have made with him, older still: to twine the thyrsoi, to wear fawn-skins, and to crown our heads with ivy branches.

KADMOS: Dearest friend, for inside the house I heard and recognized your wise voice, the voice of a wise man; I have come prepared with this equipment of the god. For we must extol him, the child of my daughter, as much as is in our power. Where must I dance, where set my feet and shake my grey head? Show me the way, Teiresias, one old man leading another; for you are wise. And so I shall never tire night or day striking the ground with the thyrsos. Gladly I have forgotten that I am old.

TEIRESIAS: Then you and I have the same feelings, for I too feel young and will try to dance.

KADMOS: Then will we go to the mountain in a chariot?

TEIRESIAS: But then the god would not have equal honor.

KADMOS: I, an old man, will lead you, an old man, like a pupil.

TEIRESIAS: The god will lead us there without trouble.

KADMOS: Are we the only ones in the city who will dance in Bacchus’ honor?

TEIRESIAS: Yes, for we alone think rightly, the rest wrongly.

KADMOS: The delay is long; come, take hold of my hand.

TEIRESIAS: Here, take hold, and join your hand with mine.

KADMOS: Having been born mortal I do not scorn the gods.

TEIRESIAS: We mortals have no cleverness in the eyes of the the gods. Our ancestral traditions, and those which we have held throughout our lives, no argument will overturn, not even if some craftiness should be discovered by the depths of our wits. Will anyone say that I do not respect old age, being about to dance with my head covered in ivy? No, for the god has made no distinction as to whether it is right for men young or old to dance, but wishes to have common honors from all and to be extolled, setting no one apart.

Part 2

KADMOS: Since you do not see this light, Teiresias, I will be your interpreter. Pentheus, child of Echion, to whom I gave control of this land, is coming here to the house now in haste. How fluttered he is! What new matter will he tell us?

PENTHEUS: I happened to be at a distance from this land, when I heard of strange evils throughout this city, that the women have left our homes in contrived Bacchic rites, and rush about in the shadowy mountains, honoring with dances this new deity Dionysus, whoever he is. I hear that mixing-bowls stand full in the midst of their assemblies, and that they each creep off different ways into secrecy to serve the beds of men, on the pretext that they are Maenads worshipping; but they consider Aphrodite before Bacchus. As many of them as I have caught, servants keep in the public strongholds with their hands bound, and as many as are absent I will hunt from the mountains, And having bound them in iron fetters, I will soon stop them from this ill-working revelry. And they say that some stranger has come, a sorcerer, a conjuror from the Lydian land, fragrant in hair with golden curls, having in his eyes the wine-dark graces of Aphrodite. He is with the young girls day and night, alluring them with joyful mysteries. If I catch him within this house, I will stop him from making a noise with the thyrsos and shaking his hair, by cutting his head off. That one claims that Dionysus is a god, claims that he was once stitched into the thigh of Zeus—Dionysus, who was burnt up with his mother by the flame of lightning, because she had falsely claimed a marriage with Zeus. Is this not worthy of a terrible death by hanging, for a stranger to insult me with these insults, whoever he is? But here is another wonder—I see Teiresias the soothsayer in dappled fawn-skins and my mother’s father—a great absurdity—raging about with a thyrsos. I shrink, father, from seeing your old age devoid of sense. Won’t you cast away the ivy? Grandfather, will you not free your hand of the thyrsos? You persuaded him to this, Teiresias. Do you wish, by introducing another new god to men, to examine birds and receive rewards for sacrifices? If your gray old age did not defend you, you would sit in chains in the midst of the Bacchae, for introducing wicked rites. For where women have the delight of the grape-cluster at a feast, I say that none of their rites is healthy any longer.

CHORUS LEADER: Oh, what impiety! O stranger, do you not reverence the gods and Kadmos who sowed the earth-born crop? Do you, the child of Echion, bring shame to your race?

TEIRESIAS: Whenever a wise man takes a good occasion for his speech, it is not a great task to speak well. You have a rapid tongue as though you were sensible, but there is no sense in your words. A man powerful in his boldness, one capable of speaking well, becomes a bad citizen in his lack of sense. This new god, whom you ridicule, I am unable to express how great he will be throughout Hellas. For two things, young man, are first among men: the goddess Demeter—she is the earth, but call her whatever name you wish; she nourishes mortals with dry food; but he who came afterwards, the offspring of Semele, discovered a match to it, the liquid drink of the grape, and introduced it to mortals. It releases wretched mortals from grief, whenever they are filled with the stream of the vine, and gives them sleep, a means of forgetting their daily troubles, nor is there another cure for hardships. He who is a god is poured out in offerings to the gods, so that by his means men may have good things. And do you laugh at him, because he was sewn up in Zeus’ thigh? I will teach you that this is well: when Zeus snatched him out of the lighting-flame, and led the child as a god to Olympus, Hera wished to banish him from the sky, but Zeus, as a god, had a counter-contrivance. Having broken a part of the air which surrounds the earth, he gave this to Hera as a pledge protecting the realDionysus from her hostility. But in time, mortals say that he was nourished in the thigh of Zeus, changing the word, because a god he had served as a hostage for the goddess Hera, and composing the story. But this god is a prophet—for Bacchic revelry and madness have in them much prophetic skill. For whenever the god enters a body in full force, he makes the frantic to foretell the future. He also possesses a share of Ares’ nature. For terror sometimes flutters an army under arms and in its ranks before it even touches a spear; and this too is a frenzy from Dionysus. You will see him also on the rocks of Delphi, bounding with torches through the highland of two peaks, leaping and shaking the Bacchic branch, mighty throughout Hellas. But believe me, Pentheus; do not boast that sovereignty has power among men, nor, even if you think so, and your mind is diseased, believe that you are being at all wise. Receive the god into your land, pour libations to him, celebrate the Bacchic rites, and garland your head. Dionysus will not compel women to be modest in regard to Aphrodite, but in nature you must look for that. For she who is modest will not be corrupted in Bacchic revelry. Do you see? You rejoice whenever many people are at your gates, and the city extols the name of Pentheus. He too, I think, delights in being honored. Kadmos, whom you mock, and I will crown our heads with ivy and dance, a gray yoke-team but still we must dance; and I will not be persuaded by your words to fight against the god. For you are mad in a most grievous way, and you will not be cured by drugs, nor are you sick without them.

CHORUS LEADER: Old man, you do not shame Phoebus with your words, and honoring Dionysus, a great god, you are prudent.

KADMOS: My child, Teiresias has advised you well. Dwell with us, not apart from the laws. For now you flit about and have thoughts without thinking. Even if, as you say, he is not a god, call him one; and tell a glorious falsehood, so that Semele might seem to have borne a god, and honor might come to all our race. You see the wretched fate of Actaeon, who was torn apart in the meadows by the blood-thirsty hounds he had raised, having boasted that he was superior in the hunt to Artemis. May you not suffer this. Come, let me crown your head with ivy; honor the god along with us.

PENTHEUS: Don’t lay a hand on me! Go off and hold your revels, but don’t wipe your foolishness off on me. I will seek the punishment of this teacher of your folly. Let someone go quickly to the seat where he watches the flights of birds, upset and overturn it with levers, turning everything upside down; and release his garlands to the winds and storms. In this way I will especially wound him. And some of you hunt throughout the city for this effeminate stranger, who introduces a new disease to women and pollutes our beds. If you catch him, bring him here bound, so that he might suffer as punishment a death by stoning, having seen a bitter Bacchic revelry in Thebes.

TEIRESIAS: O wretched man, how little you know what you are saying! You are mad now, and even before you were out of your wits. Let us go, Kadmos, and entreat the god, on behalf of him, though he is savage, and on behalf of the city, to do no ill. But follow me with the ivy-clad staff, and try to support my body, and I will try to support yours; it would be shameful for two old men to fall down. But let that pass, for we must serve Bacchus, the son of Zeus. Beware lest Pentheus bring trouble to your house, Kadmos; I do not speak in prophecy, but judging from the state of things; for a foolish man speaks foolishness.

CHORUS: Holiness, queen of the gods, Holiness, who bear your golden wings along the earth, do you hear these words from Pentheus? Do you hear his unholy insolence against Bromius, the child of Semele, the first deity of the gods at the banquets where guests wear beautiful garlands? He holds this office, to join in dances, to laugh with the flute, and to bring an end to cares, whenever the delight of the grape comes at the feasts of the gods, and in ivy-bearing banquets the goblet sheds sleep over men.

CHORUS: Misfortune is the result of unbridled mouths and lawless folly; but the life of quiet and wisdom remain unshaken and hold houses together. Though they dwell far off in the heavens the gods see the deeds of mortals. But cleverness is not wisdom, nor is thinking on things unfit for mortals. Life is short, and on this account the one who pursues great things does not achieve that which is present. In my opinion, these are the ways of mad and ill-advised men.

CHORUS: Would that I could go to Cyprus, the island of Aphrodite, where the Loves, who soothe mortals’ hearts, dwell, and to Paphos, fertilized without rain by the streams of a foreign river flowing with a hundred mouths. Lead me there, Bromius, Bromius, god of joy who leads the Bacchae, to Pieria, beautiful seat of the Muses, the holy slope of Olympus. There are the Graces, there is Desire; there it is lawful for the Bacchae to celebrate their rites.

CHORUS: The god, the son of Zeus, delights in banquets, and loves Peace, giver of riches, goddess who nourishes youths. To the blessed and to the less fortunate, he gives an equal pleasure from wine that banishes grief. He hates the one who does not care about this: to lead a happy life by day and friendly night and to keep his wise mind and intellect away from over-curious men. What the common people think and adopt, that would I accept.

SERVANT: Pentheus, we are here, having caught this prey for which you sent us, nor have we set out in vain. This beast was docile in our hands and did not withdraw in flight, but yielded not unwillingly. He did not turn pale or change the wine-dark complexion of his cheek, but laughed and allowed us to bind him and lead him away. He remained still, making my work easy, and I in shame said: Stranger, I do not lead you away willingly, but by order of Pentheus, who sent me. And the Bacchae whom you shut up, whom you carried off and bound in the chains of the public prison, are set loose and gone, and are gamboling in the meadows, invoking Bromius as their god. Of their own accord, the chains were loosed from their feet and keys opened the doors without human hand. This man has come to Thebes full of many wonders. You must take care of the rest.

PENTHEUS: Release his hands, for caught in the nets he is not so swift as to escape me. But your body is not ill-formed, stranger, for women’s purposes, for which reason you have come to Thebes. For your hair is long, not through wrestling, scattered over your cheeks, full of desire; and you have a white skin from careful preparation, hunting after Aphrodite by your beauty not exposed to strokes of the sun, but beneath the shade. First then tell me who your family is.

DIONYSUS: I can tell you this easily, without boasting. I suppose you are familiar with flowery Tmolus.

PENTHEUS: I know of it; it surrounds the city of Sardis.

DIONYSUS: I am from there, and Lydia is my fatherland.

PENTHEUS: Why do you bring these rites to Hellas?

DIONYSUS: Dionysus, the child of Zeus, sent me.

PENTHEUS: Is there a Zeus who breeds new gods there?

Part 3

DIONYSUS: No, but the one who married Semele here.

PENTHEUS: Did he compel you at night, or in your sight?

DIONYSUS: Seeing me just as I saw him, he gave me sacred rites.

PENTHEUS: What appearance do your rites have?

DIONYSUS: They can not be told to mortals uninitiated in Bacchic revelry.

PENTHEUS: And do they have any profit to those who sacrifice?

DIONYSUS: It is not lawful for you to hear, but they are worth knowing.

PENTHEUS: You have counterfeited this well, so that I desire to hear.

DIONYSUS: The rites are hostile to whoever practices impiety.

PENTHEUS: Are you saying that you saw clearly what the god was like?

DIONYSUS: He was as he chose; I did not order this.

PENTHEUS: Again you diverted my question well, speaking mere nonsense.

DIONYSUS: One will seem to be foolish if he speaks wisely to an ignorant man.

PENTHEUS: Did you come here first, bringing the god?

DIONYSUS: All the barbarians celebrate these rites.

PENTHEUS: Yes, for they are far more foolish than Hellenes.

DIONYSUS: In this at any rate they are wiser; but their laws are different.

PENTHEUS: Do you perform the rites by night or by day?

DIONYSUS: Mostly by night; darkness conveys awe.

PENTHEUS: This is treacherous towards women, and unsound.

Part 4

DIONYSUS: Even during the day someone may devise what is shameful.

PENTHEUS: You must pay the penalty for your evil contrivances.

DIONYSUS: And you for your ignorance and impiety toward the god.

PENTHEUS: How bold the Bacchant is, and not unpracticed in speaking!

DIONYSUS: Tell me what I must suffer; what harm will you do to me?

PENTHEUS: First I will cut off your delicate hair.

DIONYSUS: My hair is sacred. I am growing it for the god.

PENTHEUS: Next give me this thyrsos from your hands.

DIONYSUS: Take it from me yourself. I bear it as the ensign of Dionysus.

PENTHEUS: We will guard your body within, in prison.

DIONYSUS: The god himself will release me, whenever I want.

PENTHEUS: Yes, when you call him, standing among the Bacchae.

DIONYSUS: Even now he see my sufferings from close by.

PENTHEUS: Where is he? He is not visible to my eyes.

DIONYSUS: Near me; but you, being impious, do not see him.

PENTHEUS: To attendants Seize him; he insults me and Thebes!

DIONYSUS: I warn you not to bind me, since I am in my senses and you are not.

PENTHEUS: And I, more masterful than you, bid them to bind you.

DIONYSUS: You do not know why you live, or what you are doing, or who you are.

PENTHEUS: I am Pentheus, son of Echion and Agave.

Part 5

DIONYSUS: You are well-suited to be miserable in your name.

PENTHEUS: Go. To attendants Shut him up near the horse stable, so that he may see only darkness. To Dionysus Dance there; and as for these women whom you have led here as accomplices to your crimes, we will either sell them or, stopping their hands from this noise and beating of skins, I will keep them as slaves at the loom.

DIONYSUS: I will go, for I need not suffer that which is not necessary. But Dionysus, who you claim does not exist, will pursue you for these insults. For in injuring us, you put him in bonds.

CHORUS: [...] Daughter of Acheloüs, venerable Dirce, happy virgin, you once received the child of Zeus in your streams, when Zeus his father snatched him up from the immortal fire and saved him in his thigh, crying out: Go, Dithyrambus, enter this my male womb. I will make you illustrious, Bacchus, in Thebes, so that they will call you by this name. But you, blessed Dirce, reject me with my garland-bearing company about you. Why do you refuse me, why do you flee me? I swear by the cluster-bearing delight of Dionysus’ vine that you will have a care for Bromius.

CHORUS: What rage, what rage does the earth-born race show, and Pentheus, once descended from a serpent—Pentheus, whom earth-born Echion bore, a fierce monster, not a mortal man, but like a bloody giant, hostile to the gods. He will soon bind me, the hand-maid of Bromius, in chains, and he already holds my fellow-reveler within the house, hidden in a dark prison. Do you see this, O Dionysus, son of Zeus, your priests in the dangers of restraint? Come, lord, down from Olympus, brandishing your golden thyrsos, and restrain the insolence of the blood-thirsty man.

CHORUS: Where on Nysa, which nourishes wild beasts, or on Corycian heights, do you lead with your thyrsos the bands of revelers? Perhaps in the deep-wooded lairs of Olympus, where Orpheus once playing the lyre drew together trees by his songs, drew together the beasts of the fields. Blessed Pieria, the Joyful one reveres you and will come to lead the dance in revelry; having crossed the swiftly flowing Axius he will bring the whirling Maenads, leaving Lydias, giver of wealth to mortals, the father who they say fertilizes the land of beautiful horses with fairest streams.

DIONYSUS: within Io! Hear my voice, hear it, Io Bacchae, Io Bacchae!

CHORUS: Who is here, who? From what quarter did the voice of the Joyful one summon me?

DIONYSUS: Io! Io! I say again; it is I, the child of Zeus and Semele.

CHORUS: Io! Io! Master, master! Come now to our company, Bromius.

DIONYSUS: Shake the world’s plain, lady Earthquake!

CHORUS: Oh! Oh! Soon the palace of Pentheus will be shaken in ruin. —Dionysus is in the halls. Revere him. —We revere him! —Did you see these stone lintels on the pillars falling apart? Bromius cries out in victory indoors.

DIONYSUS: Light the fiery lamp of lightning! Burn, burn Pentheus’ home!

CHORUS: Oh! Oh! Do you not see the the fire, do you not perceive, about the sacred tomb of Semele, the flame that Zeus’ thunderbolt left? Cast on the ground your trembling bodies, Maenads, cast them down, for our lord, Zeus’ son, is coming against this palace, turning everything upside down.

DIONYSUS: Barbarian women, have you fallen on the ground so stricken with fear? You have, so it seems, felt Bacchus shaking the house of Pentheus. But get up and take courage, putting a stop to your trembling.

CHORUS LEADER: Oh greatest light for us in our joyful revelry, how happy I am to see you—I who was alone and desolate before.

DIONYSUS: Did you despair when I was sent to fall into Pentheus’ dark dungeon?

CHORUS LEADER: How not? Who was my guardian, if you met with misfortune? But how were you freed, having met with an impious man?

DIONYSUS: By myself I saved myself easily, without trouble.

CHORUS LEADER: Did he not tie your hands in binding knots?

Part 6

DIONYSUS: In this too I mocked him, for, thinking to bind me, he neither touched nor handled me, but fed on hope. He found a bull by the stable where he took and shut me up, and threw shackles around its knees and hooves, breathing out fury, dripping sweat from his body, gnashing his teeth in his lips. But I, being near, sitting quietly, looked on. Meanwhile, Bacchus came and shook the house and kindled a flame on his mother’s tomb. When Pentheus saw this, thinking that the house was burning, he ran here and there, calling to the slaves to bring water, and every servant was at work, toiling in vain. Then he let this labor drop, as I had escaped, and snatching a dark sword rushed into the house. Then Bromius, so it seems to me—I speak my opinion— created a phantom in the courtyard. Pentheus rushed at it headlong, stabbing at the shining air, as though slaughtering me. Besides this, Bacchus inflicted other damage on him: he knocked his house to the ground, and everything was shattered into pieces, while he saw my bitter chains. From fatigue, dropping his sword, he is exhausted. For he, a man, dared to join battle with a god. Now I have quietly left the house and come to you, with no thought of Pentheus. But I think—at any rate I hear the tramping of feet inside—he will soon come to the front of the house. What will he say after this? I shall easily bear him, even if he comes boasting greatly. For it is the part of a wise man to practice restrained good temper.

PENTHEUS: I have suffered terrible things; the stranger, who was recently constrained in bonds, has escaped me. Ah! Here is the man. What is this? How do you appear in front of my house, having come out?

DIONYSUS: Stop, and put a stop to your anger.

PENTHEUS: How have you escaped your chains and come outside?

DIONYSUS: Did I not say—or did you not hear—that some one would deliver me?

PENTHEUS: Who? You are always introducing strange explanations.

DIONYSUS: He who produces the rich-clustering vine for mortals.

PENTHEUS: [...]

DIONYSUS: You reproach Dionysus for what is his glory.

PENTHEUS: I order you to close up all the towers around.

DIONYSUS: Why? Do gods not pass over walls too?

PENTHEUS: You are wise, wise at least in all save what you should be wise in.

DIONYSUS: I was born wise in all that I should be. Enter a messenger Listen first to the words of this man, who has come from the mountain to bring you some message. I will await you, I will not try to escape.

MESSENGER: Pentheus, ruler of this land of Thebes, I have come from Kithairon, where the bright flakes of white snow never melt.

PENTHEUS: What important news do you come to bring?

MESSENGER: Having seen the holy Bacchae, who goaded to madness have darted from this land with their fair feet, I have come to tell you and the city, lord, that they are doing terrible things, beyond marvel. I wish to hear whether I should tell you in free speech the situation there or whether I should repress my report, for I fear, lord, the quickness of your mood, your keen temper and your too imperious disposition.

PENTHEUS: Speak, as you will have immunity from me in any case. For it is not right to be angry with the just. The more you tell me terrible things about the Bacchae, the more I will punish this one here who taught the women these tricks.

MESSENGER: The herds of grazing cattle were just climbing up the hill, at the time when the sun sends forth its rays, warming the earth. I saw three companies of dancing women, one of which Autonoe led, the second your mother Agave, and the third Ino. All were asleep, their bodies relaxed, some resting their backs against pine foliage, others laying their heads at random on the oak leaves, modestly, not as you say drunk with the goblet and the sound of the flute, hunting out Aphrodite through the woods in solitude. Your mother raised a cry, standing up in the midst of the Bacchae, to wake their bodies from sleep, when she heard the lowing of the horned cattle. And they, casting off refreshing sleep from their eyes, sprang upright, a marvel of orderliness to behold, old, young, and still unmarried virgins. First they let their hair loose over their shoulders, and secured their fawn-skins, as many of them as had released the fastenings of their knots, girding the dappled hides with serpents licking their jaws. And some, holding in their arms a gazelle or wild wolf-pup, gave them white milk, as many as had abandoned their new-born infants and had their breasts still swollen. They put on garlands of ivy, and oak, and flowering yew. One took her thyrsos and struck it against a rock, from which a dewy stream of water sprang forth. Another let her thyrsos strike the ground, and there the god sent forth a fountain of wine. All who desired the white drink scratched the earth with the tips of their fingers and obtained streams of milk; and a sweet flow of honey dripped from their ivy thyrsoi; so that, had you been present and seen this, you would have approached with prayers the god whom you now blame. We herdsmen and shepherds gathered in order to debate with one another concerning what strange and amazing things they were doing. Some one, a wanderer about the city and practised in speaking, said to us all: You who inhabit the holy plains of the mountains, do you wish to hunt Pentheus’ mother Agave out from the Bacchic revelry and do the king a favor? We thought he spoke well, and lay down in ambush, hiding ourselves in the foliage of bushes. They, at the appointed hour, began to wave the thyrsos in their revelries, calling on Iacchus, the son of Zeus, Bromius, with united voice. The whole mountain revelled along with them and the beasts, and nothing was unmoved by their running. Agave happened to be leaping near me, and I sprang forth, wanting to snatch her, abandoning the ambush where I had hidden myself. But she cried out: O my fleet hounds, we are hunted by these men; but follow me! follow armed with your thyrsoi in your hands! We fled and escaped from being torn apart by the Bacchae, but they, with unarmed hands, sprang on the heifers browsing the grass. and you might see one rending asunder a fatted lowing calf, while others tore apart cows. You might see ribs or cloven hooves tossed here and there; caught in the trees they dripped, dabbled in gore. Bulls who before were fierce, and showed their fury with their horns, stumbled to the ground, dragged down by countless young hands. The garment of flesh was torn apart faster then you could blink your royal eyes. And like birds raised in their course, they proceeded along the level plains, which by the streams of the Asopus produce the bountiful Theban crop. And falling like soldiers upon Hysiae and Erythrae, towns situated below the rock of Kithairon, they turned everything upside down. They were snatching children from their homes; and whatever they put on their shoulders, whether bronze or iron, was not held on by bonds, nor did it fall to the ground. They carried fire on their locks, but it did not burn them. Some people in rage took up arms, being plundered by the Bacchae, and the sight of this was terrible to behold, lord. For their pointed spears drew no blood, but the women, hurling the thyrsoi from their hands, kept wounding them and turned them to flight—women did this to men, not without the help of some god. And they returned where they had come from, to the very fountains which the god had sent forth for them, and washed off the blood, and snakes cleaned the drops from the women’s cheeks with their tongues. Receive this god then, whoever he is, into this city, master. For he is great in other respects, and they say this too of him, as I hear, that he gives to mortals the vine that puts an end to grief. Without wine there is no longer Aphrodite or any other pleasant thing for men.

CHORUS LEADER: I fear to speak freely to the king, but I will speak nevertheless: Dionysus is inferior to none of the gods.

PENTHEUS: Already like fire does this insolence of the Bacchae blaze up, a great reproach for the Hellenes. But we must not hesitate. Go to the Electran gates, bid all the shield-bearers and riders of swift-footed horses to assemble, as well as all who brandish the light shield and pluck bowstrings with their hands, so that we can make an assault against the Bacchae. For it is indeed too much if we suffer what we are suffering at the hands of women.

Part 7

DIONYSUS: Pentheus, though you hear my words, you obey not at all. Though I suffer ill at your hands, still I say that it is not right for you to raise arms against a god, but to remain calm. Bromius will not allow you to remove the Bacchae from the joyful mountains.

PENTHEUS: Do not instruct me, but be content in your escape from prison. Or shall I bring punishment upon you again?

DIONYSUS: I would sacrifice to the god rather than kick against his spurs in anger, a mortal against a god.

PENTHEUS: I will sacrifice, making a great slaughter of the women, as they deserve, in the glens of Kithairon.

DIONYSUS: You will all flee. And it will be a source of shame that you turn your bronze shields away from the thyrsoi of the Bacchae.

PENTHEUS: This stranger with whom I am locked together is impossible, and neither suffering nor doing will he be quiet.

DIONYSUS: My friend, there is still opportunity to arrange these things well.

PENTHEUS: Doing what? Being a slave to my slaves?

DIONYSUS: Without weapons I will bring the women here.

PENTHEUS: Alas! You are contriving this as a trick against me.

DIONYSUS: What sort, if I wish to save you by my contrivances?

PENTHEUS: You have devised this together, so that you may have your revelry forever.

DIONYSUS: I certainly did—that is so—with the god.

PENTHEUS: To a servant Bring me my armor. To Dionysus And you, stop speaking.

DIONYSUS: Ah! Do you wish to see them sitting together in the mountains?

PENTHEUS: Certainly. I’d give an enormous amount of gold for that.

DIONYSUS: Why do you desire this so badly?

PENTHEUS: I would be sorry to see them in their drunkenness.

DIONYSUS: But would you see gladly what is grievous to you?

PENTHEUS: To be sure, sitting quietly under the pines.

Part 8

DIONYSUS: But they will track you down, even if you go in secret.

PENTHEUS: You are right: I will go openly.

DIONYSUS: Shall I guide you? Will you attempt the journey?

PENTHEUS: Lead me as quickly as possible. I grudge you the time.

DIONYSUS: Put linen clothes on your body then.

PENTHEUS: What is this? Shall I then, instead of a man, be reckoned among the women?

DIONYSUS: Lest they kill you if you are seen there as a man.

PENTHEUS: Again you speak correctly: how wise you have been all along!

DIONYSUS: Dionysus taught me these things fully.

PENTHEUS: How can your advice to me be well carried out?

DIONYSUS: I will go inside and dress you.

PENTHEUS: In what clothing? Female? But shame holds me back.

DIONYSUS: Are you no longer eager to view the maenads?

PENTHEUS: What clothing do you bid me to put on my body?

DIONYSUS: I will spread out hair at length on your head.

PENTHEUS: What is the second part of my outfit?

DIONYSUS: A robe down to your feet. And you will wear a headband.

PENTHEUS: And what else will you add to this for me?

DIONYSUS: A thyrsos in your hand, and a dappled fawn-skin.

PENTHEUS: I could not put on a woman’s dress.

Part 9

DIONYSUS: But you will shed blood if you join battle with the Bacchae.

PENTHEUS: True. We must go first and spy.

DIONYSUS: This is at any rate wiser than hunting trouble with trouble.

PENTHEUS: And how will I go through the city without being seen by the Thebans?

DIONYSUS: We will go on deserted roads. I will lead you.

PENTHEUS: Anything is better than to be mocked by the Bacchae. We two will go into the house . . . and I will consider what seems best.

DIONYSUS: It will be so; in any case I am ready.

PENTHEUS: I will go in. For either I will go bearing arms, or I will obey your counsels.

DIONYSUS: Women, the man is caught in our net. He will go to the Bacchae, where he will pay the penalty with his death. Dionysus, now it is your job; for you are not far off. Let us punish him. First drive him out of his wits, send upon him a dizzying madness, since if he is of sound mind he will not consent to wear women’s clothing, but driven out of his senses he will put it on. I want him to be a source of laughter to the Thebans, led through the city in women’s guise after making such terrible threats in the past. But now I will go to fit on Pentheus the dress he will wear to the house of Hades, slaughtered by his mother’s hands. He will recognize the son of Zeus, Dionysus, who is in fact a god, the most terrible and yet most mild to men.

CHORUS: Shall I move my white foot in the night-long dance, aroused to a frenzy, throwing my head to the dewy air, like a fawn sporting in the green pleasures of the meadow, when it has escaped a fearful chase beyond the watchers over the well-woven nets, and the hunter hastens his dogs on their course with his call, while she, with great exertion and a storm-swift running, rushes along the plain by the river, rejoicing in the solitude apart from men and in the thickets of the shady-foliaged woods. What is wisdom? Or what greater honor do the gods give to mortals than to hold one’s hand in strength over the head of enemies? What is good is always dear.

CHORUS: Divine strength is roused with difficulty, but still is sure. It chastises those mortals who honor folly and those who in their insanity do not extol the gods. The gods cunningly conceal the long pace of time and hunt the impious. For it is not right to determine or plan anything beyond the laws. For it is a light expense to hold that whatever is divine has power, and that which has been law for a long time is eternal and has its origin in nature. What is wisdom? Or what greater honor do the gods give to mortals than to hold one’s hand in strength over the head of enemies? What is good is always dear.

CHORUS: Happy is he who has fled a storm on the sea, and reached harbor. Happy too is he who has overcome his hardships. One surpass another in different ways, in wealth or power. There are innumerable hopes to innumerable men, and some result in wealth to mortals, while others fail. But I call him blessed whose life is happy day to day.

DIONYSUS: You who are eager to see what you ought not and hasty in pursuit of what ought not to be pursued—I mean you, Pentheus, come forth before the house, be seen by me, wearing the clothing of a woman, of an inspired maenad, a spy upon your mother and her company. Pentheus emerges. In appearance you are like one of Kadmos’ daughters.

PENTHEUS: Oh look! I think I see two suns, and twin Thebes, the seven-gated city. And you seem to lead me, being like a bull and horns seem to grow on your head. But were you ever before a beast? For you have certainly now become a bull.

DIONYSUS: The god accompanies us, now at truce with us, though formerly not propitious. Now you see what you should see.

PENTHEUS: How do I look? Don’t I have the posture of Ino, or of my mother Agave?

DIONYSUS: Looking at you I think I see them. But this lock of your hair has come out of place, not the way I arranged it under your headband.

PENTHEUS: I displaced it indoors, shaking my head forwards and backwards and practising my Bacchic revelry.

DIONYSUS: But I who ought to wait on you will re-arrange it. Hold up your head.

PENTHEUS: Here, you arrange it; for I depend on you, indeed.

Part 10

DIONYSUS: Your girdle has come loose, and the pleats of your gown do not extend regularly down around your ankles.

PENTHEUS: At least on my right leg, I believe they don’t. But on this side the robe sits well around the back of my leg.

DIONYSUS: You will surely consider me the best of your friends, when contrary to your expectation you see the Bacchae acting modestly.

PENTHEUS: But shall I be more like a maenad holding the thyrsos in my right hand, or in my left?

DIONYSUS: You must hold it in your right hand and raise your right foot in unison with it. I praise you for having changed your mind.

PENTHEUS: Could I carry on my shoulders the glens of Kithairon, Bacchae and all?

DIONYSUS: You could if you were willing. The state of mind you had before was unsound, but now you think as you ought.

PENTHEUS: Shall we bring levers? Or shall I draw them up with my hands, putting a shoulder or arm under the mountain-tops?

DIONYSUS: But don’t destroy the seats of the Nymphs and the places where Pan plays his pipes.

PENTHEUS: Well said. The women are not to be taken by force; I will hide in the pines.

DIONYSUS: You will hide yourself as you should be hidden, coming as a crafty spy on the Maenads.

PENTHEUS: Oh, yes! I imagine that like birds they are in the bushes held in the sweetest grips of love.

DIONYSUS: You have been sent as a guard against this very event. Perhaps you will catch them, if you yourself are not caught before.

PENTHEUS: Bring me through the midst of the Theban land. I am the only man of them who dares to perform this deed.

DIONYSUS: You alone bear the burden for this city, you alone. Therefore the labors which are proper await you. Follow me. I am your saving guide: another will lead you down from there.

PENTHEUS: Yes, my mother.

DIONYSUS: And you will be remarkable to all.

PENTHEUS: I am going for this reason.

DIONYSUS: You will return here being carried—

PENTHEUS: You talk of a delicacy for me.

Part 11

DIONYSUS: In the arms of your mother.

PENTHEUS: You will force me to luxury.

DIONYSUS: Yes indeed, such luxury!

PENTHEUS: I will get what I deserve.

DIONYSUS: You are terrible, terrible, and you go to terrible sufferings, so that you will find a renown reaching to heaven. Reach out your hands, Agave, and you too, her sisters, daughters of Kadmos. I lead this young man to a great contest, and Bromius and I will be the victors. The rest the matter itself will show.

CHORUS: Go to the mountain, go, fleet hounds of Madness, where the daughters of Kadmos hold their company, and drive them raving against the mad spy on the Maenads, the one dressed in women’s attire. His mother will be the first to see him from a smooth rock or crag, as he lies in ambush, and she will cry out to the maenads: Who is this seeker of the mountain-going Kadmeans who has come to the mountain, to the mountain, Bacchae? Who bore him? For he was not born from a woman’s blood, but is the offspring of some lioness or of Libyan Gorgons. Let manifest justice go forth, let it go with sword in hand, slaying through the throat this godless, lawless, unjust, earth-born offspring of Echion.

CHORUS: Whoever with wicked mind and unjust rage regarding your rites, Bacchus, and those of your mother, comes with raving heart and mad disposition violently to overcome by force what is invincible—death is the discipline for his purposes, accepting no excuses when the affairs of the gods are concerned; to act like a mortal—this is a life that is free from pain. I do not envy wisdom, but rejoice in hunting it. But other things are great and manifest. Oh, for life to flow towards the good, to be pure and pious day and night, and to honor the gods, banishing customs that are outside of justice. Let manifest justice go forth, let it go with sword in hand, slaying through the throat this godless, lawless, unjust, earth-born offspring of Echion.

CHORUS: Appear as a bull or many-headed serpent or raging lion to see. Go, Bacchus, with smiling face throw a deadly noose around the hunter of the Bacchae as he falls beneath the flock of Maenads.

SECOND MESSENGER: Oh house once fortunate in Hellas, house of the Sidonian old man who once sowed in the ground the earth-born harvest of the serpent Ophis, how I groan for you, though I am a slave, but still ..

CHORUS LEADER: What is it? Do you bring some news from the Bacchae?

MESSENGER: Pentheus, the child of Echion, is dead.

CHORUS LEADER: Lord Bacchus, truly you appear to be a great god.

MESSENGER: What do you mean? Why have you said this? Do you rejoice at the misfortunes of my master, woman?

CHORUS LEADER: I, a foreign woman, rejoice with foreign songs; for no longer do I cower in fear of chains.

MESSENGER: Do you think Thebes so lacking in men?

CHORUS LEADER: Dionysus, Dionysus, not Thebes, holds my allegiance.

MESSENGER: You may be forgiven, but still it is not good to rejoice at troubles once they have actually taken place, women.

CHORUS LEADER: Tell me, speak, what kind of a death did he die, the unjust man who did unjust things?

MESSENGER: When we left the dwellings of the Theban land and crossed the streams of Asopus, we began to ascend the heights of Kithairon, Pentheus and I—for I was following my master—and the stranger who was our guide to the sight. First we sat in a grassy vale, keeping our feet and voices quiet, so that we might see them without being seen. There was a little valley surounded by precipices, irrigated with streams, shaded by pine trees, where the Maenads were sitting, their hands busy with delightful labors. Some of them were crowning again the worn thyrsos, making it leafy with ivy, while some, like colts freed from the painted yoke, were singing a Bacchic melody to one another. And the unhappy Pentheus said, not seeing the crowd of women: Stranger, from where we are standing I cannot see these false Maenads. But on the hill, ascending a lofty pine, I might view properly the shameful acts of the Maenads. And then I saw the stranger perform a marvelous deed. For seizing hold of the lofty top-most branch of the pine tree, he pulled it down, pulled it, pulled it to the dark earth. It was bent just as a bow or a curved wheel, when it is marked out by a compass, describes a circular course : in this way the stranger drew the mountain bough with his hands and bent it to the earth, doing no mortal’s deed. He sat Pentheus down on the pine branch, and let it go upright through his hands steadily, taking care not to shake him off. The pine stood firmly upright into the sky, with my master seated on its back. He was seen by the Maenads more than he saw them, for sitting on high he was all but apparent, and the stranger was no longer anywhere to be seen, when a voice, Dionysus as I guess, cried out from the air: Young women, I bring the one who has made you and me and my rites a laughing-stock. Now punish him! And as he said this a light of holy fire was placed between heaven and earth. The air became quiet and the woody glen kept its leaves silent, nor would you have heard the sounds of animals. But they, not having heard the sound clearly, stood upright and looked all around. He repeated his order, and when the daughters of Kadmos recognized the clear command of Bacchus, they rushed forth, swift as a dove, running with eager speed of feet, his mother Agave, and her sisters, and all the Bacchae. They leapt through the torrent-streaming valley and mountain cliffs, frantic with the inspiration of the god. When they saw my master sitting in the pine, first they climbed a rock towering opposite the tree and began to hurl at him boulders violently thrown. Some aimed with pine branches and other women hurled their thyrsoi through the air at Pentheus, a sad target indeed. But they did not reach him, for the wretched man, caught with no way out, sat at a height too great for their eagerness. Finally like lightning they smashed oak branches and began to tear up the roots of the tree with ironless levers. When they did not succeed in their toils, Agave said: Come, standing round in a circle, each seize a branch, Maenads, so that we may catch the beast who has climbed aloft, and so that he does not make public the secret dances of the god. They applied countless hands to the pine and dragged it up from the earth. Pentheus fell crashing to the ground from his lofty seat, wailing greatly: for he knew he was in terrible trouble. His mother, as priestess, began the slaughter, and fell upon him. He threw the headband from his head so that the wretched Agave might recognize and not kill him. Touching her cheek, he said: It is I, mother, your son, Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Echion. Pity me, mother, and do not kill me, your child, for my sins. But she, foaming at the mouth and twisting her eyes all about, not thinking as she ought, was possessed by Bacchus, and he did not persuade her. Seizing his left arm at the elbow and propping her foot against the unfortunate man’s side, she tore out his shoulder, not by her own strength, but the god gave facility to her hands. Ino began to work on the other side, tearing his flesh, while Autonoe and the whole crowd of the Bacchae pressed on. All were making noise together, he groaning as much as he had life left in him, while they shouted in victory. One of them bore his arm, another a foot, boot and all. His ribs were stripped bare from their tearings. The whole band, hands bloodied, were playing a game of catch with Pentheus’ flesh. His body lies in different places, part under the rugged rocks, part in the deep foliage of the woods, not easy to be sought. His miserable head, which his mother happened to take in her hands, she fixed on the end of a thyrsos and carries through the midst of Kithairon like that of a savage lion, leaving her sisters among the Maenads’ dances. She is coming inside these walls, preening herself on the ill-fated prey, calling Bacchus her fellow hunter, her accomplice in the chase, the glorious victor—in whose service she wins a triumph of tears. And as for me, I will depart out of the way of this calamity before Agave reaches the house. Soundness of mind and reverence for the affairs of the gods is best; and this, I think, is the wisest possession for those mortals who adopt it.

CHORUS: Let us honor Bacchus with the dance, let us raise a shout for what has befallen Pentheus, descendant of the serpent, who assumed female attire and the wand, the beautiful thyrsos—certain death—and a bull was the leader of his calamity. Kadmean Bacchae, you have accomplished a glorious victory, but one that brings woe and tears. It is a noble contest to cover one’s dripping hands with the blood of one’s own son.

Part 12

CHORUS LEADER: But, for I see Pentheus’ mother Agave coming home, her eyes contorted, receive the revel of the god of joy!

AGAVE: Asian Bacchae—

CHORUS: Why do you excite me, oh?

AGAVE: I am bringing home from the mountain a freshly cut tendril to the house, blessed prey.

CHORUS: I see it and will accept you as a fellow reveler.

AGAVE: I caught this young wild lion cub without snares, as you can see.

CHORUS: From what desert?

AGAVE: Kithairon—

CHORUS: Kithairon?

AGAVE: Slew him.

CHORUS: Who struck him?

AGAVE: The honor is mine first. I am called blessed Agave in the revels.

CHORUS: Who else?

AGAVE: Kadmos’—

CHORUS: Kadmos’ what?

AGAVE: His other offspring took hold of this beast after me, after me. This is a lucky catch!

CHORUS: [...]

AGAVE: Share in the feast then.

CHORUS: What? I share in the feast, wretched woman?

AGAVE: The bull is young; his cheek is just growing downy under his soft-haired crest.

Part 13

CHORUS: Yes, his hair looks like a wild beast’s.

AGAVE: Bacchus, a wise huntsman, wisely set the Maenads against this beast.

CHORUS: Our lord is a hunter.

AGAVE: Do you praise me?

CHORUS: I praise you.

AGAVE: Soon the Kadmeans—

CHORUS: And your son Pentheus, too—

AGAVE: Will praise his mother who has caught this lion-like prey.

CHORUS: Extraordinary.

AGAVE: And extraordinarily caught.

CHORUS: Are you proud?

AGAVE: I am delighted, for I have performed great—yes, great—and notable deeds on this hunt.

CHORUS LEADER: Now show the citizens, wretched woman, the booty which you have brought in victory.

AGAVE: You who dwell in this fair-towered city of the Theban land, come to see this prey which we the daughters of Kadmos hunted down, not with thonged Thessalian javelins, or with nets, but with the fingers of our white arms. And then should huntsmen boast and use in vain the work of spear-makers? But we caught and tore apart the limbs of this beast with our very own hands. Where is my old father? Let him approach. And where is my son Pentheus? Let him take a ladder and raise its steps against the house so that he can fasten to the triglyphs this lion’s head which I have captured and brought here.

KADMOS: Follow me, carrying the miserable burden of Pentheus, follow me, slaves, before the house; exhausted from countless searches, I am bringing his body, for I discovered it in the folds of Kithairon, torn apart; I picked up nothing in the same place, and it was lying in the woods where discovery was difficult. For some one told me of my daughters’ bold deeds, when I had already come within the walls of the city on my return from the Bacchae with old Teiresias. I turned back to the mountain and now bring here my child who was killed by the Maenads. For I saw Autonoe, who once bore Actaeon to Aristaeus, and Ino with her, still mad in the thicket, wretched creatures. But some one told me that Agave was coming here with Bacchic foot, and this was correct, for I see her—no happy sight!

AGAVE: Father, you may make a great boast, that you have born daughters the best by far of all mortals. I mean all of us, but myself especially, who have left my shuttle at the loom and gone on to greater things, to catch wild animals with my two hands. And having taken him, I carry these spoils of honor in my arms, as you see, so that they may hang from your house. You father, receive them in your hands. Preening yourself in my catch, call your friends to a feast. For you are blessed, blessed, now that we have performed these deeds.

KADMOS: O grief beyond measuring, one which I cannot stand to see, that you have performed murder with miserable hands. Having cast down a fine sacrificial victim to the gods, you invite Thebes and me to a banquet. Alas, first for your troubles, then for my own. How justly, yet too severely, lord Bromius the god has destroyed us, though he is a member of our own family.

AGAVE: How morose and sullen in its countenance is man’s old age! I hope that my son is a good hunter, taking after his mother’s ways, when he goes after wild beasts together with the young men of Thebes. But all he can do is fight with the gods. You must admonish him, father. Who will call him here to my sight, so that he may see how lucky I am?

KADMOS: Alas, alas! When you realize what you have done you will suffer a terrible pain. But if you remain forever in the state you are in now, though hardly fortunate, you will not imagine that you are unfortunate.

AGAVE: But what of these matters is not right, or what is painful?

Part 14

KADMOS: First cast your eye up to this sky.

AGAVE: All right; why do you tell me to look at it?

KADMOS: Is it still the same, or does it appear to have changed?

AGAVE: It is brighter than before and more translucent.

KADMOS: Is your soul still quivering?

AGAVE: I don’t understand your words. I have become somehow sobered, changing from my former state of mind.

KADMOS: Can you hear and respond clearly?

AGAVE: Yes, for I forget what we said before, father.

KADMOS: To whose house did you come in marriage?

AGAVE: You gave me, as they say, to Echion, the sown man.

KADMOS: What son did you bear to your husband in the house?

AGAVE: Pentheus, from my union with his father.

KADMOS: Whose head do you hold in your hands?

AGAVE: A lion’s, as they who hunted him down said.

KADMOS: Examine it correctly then; it takes but little effort to see.

AGAVE: Ah! What do I see? What is this that I carry in my hands?

KADMOS: Look at it and learn more clearly.

AGAVE: I see the greatest grief, wretched that I am.

KADMOS: Does it seem to you to be like a lion?

AGAVE: No, but I, wretched, hold the head of Pentheus.

Part 15

KADMOS: Yes, much lamented before you recognized him.

AGAVE: Who killed him? How did he come into my hands?

KADMOS: Miserable truth, how inopportunely you arrive!

AGAVE: Tell me. My heart leaps at what is to come.

KADMOS: You and your sisters killed him.

AGAVE: Where did he die? Was it here at home, or in what place?

KADMOS: Where formerly dogs divided Actaeon among themselves.

AGAVE: And why did this ill-fated man go to Kithairon?

KADMOS: He went to mock the god and your revelry.

AGAVE: But in what way did we go there?

KADMOS: You were mad, and the whole city was frantic with Bacchus.

AGAVE: Dionysus destroyed us—now I understand.

KADMOS: Being insulted with insolence, for you did not consider him a god.

AGAVE: And where is the body of my dearest child, father?

KADMOS: I have traced it with difficulty and brought it back.

AGAVE: Are its joints laid properly together?

KADMOS: [...]

AGAVE: What part did Pentheus have in my folly?

KADMOS: He, like you, did not revere the god, who therefore joined all in one ruin, both you and this one here, and thus destroyed the house and me, , who am bereft of my male children and see this offspring of your womb, wretched woman, most miserably and shamefully slain. He was the hope of our line—you, child, who supported the house, son of my daughter, an object of fear to the city; seeing you, no one wished to insult the old man, for you would have given a worthy punishment. But now I, great Kadmos, who sowed and reaped a most glorious crop, the Theban people, will be banished from the house without honor. Dearest of men—for though you are dead I still count you among my dearest, child—no longer will you embrace me, calling me grandfather, touching my chin with your hand, child, and saying: Who wrongs you, old man, who dishonors you? Who vexes and troubles your heart? Tell me, father, so that I can punish the one who does you wrong. But now I am miserable, while you are wretched, your mother is pitiful, and wretched too are your relatives. If anyone scorns the gods, let him look to the death of this man and acknowledge them.

CHORUS LEADER: I grieve for you, Kadmos. Your daughter’s child has a punishment deserved indeed, but grievous to you.

Part 16

AGAVE: Father, for you see how much my situation has changed ... [...]

DIONYSUS: . . . changing your form, you will become a dragon, and your wife, Harmonia, Ares’ daughter, whom you though mortal held in marriage, will be turned into a beast, and will receive in exchange the form of a serpent. And as the oracle of Zeus says, you will drive along with your wife a chariot of heifers, ruling over barbarians. You will sack many cities with a force of countless numbers. And when they plunder the oracle of Apollo, they will have a miserable return, but Ares will protect you and Harmonia and will settle your life in the land of the blessed. That is what I, Dionysus, born not from a mortal father, but from Zeus, say. And if you had known how to be wise when you did not wish to be, you would have acquired Zeus’ son as an ally, and would now be happy.

KADMOS: Dionysus, we beseech you, we have acted injustly.

DIONYSUS: You have learned it too late; you did not know it when you should have.

KADMOS: Now we know, but you go too far against us.

DIONYSUS: Yes, for I, a god by birth, was insulted by you.

KADMOS: Gods should not resemble mortals in their anger.

DIONYSUS: My father Zeus approved this long ago.

AGAVE: Alas! A miserable exile has been decreed for us, old man.

DIONYSUS: Why then do you delay what must necessarily be?

KADMOS: Child, what a terrible disaster we have all come to—unhappy you, your sisters, and unhappy me. I shall reach a foreign land as an aged immigrant. Still it is foretold that I shall bring into Hellas a motley barbarian army. Leading their spears, I, having the fierce nature of a serpent, will bring my wife Harmonia, daughter of Ares, to the altars and tombs of Hellas. I will neither rest from my troubles in my misery, nor will I sail over the downward flowing Acheron and be at peace.

AGAVE: O father, I will go into exile deprived of you.

KADMOS: Why do you embrace me with your hands, child, like a swan for its exhausted gray-haired parent?

AGAVE: For where can I turn, banished from my father-land?

KADMOS: I do not know, child; your father is a poor ally.

AGAVE: Farewell, house, farewell, city of my forefathers. In misfortune I leave you, a fugitive from my chamber.

KADMOS: Go now, child, to the land of Aristaeus . . . [...]

AGAVE: I grieve for you, father.

KADMOS: And I for you, child, and I weep for your sisters.

AGAVE: Terribly indeed has lord Dionysus brought this misery to your home.

Part 17

DIONYSUS: Yes, for I suffered terrible things at your hands, with my name not honored in Thebes.

AGAVE: Farewell, my father.

KADMOS: Farewell, unhappy daughter; and yet you cannot easily fare well.

AGAVE: Lead me, escorts, where I may take my pitiful sisters as companions to my exile. May I go where accursed Kithairon may not see me, nor I see Kithairon with my eyes, nor where a memorial of a thyrsos has been dedicated; let these concern other Bacchae.

CHORUS: Many are the forms of divine things, and the gods bring to pass many things unexpectedly; what is expected has not been accomplished, but the god has found out a means for doing things unthought of. So too has this event turned out.

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

IOLAUS: I hold this true, and long have held: Nature hath made one man upright for his neighbours’ good, while another hath a disposition wholly given over to gain, useless alike to the state and difficult to have dealings with, but for himself the best of men; and this I know, not from mere hearsay. I, for instance, from pure regard and reverence for my kith and kin, though I might have lived at peace in Argos, alone of all my race shared with Heracles his labours, while he was yet with us, and now that he dwells in heaven, I keep these his children safe beneath my wing, though myself I need protection. For when their father passed from earth away, Eurystheus would first of all have slain us, but we escaped. And though our home is lost, our life was saved. But in exile we wander from city to city, ever forced to roam. For, added to our former wrongs, Eurystheus thought it fit to put this further outrage upon us: wheresoe’er he heard that we were settling, thither would he send heralds demanding our surrender and driving us from thence, holding out this threat, that Argos is no mean city to make a friend or foe, and furthermore pointing to his own prosperity. So they, seeing how weak my means, and these little ones left without a father, bow to his superior might and drive us from their land. And I share the exile of these children, and help them bear their evil lot by my sympathy, loth to betray them, lest someone say, Look you! now that the children’s sire is dead, Iolaus no more protects them, kinsman though he is. Not one corner left us in the whole of Hellas, we are come to Marathon and its neighbouring land, and here we sit as suppliants at the altars of the gods, and pray their aid; for ’tis said two sons of Theseus dwell upon these plains, the lot of their inheritance, scions of Pandion’s stock, related to these children; this the reason we have come on this our way to the borders of glorious Athens. To lead the flight two aged guides are we; my care is centred on these boys, while she, I mean Alcmena, clasps her son’s daughter in her arms, and bears her for safety within this shrine, for we shrink from letting tender maidens come anigh the crowd or stand as suppliants at the altar. Now Hyllus and the elder of his brethren are seeking some place for us to find a refuge, if we are driven by force from this land. O children, children, come hither! hold unto my robe; for lo! I see a herald coming towards us from Eurystheus, by whom we are persecuted, wanderers excluded from every land. A curse on thee and him that sent thee, hateful wretch! for that same tongue of thine hath oft announced its master’s evil hests to these children’s noble sire as well.

COPREUS: Doubtless thy folly lets thee think this is a good position to have taken up, and that thou art come to a city that will help thee. No ! there is none that will prefer thy feeble arm to the might of Eurystheus. Begone! why take this trouble? Thou must arise and go to Argos, where awaits thee death by stoning.

IOLAUS: Not so, for the god’s altar will protect me, and this land of freedom, wherein we have set foot.

COPREUS: Wilt give me the trouble of laying hands on thee?

IOLAUS: By force at least shalt thou never drag these children hence.

COPREUS: That shalt thou soon learn; it seems thou wert a poor prophet, after all, in this. [Copreus here seizes the children.

IOLAUS: This shall never happen while I live.

COPREUS: Begone! for I will take them hence, for all thy refusals, for I hold that they belong to Eurystheus, as they do indeed.

IOLAUS: Help, ye who long nave had your home in Athens! we suppliants at Zeus’ altar in your market-place are being haled by force away, our sacred wreaths defiled, shame to your city, to the gods dishonour.

CHORUS: Hark, hark! What cry is this that rises near the altar? At once explain the nature of the trouble.

IOLAUS: See this aged frame hurled in its feebleness upon the ground! Woe is me!

CHORUS: Who threw thee down thus pitiably?

IOLAUS: Behold the man who flouts your gods, kind sirs, and tries by force to drag me from my seat before the altar of Zeus.

CHORUS: From what land, old stranger, art thou come to this confederate state of four cities? or have ye left Euboea’s cliffs, and, with the oar that sweeps the sea, put in here from across the firth?

IOLAUS: Sirs, no island life I lead, but from Mycenae to thy land I come.

CHORUS: What do they call thee, aged sir, those folk in Mycenae?

IOLAUS: Maybe ye have heard of Iolaus, the comrade of Heracles, for he was not unknown to fame.

CHORUS: Yea, I have heard of him in bygone days; but tell me, whose are the tender boys thou bearest in thine arms?

IOLAUS: These, sirs, are the sons of Heracles, come as suppliants to you and your city.

CHORUS: What is their quest? Are they anxious, tell me, to obtain an audience of the state?

Part 2

IOLAUS: That so they may escape surrender, nor be tom with violence from thy altars, and brought to Argos.

COPREUS: Nay, this will nowise satisfy thy masters, who o’er thee have a right, and so have tracked thee hither.

CHORUS: Stranger, ’tis but right we should reverence the gods’ suppliants, suffering none with violent hand to make them leave the altars, for that will dread Justice ne’er permit.

COPREUS: Do thou then drive these subjects of Eurystheus forth, and this hand of mine shall abstain from violence.

CHORUS: ’Twere impious for the state to neglect the suppliant stranger’s prayer.

COPREUS: Yet ’tis well to keep clear of troubles, by adopting that counsel, which is the wiser.

CHORUS: Thou then, shouldst have told the monarch of this land thy errand before being so bold, out of regard to his country’s freedom, instead of trying to drag strangers by force from the altars of the gods.

COPREUS: Who is monarch of this land and state?

CHORUS: Demophon, son of gallant Theseus.

COPREUS: Surely it were most to the purpose to discuss this matter somewhat with him; all else has been said in vain.

CHORUS: Lo! here he comes in person, in hot haste, and Acamas his brother, to hear what thou hast to say.

DEMOPHON: Since thou for all thy years hast outstripped younger men in coming to the rescue to this altar of Zeus, do thou tell me what hath chanced to bring this crowd together.

CHORUS: There sit the sons of Heracles as suppliants, having wreathed the altar, as thou seest, O king, and with them is Iolaus, trusty comrade of their sire.

DEMOPHON: Why should this event have called for cries of pain?

CHORUS: (turning to Copreus). This fellow caused the uproar by trying to drag them forcibly from this altar, and he tripped up the old man, till my tears for pity flowed.

DEMOPHON: Hellenic dress and fashion in his robes doth he no doubt adopt, but deeds like these betray the barbarian. Thou, sirrah, tell me straight the country whence thou earnest thither.

COPREUS: An Argive I; since that thou seek’st to know. Who sent me, and the object of my coming, will I freely tell. Eurystheus, king of Mycenae, sends me hither to fetch these back; and I have come, sir stranger, with just grounds in plenty, alike for speech or action. An Argive myself, Argives I come to fetch, taking with me these runaways from my native city, on whom the doom of death was passed by our laws there; and we have a right, since we rule our city independently, to ratify its sentences. And though they have come as suppliants to the altars of numerous others, we have taken our stand on these same arguments, and no one has ventured to bring upon himself evils of his own getting. But they have come hither, either because they perceived some folly in thee, or, in their perplexity, staking all on one risky throw to win or lose; for surely they do not suppose that thou, if so thou hast thy senses still, and only thou, in all the breadth of Hellas they have traversed, wilt pity their foolish troubles. Come now, put argument against argument: what will be thy gain, suppose thou admit them to thy land, or let us take them hence? From us these benefits are thine to win: this city can secure as friends Argos, with its far-reaching arm, and Eurystheus’ might complete; whilst if thou lend an ear to their piteous pleading and grow soft, the matter must result in trial of arms; for be sure we shall not yield this struggle without appealing to the sword. What pretext wilt thou urge? Of what domains art thou robbed that thou shouldst take and wage war with the Tirynthian Argives? What kind of allies art thou aiding? For whom will they have fallen whom thou buriest? Surely thou wilt get an evil name from the citizens, if for the sake of an old man with one foot in the grave, a mere shadow I may say, and for these children, thou wilt plunge into troublous waters. The best thou canst say is, that thou wilt find in them a hope, and nothing more; and yet this falls far short of the present need; for these would be but a poor match for Argives even when fully armed and in their prime, if haply that raises thy spirits; moreover, the time ’twixt now and then is long, wherein ye may be blotted out. Nay, hearken to me; give me naught, but let me take mine own, and so gain Mycenae; but forbear to act now, as is your Athenian way, and take the weaker side, when it is in thy power to choose the stronger as thy friends.

CHORUS: Who can decide a cause or ascertain its merits, till from both sides he clearly learn what they would say?

IOLAUS: O king, in thy land I start with this advantage, the right to hear and speak in turn, and none, ere that, will drive me hence as elsewhere they would. ’Twixt us and him is naught in common, for we no longer have aught to do with Argos since that decree was passed, but we are exiles from our native land; how then can he justly drag us back as subjects of Mycenae, seeing that they have banished us? For we are strangers. Or do ye claim that every exile from Argos is exiled from the bounds of Hellas? Not from Athens surely; for ne’er will she for fear of Argos drive the children of Heracles from her land. Here is no Trachis, not at all; no! nor that Achaean town, whence thou, defying justice, but boasting of the might of Argos in the very words thou now art using, didst drive the suppliants from their station at the altar. If this shall be, and they thy words approve, why then I trow this is no more Athens, the home of freedom. Nay, but I know the temper and nature of these citizens; they would rather die, for honour ranks before mere life with men of worth. Enough of Athens! for excessive praise is apt to breed disgust; and oft ere now I have myself felt vexed at praise that knows no bounds. But to thee, as ruler of this land, I fain would show the reason why thou art bound to save these children. Pittheus was the son of Pelops; from him sprung Aethra, and from her Theseus thy sire was born. And now will I trace back these children’s lineage for thee. Heracles was son of Zeus and Alcmena; Alcmena sprang from Pelops’ daughter; therefore thy father and their father would be the sons of first cousins. Thus then art thou to them related, O Demophon, but thy just debt to them beyond the ties of kinship do I now declare to thee; for I assert, in days gone by, I was with Theseus on the ship, as their father’s squire, when they went to fetch that girdle fraught with death; yea, and from Hades’ murky dungeons did Heracles bring thy father up; as all Hellas doth attest. Wherefore in return they crave this boon of thee, that they be not surrendered up nor torn by force from the altars of thy gods and cast forth from the land. For this were shame on thee, and hurtful likewise in thy state, should suppliants, exiles, kith and kin of thine, be haled away by force. For pity’s sake! cast one glance at them. I do entreat thee, laying my suppliant bough upon thee, by thy hands and beard, slight not the sons of Heracles, now that thou hast them in thy power to help. Show thyself their kinsman and their friend; be to them father, brother, lord; for better each and all of these than to fall beneath the Argives’ hand.

CHORUS: O king, I pity them, hearing their sad lot Now more than ever do I see noble birth o’ercome by fortune; for these, though sprung from a noble sire, are suffering what they ne’er deserved.

Part 3

DEMOPHON: Three aspects of the case constrain me, Iolaus, not to spurn the guests thou bringest; first and foremost, there is Zeus, at whose altar thou art seated with these tender children gathered round thee; next come ties of kin, and the debt I owe to treat them kindly for their father’s sake; and last, mine honour, which before all I must regard; for if I permit this altar to be violently despoiled by stranger hands, men will think the land I inhabit is free no more, and that through fear I have surrendered suppliants to Argives, and this comes nigh to make one hang oneself. Would that thou hadst come under a luckier star! yet, as it is, fear not that any man shall tear thee and these children from the altar by force. Get thee (to Copreus) to Argos and tell Eurystheus so; yea and more, if he have any charge against these strangers, he shall have justice; but never shalt thou drag them hence.

COPREUS: Not even if I have right upon my side and prove my case?

DEMOPHON: How can it be right to drag the suppliant away by force?

COPREUS: Well, mine is the disgrace; no harm will come to thee.

DEMOPHON: Tis harm to me, if I let them be haled away by thee.

COPREUS: Banish them thyself, and then will I take them from elsewhere.

DEMOPHON: Nature made thee a fool, to think thou knowest better than the god.

COPREUS: It seems then evildoers are to find a refuge here.

DEMOPHON: A temple of the gods is an asylum open to the world.

COPREUS: Maybe they will not take this view in Mycensa.

DEMOPHON: What! am I not lord of this domain?

COPREUS: So long as thou injure not the Argives, and if wise, thou wilt not.

DEMOPHON: Be injured for all I care, provided I sin not against the gods.

COPREUS: I would not have thee come to blows with Argos.

DEMOPHON: I am of like mind in this; but I will not dismiss these from my protection.

COPREUS: For all that, I shall take and drag my own away.

DEMOPHON: Why then perhaps thou wilt find a difficulty in returning to Argos.

COPREUS: That shall I soon find out by making the attempt.

DEMOPHON: Touch them and thou shalt rue it, and that without delay.

CHORUS: I conjure thee, never dare to strike a herald.

Part 4

DEMOPHON: Strike I will, unless that herald learn discretion.

CHORUS: Depart; and thou, O king, touch him not.

COPREUS: I go; for ’tis feeble fighting with a single arm. But I will come again, bringing hither a host of Argive troops, spearmen clad in bronze; for countless warriors are awaiting my return, and king Eurystheus in person at their head; anxiously he waits the issue here on the borders of Alcathous’ realm. And when he hears thy haughty answer, he will burst upon thee, and thy citizens, on this land and all that grows therein; for all in vain should we possess such hosts of picked young troops in Argos, should we forbear to punish thee. [Exit Copreus.

DEMOPHON: Perdition seize thee ! I am not afraid of thy Argos. Be very sure thou shalt not drag these suppliants hence by force, to my shame; for I hold not this city subject unto Argos, but independently.

CHORUS: ’Tis time to use our forethought, ere the host of Argos approach our frontier, for exceeding fierce are the warriors of Mycenae, and in the present case still more than heretofore. For all heralds observe this custom, to exaggerate what happened twofold. Bethink thee what a tale he will tell his master of his dreadful treatment, how he came very near losing his life altogether.

IOLAUS: Children have no fairer prize than this, the being born of a good and noble sire, and the power to wed from noble families; but whoso is enslaved by passion and makes a lowborn match, I cannot praise for leaving to his children a legacy of shame, to gratify himself. For noble birth offers a stouter resistance to adversity than base parentage; we, for instance, in the last extremity of woe, have found friends and kinsmen here, the only champions of these children through all the length and breadth of this Hellenic world. Give, children, give to them your hand, and they the same to you; draw near to them. Ah! children, we have made trial of our friends, and if ever ye see the path that leads you back to your native land, and possess your home and the honours of your father, count them ever as your friends and saviours, and never lift against their land the foeman’s spear, in memory of this, but hold this city first midst those ye love. Yea, they well deserve your warm regard, in that they have shifted from our shoulders to their own the enmity of so mighty a land as Argos and its people, though they saw we were vagabonds and beggars; still they did not give us up nor drive us forth. So while I live, and after death,—come when it will,—loudly will I sing thy praise, good friend, and will extol thee as I stand at Theseus’ side, and cheer his heart, as I tell how thou didst give kind welcome and protection to the sons of Heracles, and how nobly thou dost preserve thy father’s fame through the length of Hellas, and hast not fallen from the high estate, to which thy father brought thee, a lot which few others can boast; for ’mongst the many wilt thou find one maybe, that is not degenerate from his sire.

CHORUS: This land is ever ready in an honest cause to aid the helpless. Wherefore ere now it hath endured troubles numberless for friends, and now in this I see a struggle nigh at hand.

DEMOPHON: Thou hast spoken well, and I feel confident their conduct will be such; our kindness will they not forget. Now will I muster the citizens and set them in array, that I may receive Mycenae’s host with serried ranks. But first will I send scouts to meet them, lest they fall upon me unawares; for at Argos every man is prompt to answer to the call, and I will assemble prophets and ordain a sacrifice. But do thou leave the altar of Zeus and go with the children into the house; for there are those, who will care for thee, even though I be abroad. Enter then my house, old man.

IOLAUS: I will not leave the altar. Let us sit here still, praying for the city’s fair success, and when thou hast made a glorious end of this struggle, will we go unto the house; nor are the gods who champion us weaker than the gods of Argos, O king; Hera, wife of Zeus, is their leader; Athena ours. And this I say is an omen of success, that we have the stronger deity, for Pallas will not brook defeat. [Exit Demophon.

CHORUS: Though loud thy boasts, there be others care no more for thee for that, O stranger from the land of Argos; nor wilt thou scare my soul with swelling words. Not yet be this the fate of mighty Athens, beauteous town! But thou art void of sense, and so is he, who lords it o’er Argos, the son of Sthenelus,

CHORUS: —thou that comest to another state, in no wise weaker than Argos, and, stranger that thou art, wouldst drag away by force suppliants of the gods, wanderers that cling to my land for help, refusing to yield to our king, nor yet having any honest plea to urge. How can such conduct count as honourable, at least in wise men’s judgment?

CHORUS: I am for peace myself; yet I tell thee, wicked king, although thou come unto my city, thou shalt not get so easily what thou expectest. Thou art not the only man to wield a sword or targe with plates of brass. Nay, thou eager warrior, I warn thee, bring not war’s alarms against our lovely town; restrain thyself.

IOLAUS: My son, why, prithee, art thou returned with that anxious look? Hast thou news of the enemy? Are they coming, are they here, or what thy tidings? For of a surety yon herald will not play us false. No! sure I am their captain, prosperous heretofore, will come, with thoughts exceeding proud against Athens. But Zeus doth punish overweening pride.

DEMOPHON: The host of Argos is come, and Eurystheus its king; my own eyes saw him, for the man who thinks he knows good generalship must see the foe not by messengers alone. As yet, however, he hath not sent his host into the plain, but, camped upon a rocky brow, is watching—I only tell thee what I think this means—to see by which road to lead his army hither without fighting, and how to take up a safe position in this land. However, all my plans are by this time carefully laid; the city is under arms, the victims stand ready to be slain to every god, whose due this is; my seers have filled the town with sacrifices, to turn the foe to flight and keep our country safe. All those who chant prophetic words have I assembled, and have examined ancient oracles, both public and secret, as means to save this city. And though the several answers differ in many points, yet in one is the sentiment of all clearly the same; they bid me sacrifice to Demeter’s daughter some maiden from a noble father sprung. Now I, though in your cause I am as zealous as thou seest, yet will not slay my child, nor will I compel any of my subjects to do so against his will; for who of his own will doth harbour such an evil thought as to yield with his own hands the child he loves? And now thou mayest see angry gatherings, where some declare, ’tis right to stand by suppliant strangers, while others charge me with folly; but if I do this deed, a civil war is then and there on foot. Do thou then look to this and help to find a way to save yourselves and this country without causing me to be slandered by the citizens. For I am no despot like a barbarian monarch; but provided I do what is just, just will my treatment be.

CHORUS: Can it be that heaven forbids this city to help strangers, when it hath the will and longing so to do?

IOLAUS: My children, we are even as those mariners, who have escaped the storm’s relentless rage, and have the land almost within their reach, but after all are driven back from shore by tempests to the deep again. Even so we, just as we reach the shore in seeming safety, are being thrust back from this land. Ah me! Why, cruel hope, didst thou then cheer my heart, though thou didst not mean to make the boon complete? The king may well be pardoned, if he will not slay his subjects’ children; and with my treatment here I am content; if indeed ’tis heaven’s will, I thus should fare, still is my gratitude to thee in no wise lost. Children, I know not what to do for you. Whither shall we turn? for what god’s altar have we left uncrowned? to what fenced city have we failed to go? Ruin and surrender are our instant lot, poor children! If I must die, ’tis naught to me, save that thereby I give those foes of mine some cause for joy. But you, children, I lament and pity, and that aged mother of your sire, Alcmena. Ah, woe is thee for thy long span of life! and woe is me for all my idle toil! ’Twas after all our destined doom to fall into the hands of our hated foe, and die a death of shame and misery. But lend me thine aid, thou knowest how; for all hope of these children’s safety has not yet left me. Give me up instead of them to the Argives, O king; run no risk, but let me save the children; to love my life becomes me not; let it pass. Me will Eurystheus be most glad to take and treat despitefully, as I was Heracles’ companion; for the man is but a boor; wherefore wise men ought to pray to get a wise man for their foe, and not a proud senseless fool; for so, even if by fortune flouted, one would meet with much consideration.

CHORUS: Old man, blame not this city; for though perhaps a gain to us, yet would it be a foul reproach that we betrayed strangers.

DEMOPHON: A generous scheme is thine, but impossible. ’Tis not in quest of thee yon king comes marching hither; what would Eurystheus gain by the death of one so old? Nay, ’tis these children’s blood he wants. For there is danger to a foe in the youthful scions of a noble race, whose memory dwells upon their father’s wrongs; all this Eurystheus must foresee. But if thou hast any scheme besides, that better suits the time, be ready with it, for, since I heard that oracle, I am at a loss and full of fear. [Exit Demophon.

MACARIA: Sirs, impute not boldness to me, because I venture forth; this shall be my first request, for a woman’s fairest crown is this, to practise silence and discretion, and abide at home in peace. But when I heard thy lamentations, Iolaus, I came forth, albeit I was not appointed to take the lead in my family. Still in some sense am I fit to do so, for these my brothers are my chiefest care, and I fain would ask, as touching myself, whether some new trouble, added to the former woes, is gnawing at thy heart.

IOLAUS: My daughter, ’tis nothing new that I should praise thee, as I justly may, above all the children of Heracles. Our house seemed to be prospering, when back it fell again into a hopeless state; for the king declares the prophets signify that he must order the sacrifice, not of bull or heifer, but of some tender maid of noble lineage, if we and this city are to exist. Herein is our perplexity; the king refuses either to sacrifice his own or any other’s child. Wherefore, though he use not terms express, yet doth he hint, that, unless we find some way out of this perplexity, we must seek some other land, for he this country fain would save.

Part 5

MACARIA: Are these indeed the terms on which our safety depends?

IOLAUS: Yea, on these; if, that is, we are successful otherwise.

MACARIA: No longer then cower before the hated Argive spear; for I, of my own free will, or ever they bid me, am ready to die and offer myself as a victim. For what excuse have we, if, while this city deems it right to incur a great danger on our behalf, we, though we might save ourselves, fly from death, by foisting our trouble on others? No! indeed, ’twere surely most ridiculous to sit and mourn as suppliants of the gods, and show ourselves but cowards, children as we are of that illustrious sire. Where among the brave is such conduct seen? Better, I suppose, this city should be taken and I (which Heaven forefend!) fall into the hands of the enemy, and then, for all I am my noble father’s child, meet an awful doom, and face the Death-god none the less. Shall I wander as an exile from this land? Shall I not feel shame then, when someone says, as say they will, Why are ye come hither with suppliant boughs, loving your lives too well? Begone from our land! for we will not succour cowards. Nay, if these be slain and I alone be saved, I have no hope in any wise of being happy, though many ere now have in this hope betrayed their friends. For who will care to wed a lonely maid or make me mother of his children? ’Tis better I should die than meet such treatment, Conduct me to the scene of death, then be victorious o’er the foe, for here I offer my life freely and without constraint, and for my brothers and myself I undertake to die.

CHORUS: Ah, what shall I say on hearing the maid’s brave words, she that is ready to die for her brothers? Who can speak more noble words or do more noble deeds henceforth for ever?

IOLAUS: Daughter, thou art his own true child, no other man’s but Heracles’, that godlike soul; proud am I of thy words, though I sorrow for thy lot. Yet will I propose a fairer method: ’tis right to summon hither all the sisters of this maiden, and then let her, on whom the lot shall fall, die for her family; for that thou shouldst die without the lot is not just.

MACARIA: My death shall no chance lot decide; there is no graciousness in that; peace! old friend. But if ye accept and will avail you of my readiness, freely do I offer my life for these, and without constraint.

IOLAUS: Ah, this is even nobler than thy former word; that was matchless, but thou dost now surpass thy bravery and noble speech. I cannot bid, will not forbid thy dying, Omy daughter! for by thy death thou dost thy brothers serve.

MACARIA: A cautious bidding thine! Fear not to take a stain of guilt from me; only let me die as one whose death is free. Follow me, old friend, for in thy arms I fain would die; stand by and veil my body with my robe, for I will go even to the dreadful doom of sacrifice, seeing whose daughter I avow myself.

IOLAUS: I cannot stand by and see thee bleed.

MACARIA: At least do thou beg me this boon of the king, that I may breathe out my life in women’s arms instead of men’s.

DEMOPHON: It shall be so, unhappy maid; for this were shame to me to refuse thee honour due, for many reasons: because thou hast a soul so brave; because ’tis right; and thou hast shown more courage than any of thy sex my eyes have ever seen. Now, if thou hast aught to say to these children or thy aged guide, oh! say the last thou hast to say—then go.

MACARIA: Farewell, old friend, farewell! and prithee teach these children to be like thyself, wise at every point; let them strive no further, for that will suffice them. And seek to save them from death, even as thou art anxious to do; thy children are we, thy care it was that nurtured us. Thou seest how I yield my bridal bloom to die for them. For you, my brothers gathered here, may you be happy! and may every blessing be yours, for the which my blood shall pay the price! Honour this old friend, and her that is within the house, Alcmena, the aged mother of my sire, and these strangers too. And if ever heaven for you devise release from trouble and a return to your home, remember the burial due to her that saved you, a funeral fair as I deserve; for I have not failed, but stood by you, and died to save my race. This shall be my pearl of price instead of children, and for the maiden life I leave, if there be really aught beyond the grave—God grant there may not be! For if, e’en there, we who are to die shall find a life of care, I know not whither one shall turn; for death is held a sovereign cure for every ill.

IOLAUS: Maiden of heroic soul, transcending all thy race, be sure the fame that thou shalt win from us, in life, in death, shall leave the rest of women far behind; farewell to thee! I dare not say harsh words of her to whom thou art devoted, the goddess-daughter of Demeter. [Exit Macaria.] Children, I am undone, grief unnerves my limbs; take hold and support me to a seat hard by, when ye have drawn my mantle o’er my face, my sons. For I am grieved at what hath happened, and yet, were it not fulfilled, we could not live; thus were the mischief worse, though this is grief enough.

CHORUS: Without the will of heaven none is blest, none curst, I do maintain; nor doth the same house for ever tread the path of bliss; for one kind of fortune follows hard upon another; one man it brings to naught from his high estate, another though of no account it crowns with happiness. To shun what fate decrees, is no wise permitted; none by cunning shall thrust it from him; but he, who vainly would do so, shall have unceasing trouble.

CHORUS: Then fall not prostrate thou, but bear what heaven sends, and set a limit to thy soul’s grief; for she, poor maid! in dying for her brothers and this land, hath won a glorious death, and splendid fame shall be her meed from all mankind; for virtue’s path leads through troublous ways. Worthy of her father, worthy of her noble birth is this conduct. And if thou dost honour the virtuous dead, I share with thee that sentiment.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): All hail, ye children! Where is aged Iolaus? where the mother of your sire, absent from their place at this altar?

IOLAUS: Here am I, so far as I can be present at all.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Why dost thou lie there? Why that downcast look?

IOLAUS: There is come a sorrow on my house, whereby I am distressed.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Arise, lift up thy head.

Part 6

IOLAUS: I am old, and all my strength is gone.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): But I come with tidings of great joy for thee.

IOLAUS: Who art thou? Where have I met thee? I have no remembrance.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): I am a vassal of Hyllus; dost not recognize me now?

IOLAUS: Best of friends, art thou come to save us twain from hurt?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Assuredly; and moreover thou art lucky in the present case.

IOLAUS: Alcmena, mother of a noble son, to thee I call! come forth, hear this welcome news. For long has anguish caused thee inwardly to waste, wondering if those, who now are here, would ever come.

ALCMENA: What means that shout, that echoes throughout the house? Hath there come yet a herald from Argos, O Iolaus, and is he treating thee with violence? Feeble is any strength of mine; yet thus much let me tell thee, stranger, never, whilst I live, shalt thou drag them hence. Shouldst thou succeed, no more let me be thought the mother of that hero. And if thou lay a finger on them, thou wilt struggle to thy shame with two aged foes.

IOLAUS: Courage, aged dame, fear not; not from Argos is a herald come, with hostile messages.

ALCMENA: Why then didst raise a cry, fear’s harbinger?

IOLAUS: I called thee to come to me in front of this temple.

ALCMENA: I know not what it means; who is this?

IOLAUS: A messenger who says thy grandson cometh hither.

ALCMENA: All hail to thee for these thy tidings! But why is he not here, where is he? if in this land he hath set foot. What hath happened to keep him from coming hither with thee, to cheer my heart?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): He is posting the army he brought with him, and seeing it marshalled.

ALCMENA: Then have I no concern herein.

IOLAUS: Yes, thou hast; though it is my business to inquire into these matters.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): What then wouldst thou learn of these events?

IOLAUS: About how many allies has he with him?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): A numerous force; I cannot otherwise describe the number.

Part 7

IOLAUS: The leaders of the Athenians know this, I suppose?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): They do; already is their left wing set in array.

IOLAUS: Is then the host already armed for battle?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Yea, and already are the victims brought near the ranks.

IOLAUS: About what distance is the Argive host from us?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Near enough for their general to be plainly seen.

IOLAUS: What is he about? marshalling the enemy’s line?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): So we guessed; we could not hear exactly. But I must go, for I would not that my master should engage the foe without me, if I can help it.

IOLAUS: I also will go with thee; for I like thee am minded, so it seems, to be there and help my friends.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): It least of all becomes thee thus to utter words of folly.

IOLAUS: Far less to shrink from sharing with my friends the stubborn fight.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Mere looks can wound no one, if the arm do naught.

IOLAUS: Why, cannot I smite even through their shields?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Smite perhaps, more likely be smitten thyself.

IOLAUS: No foe will dare to meet me face to face.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Friend, the strength, that erst was thine, is thine no more,

IOLAUS: Well, at any rate, I will fight with as many as ever I did.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Small the weight thou canst throw into the balance for thy friends.

IOLAUS: Detain me not, when I have girded myself for action.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): The power to act is thine no more, the will maybe is there.

Part 8

IOLAUS: Stay here I will not, say what else thou wilt

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): How shalt thou show thyself before the troops unarmed?

IOLAUS: There be captured arms within this shrine; these will I use, and, if I live, restore; and, if I am slain, the god will not demand them of me back. Go thou within, and from its peg take down a suit of armour and forthwith bring it to me. To linger thus at home is infamous, while some go fight, and others out of cowardice remain behind. [Exit Servant.

CHORUS: Not yet hath time laid low thy spirit, ’tis young as ever; but thy body’s strength is gone. Why toil to no purpose? ’Twill do thee hurt and benefit our city little. At thy age thou shouldst confess thy error and let impossibilities alone. Thou canst in no way get thy vigour back again.

ALCMENA: What means this mad resolve to leave me with my children undefended here?

IOLAUS: Men must fight; and thou must look to them.

ALCMENA: And what if thou art slain? what safety shall I find?

IOLAUS: Thy son’s surviving children will care for thee.

ALCMENA: Suppose they meet with some reverse? which Heaven forefend!

IOLAUS: These strangers will not give thee up, fear not.

ALCMENA: They are my last and only hope, I have no other.

IOLAUS: Zeus too, I feel sure, cares for thy sufferings.

ALCMENA: Ah! of Zeus will I never speak ill, but himself doth know, whether he is just to me.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Lo! here thou seest a full coat of mail; make haste to case thyself therein; for the strife is nigh, and bitterly doth Ares loathe loiterers; but if thou fear the weight of the armour, go for the present without it, and in the ranks do on this gear; meantime will I carry it.

IOLAUS: Well said! keep the harness ready to my hand, put a spear within my grasp, and support me on the left side, guiding my steps.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Am I to lead this warrior like a child?

IOLAUS: To save the omen, we must go without stumbling.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Would thy power to act were equal to thy zeal!

IOLAUS: Hasten; I shall feel it grievously, if I am too late for the battle.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): ’Tis thou who art slow, not I, though thou fanciest thou art doing wonders.

Part 9

IOLAUS: Dost not mark how swift my steps are hasting?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): I mark more seeming than reality in thy haste.

IOLAUS: Thou wilt tell a different tale when thou seest me there.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): What shall I see thee do? I wish thee all success, at any rate.

IOLAUS: Thou shalt see me smite some foeman through the shield.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Perhaps, if ever we get there. I have my fears of that.

IOLAUS: Ah! would to Heaven that thou, mine arm, e’en as I remember thee in thy lusty youth, when with Heracles thou didst sack Sparta, couldst so champion me to-day! how I would put Eurystheus to flight! since he is too craven to wait the onslaught. For prosperity carries with it this error too a reputation for bravery; for we think the prosperous man a master of all knowledge.

CHORUS: O earth, and moon that shines by night, and dazzling radiance of the god, that giveth light to man, bear the tidings to me, shout aloud to heaven for joy, and beside our ruler’s throne, and in the shrine of grey-eyed Athene. For my fatherland and home will I soon decide the issue of the strife with the gleaming sword, because I have taken suppliants under my protection.

CHORUS: ’Tis a fearful thing, that a city prosperous as Mycenae is, one famed for martial prowess, should harbour wrath against my land; still, my countrymen, it were a shameful thing in us to yield up suppliant strangers at the bidding of Argos. Zeus is on my side, I am not afraid; Zeus hath a favour unto me, as is my due; never by me shall gods be thought weaker than mortal men.

CHORUS: O dread goddess, thine the soil whereon we stand, thine this city, for thou art its mother, queen, and saviour; wherefore turn some other way the impious king, who leadeth a host from Argos with brandished lance against this land; for, such my worth, I little merit exile from my home.

CHORUS: For thy worship is aye performed with many a sacrifice, and never art thou forgotten as each month draweth to its close, when young voices sing and dancers’ music is heard abroad, while on our wind-swept hill goes up the cry of joy to the beat of maidens’ feet by night.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Mistress, the message that I bring is very short for thee to hear and fair for me, who stand before thee, to announce. O’er our foes we are victorious, and trophies are being set up, with panoplies upon them, taken from thy enemies.

ALCMENA: Best of friends! this day hath wrought thy liberty by reason of these tidings. But there still remains one anxious thought thou dost not free me from;—a thought of fear;—are those, whose lives I cherish, spared to me?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): They are, and high their fame through all the army spreads.

ALCMENA: The old man Iolaus,—is he yet alive?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): Aye, that he is, a hero whom the gods delight to honour.

ALCMENA: How so? Did he perform some deed of prowess?

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): He hath passed from age to youth once more.

ALCMENA: Thy tale is passing strange; but first I would that thou shouldst tell me, how our friends won the day.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): One speech of mine puts it all clearly before thee. When we had deployed our troops and marshalled them face to face with one another, Hyllus dismounted from his four-horsed chariot and stood midway betwixt the hosts. Then cried he, Captain, who art come from Argos, why cannot we leave this land alone? No hurt wilt thou do Mycenae, if of one man thou rob her; come! meet me in single combat, and, if thou slay me, take the children of Heracles away with thee, but, if thou fall, leave me to possess my ancestral honours and my home. The host cried yes! saying the scheme he offered was a fair one, both to rid them of their trouble and satisfy their valour. But that other, feeling no shame before those who heard the challenge or at his own cowardice, quailed, general though he was, to come within reach of the stubborn spear, showing himself an abject coward; yet with such a spirit he came to enslave the children of Heracles. Then did Hyllus withdraw to his own ranks again, and the prophets seeing that no reconciliation would be effected by single combat, began the sacrifice without delay and forthwith let flow from a human throat auspicious streams of blood. And some were mounting chariots, while others couched beneath the shelter of their shields, and the king of the Athenians, as a highborn chieftain should, would exhort his host: Fellow-citizens, the land, that feeds you and that gave you birth, demands to-day the help of every man. Likewise Eurystheus besought his allies that they should scorn to sully the feme of Argos and Mycenae. Anon the Etrurian trumpet sounded loud and clear, and hand to hand they rushed; then think how loudly clashed their ringing shields, what din arose of cries and groans confused! At first the onset of the Argive spearmen broke our ranks; then they in turn gave ground; next, foot to foot and man to man, they fought their stubborn fray, many falling the while. And either chief cheered on his men, Sons of Athens! Ye who till the fields of Argos! ward from your land disgrace. Do all we could, and spite of every effort, scarce could we turn the Argive line in flight. When lo! old Iolaus sees Hyllus starting from the ranks, whereon he lifts his hands to him with a prayer to take him up into his chariot. Thereon he seized the reins and went hard after the horses of Eurystheus. From this point onward must I speak from hearsay, though hitherto as one whose own eyes saw. For as he was crossing Pallene’s hill, sacred to the goddess Athene, he caught sight of Eurystheus’ chariot, and prayed to Hebe and to Zeus, that for one single day he might grow young again and wreak his vengeance on his foes. Now must thou hear a wondrous tale: two stars settled on the horses’ yokes and threw the chariot into dark shadow, which—at least so say our wiser folk—were thy son and Hebe; and from that murky gloom appeared that aged man in the form of a youth with strong young arms; then by the rocks of Sciron the hero Iolaus o’ertakes Eurystheus’ chariot. And he bound his hands with gyves, and is bringing that chieftain once so prosperous as a trophy hither, whose fortune now doth preach a lesson, clear as day, to all the sons of men, that none should envy him, who seems to thrive, until they see his death; for fortune’s moods last but a day.

Part 10

CHORUS: O Zeus, who puttest my foes to flight, now may I behold the day that frees me from cruel fear!

ALCMENA: At last, O Zeus, hast thou turned a favouring eye on my affliction; yet do I thank thee for what has happened. And though ere this I did not believe my son was gathered to the gods, now am I convinced thereof. My children, now at last from toil shall ye be free, free from him, whom hideous death awaits, Eurystheus; now shall ye behold your father’s city, and set foot in the land of your inheritance, and sacrifice to those ancestral gods, from whom ye have been debarred and forced to lead in strangers’ lands a life of wretched vagrancy. But tell me, what sage purpose Iolaus nursed in his heart, that he spared the life of Eurystheus, for to my mind this is no wisdom, to catch a foe and wreak no vengeance on him.

SERVANT (OF HYLLUS): ’Twas his regard for thee, that thou might’st see him subject to thy hand, and triumph o’er him. Rest assured, ’twas no willing prisoner he made, but by strong constraint he bound him, for Eurystheus was loth indeed to come alive into thy presence and pay his penalty. Farewell, my aged mistress; I pray thee remember thy first promise when I was beginning my story; set me free; for, at such a time as this, sincerity becometh noble lips. [Exit Servant.

CHORUS: Sweet is the dance to me, whenso the clear-toned flute and lovely Aphrodite shed grace upon the feast; and a joyful thing too it is, I trow, to witness the good luck of friends, who till then ne’er dreamt of it. For numerous is the offspring of Fate, that bringeth all to pass, and of Time, the son of Cronos.

CHORUS: Thine is the path of justice, O my city; this must no man wrest from thee, thy reverence for the gods, and, whoso denieth it of thee, draws nigh to frenzy’s goal, with these plain proofs in view. Yea, for the god proclaims it clearly, by cutting short the bad man’s pride in every case.

CHORUS: In heaven, mother, lives thy son, passed from earth away; that he went down to Hades’ halls, his body burnt by the fire’s fierce flame, is past belief; in golden halls reclined he has to wife Hebe, lovely nymph. Thou, O Hymen, hast honoured them, children both of Zeus.

CHORUS: Things for the most part form a single chain; for instance, men say Athene used to champion their father, and now the citizens of that goddess have saved his children, and checked the insolence of him, whose heart preferred violence to justice. God save me from such arrogance, such greed of soul! [Eurystheus is brought in bound.

MESSENGER: Mistress, though thine eyes see him, yet will I announce we have brought Eurystheus hither for thy pleasure, an unexpected sight, for him no less a chance he ne’er foresaw; for little he thought of ever falling into thy hands, what time he marched from Mycenae with his toil-worn warriors, to sack Athens, thinking himself far above fortune. But a power divine hath reversed our destinies, changing their position. Now Hyllus and brave Iolaus I left raising an image to Zeus, who routs the foe, for their triumphant victory, whilst they bid me bring this prisoner to thee, wishing to gladden thy heart; for ’tis the sweetest sight to see a foe fall on evil days after prosperity.

ALCMENA: Art come, thou hateful wretch? Hath Justice caught thee then at last? First, turn thy head this way to me, and endure to look thy enemies in the face, for thou art no more the ruler, but the slave. Art thou the man—for this I fain would learn—who didst presume to heap thy insults on my son, who now is where he is, thou miscreant? What outrage didst thou abstain from putting upon him? Thou that didst make him go down alive even to Hades, and wouldst send him with an order to slay hydras and lions? Thy other evil schemes I mention not, for to tell them were a tedious task for me. Nor did it content thee to venture thus far only; no! but from all Hellas wouldst thou drive me and my children, heaven’s suppliants though we were, grey-heads some of us, and some still tender babes. But here hast thou found men and a free city, that feared not thee. Die in torment must thou, and e’en so wilt thou gain in every way, for one death is not thy due, after all the sorrow thou hast caused.

MESSENGER: Thou mayst not slay him.

ALCMENA: Then have we taken him captive in vain. But say, what law forbids his death?

MESSENGER: It is not the will of the rulers of this land.

ALCMENA: Why, what is this? Do they not approve of slaying enemies?

MESSENGER: Not such as they have taken alive in battle.

ALCMENA: Did Hyllus uphold this decision?

MESSENGER: He, I suppose, ought to have disobeyed the law of the land.

ALCMENA: The prisoner’s life ought not to have been spared a moment.

MESSENGER: It was then that he was wronged, by not being slain at first.

ALCMENA: Why, then, he is still in time to pay his penalty.

MESSENGER: There is no one, who will slay him now.

Part 11

ALCMENA: I will; and yet I count myself someone.

MESSENGER: Well, thou wilt incur great blame, if thou do this deed.

ALCMENA: I love this city well; that cannot be gainsaid. But since this man hath fallen into my power, no mortal hand shall wrest him from me. Wherefore let who will, call me the woman bold, with thoughts too high for her sex; yet shall this deed be brought to pass by me.

CHORUS: Lady, full well I understand thou hast a dire quarrel with this man, and ’tis pardonable.

EURYSTHEUS: Woman, be sure I will not flatter thee nor say aught to save my life, that can give any occasion for a charge of cowardice. It was not of my own free will I took this quarrel up; I am aware that I was born thy cousin, and kinsman to Heracles, thy son; but whether I would or no, Hera, by her power divine, caused me to be afflicted thus. Still, when I undertook to be his foe, and when I knew I had to enter on this struggle, I set myself to devise trouble in plenty, and oft from time to time my midnight communing bore fruit, scheming how to push aside and slay my foes, and for the future divorce myself from fear; for I knew that son of thine was no mere cipher, but a man indeed; yea, for, though he was my foe, I will speak well of him, because he was a man of worth. Now, after he was taken hence, was I not forced, by reason of these children’s hatred, and because I was conscious of an hereditary feud, to leave no stone unturned by slaying, banishing, and plotting against them? So long as I did so, my safety was assured. Suppose thyself hadst had my lot, wouldst not thou have set to harassing the lion’s angry whelps, instead of letting them dwell at Argos undisturbed? Thou wilt not persuade us otherwise. Now therefore, since they did not slay me then, when I was prepared to die, by the laws of Hellas my death becomes a curse on him, who slays me now. The city wisely let me go, in that she regarded the gods more than her hatred of me. Thou hast had my answer to thy words; henceforth must I be called avenging spirit and noble hero too. ’Tis even thus with me; to die have I no wish, but, if I leave my life, I shall in no way be grieved.

CHORUS: Alcmena, fain I would advise thee somewhat; let this man go, for ’tis the city’s will.

ALCMENA: Suppose he die, and yet I obey the city?

CHORUS: That would be best of all; but how can this be?

ALCMENA: I will teach thee easily. I will slay him and then give up his corpse to those of his friends, who come for it, for, as regards his body, I will not disobey the state; but by his death shall he pay me the penalty.

EURYSTHEUS: Slay me, I do not ask thee for mercy; yet since this city let me go and shrunk from slaying me, I will reward it with an old oracle of Loxias, which in time will benefit them more than doth appear. Bury my body after death in its destined grave in front of the shrine of the virgin goddess at Pallene. And I will be thy friend and guardian of thy city for ever, where I lie buried in a foreign soil, but a bitter foe to these children’s descendants, whensoe’er with gathered host they come against this land, traitors to your kindness now; such are the strangers ye have championed. Why then came I hither, if I knew all this, instead of regarding the god’s oracle? Because I thought, that Hera was mightier far than any oracle, and would not betray me. Waste no drink-offering on my tomb, nor spill the victim’s blood; for I will requite them for my treatment here with a journey they shall rue; and ye shall have double gain from me, for I will help you and harm them by my death.

ALCMENA: Why, why delay to kill this man, after hearing this, since this is needed to secure the safety of your city and your children? Himself points out the safest road. Though the man is now our foe, yet after death is he our gain. Away with him, ye servants, and cast him to the dogs when ye have slain him. Think not thou shalt live to cast me forth from my native land again.

CHORUS: I agree. Lead on, servants. Our conduct shall bring no stain of guilt upon our rulers.

Contents — 14 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
13. Part 13
14. Part 14

Part 1

SILENUS: O Bromius, unnumbered are the toils I bear because of thee, no less now than when I was young and hale; first, when thou wert driven mad by Hera and didst leave the mountain nymphs, thy nurses; next, when in battle with earth-born spearmen I stood beside thee on the right as squire, and slew Enceladus, smiting him full in the middle of his targe with my spear. Come, though, let me see; must I confess ’twas all a dream? No, by Zeus! since I really showed his spoils to the Bacchic god. And now am I enduring to the full a toil still worse than those. For when Hera sent forth a race of Tyrrhene pirates against thee, that thou mightest be smuggled far away, I, as soon as the news reached me, sailed in quest of thee with my children; and, taking the helm myself, I stood on the end of the stern and steered our trim craft; and my sons, sitting at the oars, made the grey billows froth and foam as they sought thee, my liege. But just as we had come nigh Malea in our course, an east-wind blew upon the ship and drove us hither to the rock of Aetna, where in lonely caverns dwell the one-eyed children of ocean’s god, the murdering Cyclopes. Captured by one of them we are slaves in his house; Polyphemus they call him whom we serve; and instead of Bacchic revelry we are herding a godless Cyclops’s flocks; and so it is my children, striplings as they are, tend the young thereof on the edge of the downs; while my appointed task is to stay here and fill the troughs and sweep out the cave, or wait upon the ungodly Cyclops at his impious feasts. His orders now compel obedience; I have to scrape out his house with the rake you see, so as to receive the Cyclops, my absent master, and his sheep in clean caverns. But already I see my children driving their browsing flocks towards me. What means this? is the beat of feet in the Sicinnis dance the same to you now as when ye attended the Bacchic god in his revelries and made your way with dainty steps to the mask of lyres to the halls of Althaea?

CHORUS: Offspring of well-bred sires and dams, pray whither wilt thou be gone from me to the rocks? Hast thou not here a gentle breeze, and grass to browse, and water from the eddying stream set near the cave in troughs? and are not thy young ones bleating for thee?

CHORUS: Pst! pst! wilt thou not browse here, here on the dewy slope? Ho? ho! ere long will I cast a stone at thee. Away, away! O horned one, to the fold-keeper of the Cyclops, the country-ranging shepherd.

CHORUS: Loosen thy bursting udder; welcome to thy teats the kids, whom thou leavest in the lambkins’ pens. Those little bleating kids, asleep the livelong day, miss thee; wilt then leave at last the rich grass pastures on the peaks of Aetna and enter the fold?

CHORUS: [...]

CHORUS: Here we have no Bromian god; no dances here, or Bacchantes thyrsus-bearing; no roll of drums, or drops of sparkling wine by gurgling founts; nor is it now with Nymphs in Nysa I sing a song of Bacchus, Bacchus! to the queen of love, in quest of whom I once sped on with Bacchantes, white of foot. Dear friend, dear Bacchic god, whither art roaming alone, waving thy auburn locks, while I, thy minister, do service to the one-eyed Cyclops, a slave and wanderer I, clad in this wretched goat-skin dress, severed from thy love?

SILENUS: Hush, children! and bid our servants fold the flocks in the rock-roofed cavern.

CHORUS: (To Servants.) Away! (To Silenus.) But prithee, why such haste, father?

SILENUS: I see the hull of a ship from Hellas at the shore, and men, that wield the oar, on their way to this cave with some chieftain. About their necks they carry empty vessels and pitchers for water; they are in want of food. Luckless strangers! who can they be? They know not what manner of man our master Polyphemus is, to have set foot here in his cheerless abode and come to the jaws of the cannibal Cyclops in an evil hour. But hold ye your peace, that we may inquire whence they come to the peak of Sicilian Aetna.

ODYSSEUS: Pray tell us, sirs, of some river-spring whence we might draw a draught to slake our thirst, or of someone willing to sell victuals to mariners in need. Why, what is this? We seem to have chanced upon a city of the Bromian god; here by the caves I see a group of Satyrs. To the eldest first I bid All hail!

SILENUS: All hail, sir! tell me who thou art, and name thy country.

ODYSSEUS: Odysseus of Ithaca, king of the Cephallenians’ land.

SILENUS: I know him for a prating knave, one of Sisyphus’ shrewd offspring.

ODYSSEUS: I am the man; abuse me not.

SILENUS: Whence hast thou sailed hither to Sicily?

ODYSSEUS: From Ilium and the toils of Troy.

SILENUS: How was that? didst thou not know the passage to thy native land?

ODYSSEUS: Tempestuous winds drove me hither against my will.

SILENUS: God wot! thou art in the same plight as I am.

ODYSSEUS: Why, wert thou too drifted hither against thy will?

Part 2

SILENUS: I was, as I pursued the pirates who carried Bromius off.

ODYSSEUS: What land is this and who are its inhabitants?

SILENUS: This is mount Aetna, the highest point in Sicily.

ODYSSEUS: But where are the city-walls and ramparts?

SILENUS: There are none; the headlands, sir, are void of men.

ODYSSEUS: Who then possess the land? the race of wild creatures?

SILENUS: The Cyclopes, who have caves, not roofed houses.

ODYSSEUS: Obedient unto whom? or is the power in the people’s hands?

SILENUS: They are rovers; no man obeys another in anything.

ODYSSEUS: Do they sow Demeter’s grain, or on what do they live?

SILENUS: On milk and cheese and flesh of sheep.

ODYSSEUS: Have they the drink of Bromius, the juice of the vine?

SILENUS: No indeed! and thus it is a joyless land they dwell in.

ODYSSEUS: Are they hospitable and reverent towards strangers?

SILENUS: Strangers, they say, supply the daintiest meat.

ODYSSEUS: What, do they delight in killing men and eating them?

SILENUS: No one has ever arrived here without being butchered.

ODYSSEUS: Where is the Cyclops himself? inside his dwelling?

SILENUS: He is gone hunting wild beasts with hounds on Aetna.

ODYSSEUS: Dost know then what to do, that we may be gone from the land?

Part 3

SILENUS: Not I, Odysseus; but I would do anything for thee.

ODYSSEUS: Sell us food, of which we are in need.

SILENUS: There is nothing but flesh, as I said.

ODYSSEUS: Well, even that is a pleasant preventive of hunger.

SILENUS: And there is cheese curdled with fig-juice, and the milk of kine.

ODYSSEUS: Bring them out; a man should see his purchases.

SILENUS: But tell me, how much gold wilt thou give me in exchange?

ODYSSEUS: No gold bring I, but Dionysus’ drink.

SILENUS: Most welcome words! I have long been wanting that.

ODYSSEUS: Yes, it was Maron, the god’s son, who gave me a draught.

SILENUS: What! Maron whom once I dandled in these arms?

ODYSSEUS: The son of the Bacchic god, that thou mayst learn more certainly.

SILENUS: Is it inside the ship, or hast thou it with thee?

ODYSSEUS: This, as thou seest, is the skin that holds it, old sir.

SILENUS: Why, that would not give me so much as a mouthful.

ODYSSEUS: This, and twice as much again as will run from the skin.

SILENUS: Fair the rill thou speakest of, delicious to me.

ODYSSEUS: Shall I let thee taste the wine unmixed, to start with?

SILENUS: A reasonable offer; for of a truth a taste invites the purchase.

ODYSSEUS: Well, I haul about a cup as well as the skin.

Part 4

SILENUS: Come, let it gurgle in, that I may revive my memory by a pull at it.

ODYSSEUS: There then!

SILENUS: Ye gods! what a delicious scent it has!

ODYSSEUS: What! didst thou see it?

SILENUS: No, i’ faith, but I smell it.

ODYSSEUS: Taste it then, that thy approval may not stop at words.

SILENUS: Zounds! Bacchus is inviting me to dance; ha! ha!

ODYSSEUS: Did it not gurgle finely down thy throttle?

SILENUS: Aye that it did, to the ends of my fingers.

ODYSSEUS: Well, we will give thee money besides.

SILENUS: Only undo the skin, and never mind the money.

ODYSSEUS: Bring out the cheeses then and lambs.

SILENUS: I will do so, with small thought of any master. For let me have a single cup of that and I would turn madman, giving in exchange for it the flocks of every Cyclops and then throwing myself into the sea from the Leucadian rock, once I have been well drunk and smoothed out my wrinkled brow. For if a man rejoice not in his drinking, he is mad; for in drinking there is love with all its frolic, and dancing withal, and oblivion of woe. Shall not I then purchase so rare a drink, bidding the senseless Cyclops and his central eye go hang? Exit Silenus.

CHORUS: Hearken, Odysseus, let us hold some converse with thee.

ODYSSEUS: Well, do so; ours is a meeting of friends.

CHORUS: Did you take Troy and capture the famous Helen?

ODYSSEUS: Aye, and we destroyed the whole family of Priam.

CHORUS: After capturing your blooming prize, were all of you in turn her lovers? for she likes variety in husbands; the traitress! the sight of a man with embroidered breeches on his legs and a golden chain about his neck so fluttered her, that she left Menelaus, her excellent little husband. Would there had never been a race of women born into the world at all, unless it were for me alone!

SILENUS: (reappearing with food.) Lo! I bring you fat food from the flocks, king Odysseus, the young of bleating sheep and cheeses of curdled milk without stint. Carry them away with you and be gone from the cave at once, after giving me a drink of merry grape-juice in exchange.

CHORUS: Alack! yonder comes the Cyclops; what shall we do?

Part 5

ODYSSEUS: Then truly are we lost, old sir! whither must we fly?

SILENUS: Inside this rock, for there ye may conceal yourselves.

ODYSSEUS: Dangerous advice of thine, to run into the net!

SILENUS: No danger; there are ways of escape in plenty in the rock.

ODYSSEUS: No, never that; for surely Troy will groan and loudly too, if we flee from a single man, when I have oft withstood with my shield a countless host of Phrygians. Nay, if die we must, we will die a noble death; or, if we live, we will maintain our old renown at least with credit.

CYCLOPS: A light here! hold it up! what is this? what means this idleness, your Bacchic revelry? Here have we no Dionysus, nor clash of brass, nor roll of drums. Pray, how is it with my newly-born lambs in the caves? are they at the teat, running close to the side of their dams? Is the full amount of milk for cheeses milked out in baskets of rushes? How now? what say you? One of ye will soon be shedding tears from the weight of my club; look up, not down.

CHORUS: There! my head is bent back till I see Zeus himself; I behold both the stars and Orion.

CYCLOPS: Is my breakfast quite ready?

CHORUS: ’Tis laid; be thy throat only ready.

CYCLOPS: Are the bowls too full of milk?

CHORUS: Aye, so that thou canst swill off a whole hogshead, so it please thee.

CYCLOPS: Sheeps’ milk or cows’ milk or a mixture of both?

CHORUS: Whichever thou wilt; don’t swallow me, that’s all.

CYCLOPS: Not I; for you would start kicking in the pit of my stomach and kill me by your antics. (Catching sight of Odysseus and his followers.) Ha! what is this crowd I see near the folds? Some pirates or robbers have put in here. Yes, I really see the lambs from my caves tied up there with twisted osiers, cheese-presses scattered about, and old Silenus with his bald pate all swollen with blows.

SILENUS: Oh! oh! poor wretch that I am, pounded to a fever.

CYCLOPS: By whom? who has been pounding thy head, old sirrah?

SILENUS: These are the culprits, Cyclops, all because I refused to let them plunder thee.

CYCLOPS: Did they not know I was a god and sprung from gods?

SILENUS: That was what I told them, but they persisted in plundering thy goods, and, in spite of my efforts, they actually began to eat the cheese and carry off the lambs; and they said they would tie thee in a three-cubit pillory and tear out thy bowels by force at thy navel, and flay thy back thoroughly with the scourge; and then, after binding thee, fling thy carcase down among the benches of their ship to sell to some one for heaving up stones, or else throw thee into a mill.

CYCLOPS: Oh, indeed! Be off then and sharpen my cleavers at once; heap high the faggots and light them; for they shall be slain forthwith and fill this maw of mine, what time I pick my feast hot from the coals, waiting not for carvers, and fish up the rest from the cauldron boiled and sodden; for I have had my fill of mountain-fare and sated myself with banquets of lions and stags, but ’tis long I have been without human flesh.

Part 6

SILENUS: Truly, master, a change like this is all the sweeter after everyday fare; for just of late there have been no fresh arrivals of strangers at these caves.

ODYSSEUS: Hear the strangers too in turn, Cyclops. We had come near the cave from our ship, wishing to procure provisions by purchase, when this fellow sold us the lambs and handed them over for a stoup of wine to drink himself,—a voluntary act on both sides,—there was no violence employed at all. No, there is not a particle of truth in the story he tells, now that he has been caught selling thy property behind thy back.

SILENUS: I? Perdition catch thee!

ODYSSEUS: If I am lying, yes.

SILENUS: O Cyclops, by thy sire Poseidon, by mighty Triton and Nereus, by Calypso and the daughters of Nereus, by the sacred billows and all the race of fishes! I swear to thee, most noble sir, dear little Cyclops, master mine, it is not I who sell thy goods to strangers, else may these children, dearly as I love them, come to an evil end.

CHORUS: Keep that for thyself; with my own eyes I saw thee sell the goods to the strangers; and if I lie, perdition catch my sire! but injure not the strangers.

CYCLOPS: Ye lie; for my part I put more faith in him than Rhadamanthus, declaring him more just. But I have some questions to ask. Whence sailed ye, strangers? of what country are you? what city was it nursed your childhood?

ODYSSEUS: We are Ithacans by birth, and have been driven from our course by the winds of the sea on our way from Ilium, after sacking its citadel.

CYCLOPS: Are ye the men who visited on Ilium, that bordereth on Scamander’s wave, the rape of Helen, worst of women?

ODYSSEUS: We are; that was the fearful labour we endured.

CYCLOPS: A sorry expedition yours, to have sailed to the land of Phrygia for the sake of one woman!

ODYSSEUS: It was a god’s doing; blame not any son of man. But thee do we implore, most noble son of Ocean’s god, speaking as free-born men; be not so cruel as to slay thy friends on their coming to thy cave, nor regard us as food for thy jaws, an impious meal; for we preserved thy sire, O king, in possession of his temple-seats deep in the nooks of Hellas; and the sacred port of Taenarus and Malea’s furthest coves remain unharmed; and Sunium’s rock, the silver-veined, sacred to Zeus-born Athena, still is safe, and Geraestus, the harbour of refuge; and we did not permit Phrygians to put such an intolerable reproach on Hellas. Now in these things thou too hast a share, for thou dwellest in a corner of the land of Hellas beneath Aetna’s fire-streaming rock; and although thou turn from arguments, still it is a custom amongst mortal men to receive shipwrecked sailors as their suppliants and show them hospitality and help them with raiment; not that these should fill thy jaws and belly, their limbs transfixed with spits for piercing ox-flesh. The land of Priam hath emptied Hellas quite enough, drinking the blood of many whom the spear laid low, with the ruin it has brought on widowed wives, on aged childless dames, and hoary-headed sires; and if thou roast and consume the remnant,—a meal thou wilt rue,—why, where shall one turn? Nay, be persuaded by me, Cyclops; forego thy ravenous greed and choose piety rather than wickedness; for on many a man ere now unrighteous gains have brought down retribution.

SILENUS: . . . . . I will give thee a word of advice! as for his flesh, leave not a morsel of it, and if thou eat his tongue, Cyclops, thou wilt become a monstrous clever talker.

CYCLOPS: Wealth, manikin, is the god for the wise; all else is mere vaunting and fine words. Plague take the headlands by the sea, on which my father seats himself! Why hast thou put forward these arguments? I shudder not at Zeus’s thunder, nor know I wherein Zeus is a mightier god than I, sir stranger; what is more, I reck not of him; my reasons hear. When he pours down the rain from above, here in this rock in quarters snug, feasting on roast calf’s flesh or some wild game and moistening well my upturned paunch with deep draughts from a tub of milk, I rival the thunderclaps of Zeus with my artillery; and when the north-wind blows from Thrace and sheddeth snow, I wrap my carcase in the hides of beasts and light a fire, and what care I for snow? The earth perforce, whether she like it or not, produces grass and fattens my flocks, which I sacrifice to no one save myself and this belly, the greatest of deities; but to the gods, not I! For surely to eat and drink one’s fill from day to day and give oneself no grief at all, this is the king of gods for your wise man, but lawgivers go hang, chequering, as they do, the life of man! And so I will not cease from indulging myself by devouring thee; and thou shalt receive this stranger’s gift, that I may be free of blame,—fire and my father’s element yonder, and a cauldron to hold thy flesh and boil it nicely in collops. So in with you, that ye may feast me well, standing round the altar to honour the cavern’s god. [Enters his cave.

ODYSSEUS: Alas! escaped from the troubles of Troy and the sea, my barque now strands upon the whim and forbidding heart of this savage. O Pallas, mistress mine, goddess-daughter of Zeus, help me, help me now; for I am come to toils and depths of peril worse than all at Ilium; and thou, O Zeus, the stranger’s god, who hast thy dwelling ’mid the radiant stars, behold these things; for, if thou regard them not, in vain art thou esteemed the great god Zeus, though but a thing of naught. [Follows the Cyclops reluctantly.

CHORUS: Ope wide the portal of thy gaping throat, Cyclops; for strangers’ limbs, both boiled and grilled, are ready from off the coals for thee to gnaw and tear and mince up small, reclining in thy shaggy goatskin coat.

CHORUS: Relinquish not thy meal for me; keep that boat for thyself alone. Avaunt this cave! avaunt the burnt-offerings, which the godless Cyclops offers on Aetna’s altars, exulting in meals on strangers’ flesh!

CHORUS: Oh! the ruthless monster! to sacrifice his guests at his own hearth, the suppliants of his halls, cleaving and tearing and serving up to his loathsome teeth a feast of human flesh, hot from the coals.

CHORUS: [...]

ODYSSEUS: (reappearing with a look of horror.) O Zeus! what can I say after the hideous sights I have seen inside the cave, things past belief, resembling more the tales men tell than aught they do?

Part 7

CHORUS: What news, Odysseus? has the Cyclops, most godless monster, been feasting on thy dear comrades?

ODYSSEUS: Aye, he singled out a pair, on whom the flesh was fattest and in best condition, and took them up in his hand to weigh.

CHORUS: How went it with you then, poor wretch?

ODYSSEUS: When we had entered yonder rocky abode, he lighted first a fire, throwing logs of towering oak upon his spacious hearth, enough for three waggons to carry as their load; next, close by the blazing flame, he placed his couch of pine-boughs laid upon the floor, and filled a bowl of some ten firkins, pouring white milk thereinto, after he had milked his kine; and by his side he put a can of ivy-wood, whose breadth was three cubits and its depth four maybe; spits too he set beside him, fashioned of the branches of thorn, their points hardened in the fire and the rest of them trimmed with the hatchet, and the blood-bowls of Aetna for the axe’s edge. Now when that hell-cook, god-detested, had everything quite ready, he caught up a pair of my companions and proceeded deliberately to cut the throat of one of them over the yawning brazen pot; but the other he clutched by the tendon of his heel, and, striking him against a sharp point of rocky stone, dashed out his brains; then, after hacking the fleshy parts with glutton cleaver, he set to grilling them, but the limbs he threw into his cauldron to seethe. And I, poor wretch, drew near with streaming eyes and waited on the Cyclops; but the others kept cowering like frightened birds in crannies of the rock, and the blood forsook their skin. Anon, when he had gorged himself upon my comrades’ flesh and had fallen on his back, breathing heavily, there came a sudden inspiration to me. I filled a cup of this Maronian wine and offered him a draught, saying, Cyclops, son of Ocean’s god, see here what heavenly drink the grapes of Hellas yield, glad gift of Dionysus. He, glutted with his shameless meal, took and drained it at one draught, and, lifting up his hand, he thanked me thus, Dearest to me of all my guests! fair the drink thou givest me to crown so fair a feast. Now when I saw his delight, I gave him another cup, knowing the wine would make him rue it, and he would soon be paying the penalty. Then he set to singing; but I kept filling bumper after bumper and heating him with drink. So there he is singing discordantly amid the weeping of my fellow-sailors, and the cave re-echoes; but I have made my way out quietly and would fain save thee and myself, if thou wilt. Tell me then, is it your wish, or is it not, to fly from this unsocial wretch and take up your abode with Naiad nymphs in the halls of the Bacchic god? Thy father within approves this scheme; but there! he is powerless, getting all he can out of his liquor; his wings are snared by the cup as if he had flown against bird-lime, and he is fuddled; but thou art young and lusty; so save thyself with my help and regain thy old friend Dionysus, so little like the Cyclops.

CHORUS: Best of friends, would we might see that day, escaping the godless Cyclops!

ODYSSEUS: Hear then how I will requite this vile monster and rescue you from thraldom.

CHORUS: Tell me how; no note of Asiatic lyre would sound more sweetly in our ears than news of the Cyclops’ death.

ODYSSEUS: Delighted with this liquor of the Bacchic god, he fain would go a-revelling with his brethren.

CHORUS: I understand; thy purpose is to seize and slay him in the thickets when alone, or push him down a precipice.

ODYSSEUS: Not at ail; my plan is fraught with subtlety.

CHORUS: What then? Truly we have long heard of thy cleverness.

ODYSSEUS: I mean to keep him from this revel, saying he must not give this drink to his brethren but keep it for himself alone and lead a happy life. Then when he falls asleep, o’ermastered by the Bacchic god, I will put a point with this sword of mine to an olive-branch I saw lying in the cave, and will set it on fire; and when I see it well alight, I will lift the heated brand, and, thrusting it full in the Cyclops’ eye, melt out his sight with its blaze; and, as when a man in fitting the timbers of a ship makes his auger spin to and fro with a double strap, so will I make the brand revolve in the eye that gives the Cyclops light and will scorch up the pupil thereof.

CHORUS: Ho! ho! how glad I feel! wild with joy at the contrivance!

ODYSSEUS: That done, I will embark thee and those thou lovest with old Silenus in the deep hold of my black ship, my ship with double banks of oars, and carry you away from this land.

CHORUS: Well, can I too lay hold of the blinding brand, as though the god’s libation had been poured? for I would fain have a share in this offering of blood.

ODYSSEUS: Indeed thou must, for the brand is large, and thou must help hold it.

CHORUS: How lightly would I lift the load of e’en a hundred wains, if that will help us to grub out the eye of the doomed Cyclops, like a wasp’s nest.

ODYSSEUS: Hush! for now thou knowest my plot in fall, and when I bid you, obey the author of it; for I am not the man to desert my friends inside the cave and save myself alone. And yet I might escape; I am clear of the cavern’s depths already; but no! to desert the friends with whom I journeyed hither and only save myself is not a righteous course. [Re-enters the cave.

FIRST HALF-CHORUS: Come, who will be the first and who the next to him upon the list to grip the handle of the brand, and, thrusting it into the Cyclops’ eye, gouge out the light thereof?

SECOND HALF-CHORUS: Hush! hush! Behold the drunkard leaves his rocky home, trolling loud some hideous lay, a clumsy tuneless clown, whom tears await. Come, let us give this boor a lesson in revelry. Ere long will he be blind at any rate.

Part 8

FIRST HALF-CHORUS: Happy he who plays the Bacchanal amid the precious streams distilled from grapes, stretched at full length for a revel, his arm around the friend he loves, and some fair dainty damsel on his couch, his hair perfumed with nard and glossy, the while he calls, Oh! who will ope the door for me?

CYCLOPS: Ha! ha! full of wine and merry with the feast’s good cheer am I, my hold freighted like a merchant-ship up to my belly’s very top. This turf graciously invites me to seek my brother Cyclopes for a revel in the spring-tide. Come, stranger, bring the wine-skin hither and hand it over to me.

SECOND HALF-CHORUS: Forth from the house its fair lord comes, casting his fair glance round him. We have some one to befriend us. A hostile brand is awaiting thee, no tender bride in dewy grot. No single colour will those garlands have, that soon shall cling so close about thy brow.

ODYSSEUS: (Returning with the wineskin.) Hearken, Cyclops; for I am well versed in the ways of Bacchus, whom I have given thee to drink.

CYCLOPS: And who is Bacchus? some reputed god?

ODYSSEUS: The greatest god men know to cheer their life.

CYCLOPS: I like his after-taste at any rate.

ODYSSEUS: This is the kind of god he is; he harmeth no man.

CYCLOPS: But how does a god like being housed in a wine-skin?

ODYSSEUS: Put him where one may, he is content there.

CYCLOPS: It is not right that gods should be clad in leather.

ODYSSEUS: What of that, provided he please thee? does the leather hurt thee?

CYCLOPS: I hate the wine-skin, but the liquor we have here I love.

ODYSSEUS: Stay, then, Cyclops; drink and be merry.

CYCLOPS: Must I not give my brethren a share in this liquor?

ODYSSEUS: No, keep it thyself and thou wilt appear of more honour.

CYCLOPS: Give it my friends and I shall appear of more use.

ODYSSEUS: Revelling is apt to end in blows, abuse, and strife.

CYCLOPS: I may be drunk, but no man will lay hands on me for all that.

ODYSSEUS: Better stay at home, my friend, after a carouse.

Part 9

CYCLOPS: Who loves not revelling then is but a simpleton.

ODYSSEUS: But whoso stays at home, when drunk, is wise.

CYCLOPS: What shall we do, Silenus? art minded to stay?

SILENUS: That I am; for what need have we of others to share our drink, Cyclops?

CYCLOPS: Well, truly the turf is soft as down with its fresh flowering plants.

SILENUS: (seating himself.) Aye, and ’tis pleasant drinking in the warm sunshine.

CYCLOPS: [...]

SILENUS: Come, let me see thee stretch thy carcase on the ground.

CYCLOPS: (sitting dawn.) Why art thou putting the mixing-bowl behind me?

SILENUS: That no one passing by may come upon it.

CYCLOPS: Nay, but thy purpose is to drink upon the sly; set it between us. (To Odysseus.) Now tell me, stranger, by what name to call thee.

ODYSSEUS: Noman. What boon shall I receive of thee to earn my thanks?

CYCLOPS: I will feast on thee last, after all thy comrades.

ODYSSEUS: Fair indeed the honour thou bestowest on thy guest, sir Cyclops!

CYCLOPS: (turning suddenly to Silenus.) Ho, sirrah! what art thou about? taking a stealthy pull at the wine?

SILENUS: No, but it kissed me for my good looks.

CYCLOPS: Thou shalt smart, if thou kiss the wine when it kisses not thee.

SILENUS: Oh! but it did, for it says it is in love with my handsome face.

CYCLOPS: (holding out his cup.) Pour in; only give me my cup full.

SILENUS: H’m! how is it mixed? just let me make sure. (Takes another pull.)

Part 10

CYCLOPS: Perdition! give it me at once.

SILENUS: Oh, no! I really cannot, till I see thee with a crown on, and have another taste myself.

CYCLOPS: My cup-bearer is a cheat.

SILENUS: No really, but the wine is so luscious. Thou must wipe thy lips, though, to get a draught.

CYCLOPS: There! my lips and beard are clean now.

SILENUS: Bend thine elbow gracefully, and then quaff thy cup, as thou seest me do, and as now thou seest me not. (Burying his face in his cup.)

CYCLOPS: Aha! what next?

SILENUS: I drank it off at a draught with much pleasure.

CYCLOPS: Stranger, take the skin thyself and be my cup-bearer.

ODYSSEUS: Well, at any rate the grape is no stranger to my hand.

CYCLOPS: Come, pour it in.

ODYSSEUS: In it goes! keep silence, that is all.

CYCLOPS: A difficult task when a man is deep in his cups.

ODYSSEUS: Here, take and drink it off; leave none.

CYCLOPS: [...]

ODYSSEUS: Thou must be silent and only give in when the liquor does.

CYCLOPS: God wot! it is a clever stock that bears the grape.

ODYSSEUS: Aye, and if thou but swallow plenty of it after a plentiful meal, moistening thy belly till its thirst is gone, it will throw thee into slumber; but if thou leave aught behind, the Bacchic god will parch thee for it.

CYCLOPS: Ha! ha! what a trouble it was getting out! This is pleasure unalloyed; earth and sky seem whirling round together; I see the throne of Zeus and all the godhead’s majesty. Kiss thee! no! There are the Graces trying to tempt me. I shall rest well enough with my Ganymede here; yea, by the Graces, right fairly.

SILENUS: What! Cyclops, am I Ganymede, Zeus’s minion?

Part 11

CYCLOPS: (attempting to carry him into the cave.) To be sure, Ganymede whom I am carrying off from the halls of Dardanus.

SILENUS: I am undone, my children; outrageous treatment waits me.

CHORUS: Dost find fault with thy lover? dost scorn him in his cups?

SILENUS: Woe is me! most bitter shall I find the wine ere long. [Exit Silenus, dragged away by Cyclops.

ODYSSEUS: Up now, children of Dionysus, sons of a noble sire, soon will yon creature in the cave, relaxed in slumber as ye see him, spew from his shameless maw the meat. Already the brand inside his lair is vomiting a cloud of smoke; and the only reason we prepared it was to burn the Cyclops’ eye; so mind thou quit thee like a man.

CHORUS: I will have a spirit as of rock or adamant; but go inside, before my father suffers any shameful treatment; for here thou hast things ready.

ODYSSEUS: O Hephaestus, lord of Aetna, rid thyself for once and all of a troublesome neighbour by burning his bright eye out. Come, Sleep, as well, offspring of sable Night, come with all thy power on the monster god-detested; and never after Troy’s most glorious toils destroy Odysseus and his crew by the hands of one who recketh naught of God or man; else must we reckon Chance a goddess, and Heaven’s wall inferior to hers. [Odysseus re-enters the cave.

CHORUS: Tightly the pincers shall grip the neck of him who feasts upon his guest; for soon will he lose the light of his eye by fire; already the brand, a tree’s huge limb, lurks amid the embers charred. Oh! come ye then and work his doom, pluck out the maddened Cyclops’ eye, that he may rue his drinking. And I too fain would leave the Cyclops’ lonely land and see king Bromius, ivy-crowned, the god I sorely miss. Ah! shall I ever come to that?

ODYSSEUS: (leaving the cave cautiously.) Silence, ye cattle! I adjure you; close your lips; make not a sound! I’ll not let a man of you so much as breathe or wink or clear his throat, that yon pest awake not, until the sight in the Cyclops’ eye has passed through the fiery ordeal.

CHORUS: Silent we stand with ’bated breath.

ODYSSEUS: In then, and mind your fingers grip the brand, for it is splendidly red-hot.

CHORUS: Thyself ordain who first must seize the blazing bar and burn the Cyclops’ eye out, that we may share alike whate’er betides.

FIRST HALF-CHORUS: Standing where I am before the door, I am too far off to thrust the fire into his eye.

SECOND HALF-CHORUS: I have just gone lame.

FIRST HALF-CHORUS: Why, then, thou art in the same plight as I; for somehow or other I sprained my ankle, standing still.

ODYSSEUS: Sprained thy ankle, standing still?

SECOND HALF-CHORUS: Yes, and my eyes are full of dust or ashes from somewhere or other.

ODYSSEUS: These are sorry fellows, worthless as allies.

CHORUS: Because I feel for my back and spine, and express no wish to have my teeth knocked out, I am a coward, am I? Well, but I know a spell of Orpheus, a most excellent one, to make the brand enter his skull of its own accord, and set alight the one-eyed son of Earth.

ODYSSEUS: Long since I knew thou wert by nature such an one, and now I know it better; I must employ my own friends; but, though thou bring no active aid, cheer us on at any rate, that I may find my friends emboldened by thy encouragement. [Exit Odysseus.

Part 12

CHORUS: That will I do; the Carian shall run the risk for us; and as far as encouragement goes, let the Cyclops smoulder.

CHORUS: What ho! my gallants, thrust away, make haste and burn his eye-brow off, the monster’s guest-devouring. Oh! singe and scorch the shepherd of Aetna; twirl the brand and drag it round and be careful lest in his agony he treat thee to some wantonness.

CYCLOPS: (Bellowing in the cave.) Oh! oh! my once bright eye is burnt to cinders now.

CHORUS: Sweet indeed the triumph-song; pray sing it to us, Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: (from within.) Oh! oh! once more; what outrage on me and what ruin! But never shall ye escape this rocky cave unpunished, ye worthless creatures; for I will stand in the entrance of the cleft and fit my hands into it thus. [Staggering to the entrance.

CHORUS: Why dost thou cry out, Cyclops?

CYCLOPS: I am undone.

CHORUS: Thou art indeed a sorry sight.

CYCLOPS: Aye, and a sad one, too.

CHORUS: Didst fall among the coals in a drunken fit?

CYCLOPS: Noman has undone me.

CHORUS: Then there is no one hurting thee after all.

CYCLOPS: Noman is blinding me.

CHORUS: Then art thou not blind.

CYCLOPS: As blind as thou, forsooth.

CHORUS: How, pray, could no man have made thee blind?

CYCLOPS: Thou mockest me; but where is this Noman.

CHORUS: Nowhere, Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: It was the stranger, vile wretch! who proved my ruin, that thou mayst understand rightly, by swilling me with the liquor he gave me.

CHORUS: Ah! wine is a terrible foe, hard to wrestle with.

Part 13

CYCLOPS: Tell me, I adjure thee, have they escaped or are they still within?

CHORUS: Here they are ranged in silence, taking the rock to screen them.

CYCLOPS: On which side?

CHORUS: On thy right.

CYCLOPS: Where?

CHORUS: Close against the rock. Hast caught them?

CYCLOPS: Trouble on trouble! I have run my skull against the rock and cracked it.

CHORUS: Aye, and they are escaping thee.

CYCLOPS: This way, was it not? ’Twas this way thou saidst.

CHORUS: No, not this way.

CYCLOPS: Which then?

CHORUS: They are getting round thee on the left.

CYCLOPS: Alas! I am being mocked; ye jeer me in my evil plight.

CHORUS: They are no longer there; but facing thee that stranger stands.

CYCLOPS: Master of villainy, where, oh! where art thou?

ODYSSEUS: Some way from thee I am keeping careful guard over the person of Odysseus.

CYCLOPS: What, a new name! hast changed thine?

ODYSSEUS: Yes, Odysseus the name my father gave me. But thou wert doomed to pay for thy unholy feast; for I should have seen Troy burned to but sorry purpose, unless I had avenged on thee the slaughter of my comrades.

CYCLOPS: Woe is me! ’tis an old oracle coming true; yes, it said I should have my eye put out by thee on thy way home from Troy; but it likewise foretold that thou wouldst surely pay for this, tossing on the sea for many a day.

ODYSSEUS: Go hang! E’en as I say, so have I done. And now will I get me to the beach and start my hollow ship across the sea of Sicily to the land of my fathers.

Part 14

CYCLOPS: Thou shalt not; I will break a boulder off this rock and crush thee, crew and all, beneath my throw. Blind though I be, I will climb the hill, mounting through yonder tunnel.

CHORUS: As for us, henceforth will we be the servants of Bacchus, sharing the voyage of this hero Odysseus.

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: Enter the Chorus of Trojan guards. Go to Hector’s couch. Which of you squires that tend the prince, or you armor-clad men, is awake? He ought to receive fresh tidings from the warriors who were set to guard the assembled army during the fourth watch of the night. Calls to Hector in the tent. Lift up your head! Prop your arm beneath it! Unseal that fierce eye from its repose; quit your lowly couch of scattered leaves, Hector! It is time to hearken.

HECTOR: Who is this? Is it a friend who calls? Who are you? Your password? Speak! Who are these who come near my couch in the night? You must tell me.

CHORUS: Sentinels of the army.

HECTOR: Why this tumultuous haste?

CHORUS: Be of good courage.

HECTOR: I am. Is there some midnight ambush?

CHORUS: No.

HECTOR: Why do you desert your post and rouse the army, unless you have some tidings of the night? Are you not aware how near the Argive army we take our night’s repose clad in all our armor?

CHORUS: To arms! Hector, seek your allies’ sleeping camp! Stir them up to wield the spear! Awake them! Despatch a friend to your own company, bridle the horses. Who will go to the son of Panthus? Who to Europa’s son, captain of the Lycian band? Where are they who should inspect the victims? Where are the leaders of the light-armed troops and the Phrygian archers? String your horn-tipped bows!

HECTOR: Your tidings inspire now fear, now confidence; nothing is plainly set forth. Can it be that you are smitten with wild fear by Pan, the son of Cronion? Leaving your watch you rouse the army. What does your noisy summons mean? What tidings can I say you bring? Your words are many, but no plain statement have you made.

CHORUS: The long night through, Hector, the Argive army has kindled fires, and bright with torches shines the anchored fleet. To Agamemnon’s tent the whole army move clamorously by night, eager for fresh orders; for never before has the sea-faring company been so alarmed. And so I was suspicious of what might happen and came to tell you, so that you may have no cause to blame me hereafter.

HECTOR: In good season you come, although your tidings are full of terror; for those men are bent on giving me the slip and stealing away from this land in their ships by night; their midnight signalling pleases me. Ah! Fortune, to rob me in my hour of triumph, a lion of his prey, before this spear had made an end of the whole Argive army in one line! Yes, if the sun’s bright lamp had not withheld his light, I would not have stayed my victor’s spear, before I had fired their ships and made my way from tent to tent, drenching this hand in Achaean blood. I was eager to make a night attack and take advantage of the stroke of luck sent by heaven; but those wise seers of mine, who have heaven’s will so pat, persuaded me to wait for dawn, and then leave not one Achaean in the land. But those others do not await the counsels of my soothsayers; darkness turns runaways to heroes. But we must now without delay pass this word to the army to take up arms and cease from slumber, so that many an Achaean, as he leaps aboard his ship, shall be smitten through the back and sprinkle the ladders with blood, and others shall be fast bound with cords and learn to till our Phrygian fields.

CHORUS LEADER: You hasten, Hector, before you know clearly what is happening; for we do not know for certain whether the men are flying.

HECTOR: What other reason did the Argive army have to kindle fires?

CHORUS LEADER: I do not know; I am very suspicious.

HECTOR: If you fear this, be sure there’s nothing you would not fear.

CHORUS LEADER: Never before did the enemy kindle such a blaze.

HECTOR: No, nor ever before did they suffer such shameful defeat and rout.

CHORUS LEADER: This you have achieved; look now to what remains to do.

HECTOR: A simple tale, to arm against the enemy.

Part 2

CHORUS LEADER: Look! Here comes Aeneas, in great haste too, with news to tell his friends.

AENEAS: Hector, why have the sentinels in terror made their way through the army at night to your couch to hold a midnight conclave and disturb the army?

HECTOR: Encase yourself in your armor, Aeneas.

AENEAS: What is it? Have tidings come of some secret stratagem set on foot during the night by the foe?

HECTOR: The men are flying, and going aboard their ships.

AENEAS: What sure proof can you give of this?

HECTOR: The whole night they are kindling blazing torches; I think they will not wait for tomorrow, but after lighting brands upon their ships’ decks will leave this land and fly to their homes.

AENEAS: And you, why do you gird on your sword?

HECTOR: With my spear I will stop them even as they fly and leap aboard their ships, and my hand shall be heavy upon them; for it is shameful in us, yes, and cowardly as well as shameful, when the god gives them into our hands, to let our foes escape without battle, after all the injuries they have done us.

AENEAS: Would you were as sage as you are bold! But, to be sure, among mortals the same man is not dowered by nature with universal knowledge; each has his special gift appointed him, yours is battle, another’s is sage counsel. You are excited to hear that the Achaeans are lighting blazing torches, and you would lead on our troops across the ditches in the calm still night. Now after crossing the deep yawning trench, supposing you should find the enemy are not flying from the land, but are awaiting your onset, beware lest you suffer defeat and so never reach this city again; for how will you pass the palisades in a rout? And how shall your charioteers cross the bridges without dashing the axles of their cars to pieces? And, if victorious, you have next the son of Peleus to engage; he will never allow you to cast the firebrand on the fleet or harry the Achaeans, as you believe. No, for that man is fierce as fire, a very tower of might. Let us rather then leave our men to sleep calmly under arms after the weariness of battle, while we send, as I advise, whoever will volunteer to spy upon the enemy; and if they really are preparing to fly, let us arise and fall upon the Argive army, but if this signalling is a trap to catch us, we shall discover from the spy the enemy’s designs and take counsel; such is my advice, lord.

CHORUS: It pleases me well; so change your mind and adopt this counsel. I do not love hazardous commands in generals. What is better than for a swift-footed spy to approach the ships and learn why our foes are lighting fires in front of their naval station?

HECTOR: Since this finds favor with you all, prevail. To Aeneas. Go and calm the allies; perhaps the army hearing of our midnight council is disturbed. Mine shall it be to send one forth to spy upon the foe. And if I discover any plot among them, you shall fully hear of it and be present to learn the report; but in case they are starting off in flight, with eager ear await the trumpet’s call, for then I will not stay, but will this very night engage the Argive army there where their ships are hauled up.

AENEAS: Send out the spy at once; there’s safety in your counsels now. And you shall find me steadfast at your side, whenever occasion calls.

HECTOR: What Trojan of those present in council volunteers to go and spy on the Argive fleet? Who will be that patriot? Who says yes? I myself cannot at every point serve my country and my friends in arms.

DOLON: I for my country will gladly run this risk and go to spy on the Argive fleet, and when I have learned fully all that the Achaeans plot I will return. I undertake this toil on these conditions.

HECTOR: True to his name indeed, his country’s friend is Dolon. Your father’s house was famed before, but now you have made it doubly so.

DOLON: So must I toil, but for my pains I should receive fitting wages. For set a reward on any deed, and it breeds a double favor.

HECTOR: Yes, that is fair; I cannot dispute it. Name your wage, except for my sovereignty.

DOLON: I do not covet your toilsome sovereignty.

HECTOR: Well then, marry a daughter of Priam and become my brother-in-law.

Part 3

DOLON: No, I do not wish to marry among those beyond my station.

HECTOR: There’s gold, if this you’ll claim as your prize.

DOLON: I have it in my home; I lack no sustenance.

HECTOR: What then is your desire of all that Ilium stores within her?

DOLON: Promise me my gift when you conquer the Achaeans.

HECTOR: I will give it to you; ask anything except the captains of the fleet.

DOLON: Slay them; I do not ask you to keep your hand off Menelaus.

HECTOR: Is it the son of Oileus you would ask me for?

DOLON: Hands that are well brought up are worthless at farming.

HECTOR: Whom then of the Achaeans will you have alive to hold to ransom?

DOLON: I told you before, my house is stored with gold.

HECTOR: Why then, you shall come and with your own hands choose out some spoil.

DOLON: Nail up the spoils for the gods on their temples.

HECTOR: Then what greater prize than these will you ask me for?

DOLON: Achilles’ horses. The prize must be worth the toil when one stakes one’s life on Fortune’s dice.

HECTOR: Ah! but your desires clash with mine about those horses; for they are immortal and born from immortals, who bear the son of Peleus on his headlong course. Poseidon, lord of the ocean, broke them and gave them to Peleus, so runs the legend. Yet, for I urged you on, I will not break my word; I will give to you Achilles’ team, a fair possession for your house.

DOLON: I thank you; in receiving then, I assert that I am taking a fairer gift than any other Phrygian for my bravery. Yet you should not be envious; you have other things to gladden your heart, in your kingship over this land.

CHORUS: Great the enterprise, and great the reward you design to receive. Happy, yes, happy will you be, if you succeed; fair the fame your toil shall win. Yet it is a great thing to become the brother-in-law of princes. On the gods’ decrees let Justice keep her eye! what man can give you have, it seems, in full.

DOLON: I will set forth; but going within my house I will clothe myself in fitting attire, and then I will hasten to the Argive fleet.

CHORUS LEADER: Why, what dress in place of this will you assume?

Part 4

DOLON: One that fits my task and furtive steps.

CHORUS LEADER: One should ever learn wisdom from the wise; tell me, what will be your equipment?

DOLON: I will fasten a wolf-skin about my back, and over my head put the brute’s gaping jaws; then fitting its fore-feet to ny hands and its hind-feet to my legs, I will go on all-fours in imitation of a wolf’s gait to puzzle the enemy, when I approach their trenches and barriers round the ships. Rut whenever I come to a deserted spot, I will walk on two feet; such is the ruse I have decided on.

CHORUS LEADER: May Hermes, Maia’s child, escort you safely there and back, prince of tricksters as he is! You know what you have to do; good luck is all you need now.

DOLON: I shall return in safety, and bring to you the head of Odysseus when I have slain him, or the son of Tydeus, and with this clear proof before you you shall assert that Dolon went to the Argive fleet; for, before the dawn, I will come back home with bloodstained hand. Exit Dolon.

CHORUS: Lord of Thymbra and of Delos, who haunt your temple in Lycia, Apollo, O divine head, come with all your archery, appear this night, and by your guidance save this man, and aid the Dardanians, O almighty god whose hands in days of old built the walls of Troy.

CHORUS: May he come to the ships! May he reach the army of Hellas and spy it out, then turn again and reach the altars of his father’s home in Ilium! May he mount the chariot drawn by Phthia’s horses, when our master has sacked Achaea’s camp, those horses that the sea-god gave to Peleus, son of Aeacus.

CHORUS: For he alone had heart enough for home and country to go and spy on the naval station; I admire his spirit; how few stout hearts there are, when on the sea the sunlight dies and the city labors in the surge. Phrygia yet has left a valiant few, and bold hearts in the battle’s press; it is only Mysia’s sons who scorn us as allies.

CHORUS: Which of the Achaeans will the earth-treading murderer slay in their beds, as he pretends to be a four-footed beast on the ground? May he lay Menelaus low, slay Agamemnon and bring his head to Helen’s hands, causing her to lament her evil kinsman, who has come against my city, against the land of Troy with his army of a thousand ships.

MESSENGER: Lord, in days to come may it be mine to bring my masters such news as I am bearing to you now.

HECTOR: Often the rustic mind is afflicted with dullness; so you have probably come to this ill-suited place to tell your master, in armor, about the sheep! Do you not know my palace or my father’s throne, where you should carry your tale when you have prospered with your flocks?

MESSENGER: Dull we herdsmen are; I do not dispute it. But none the less I bring joyful news to you.

HECTOR: Cease your tale of how the sheep-fold fares; I have battles to fight and spears to wield.

MESSENGER: The very things of which I, too, came to tell you; for a chieftain of a countless army is on his way to join you as your friend and ally of this land.

HECTOR: His country? and the home that he has left?

MESSENGER: Thrace; men call his father Strymon.

HECTOR: Did you say that Rhesus was setting foot in Troy?

MESSENGER: You have it; and lighten me of half my speech.

HECTOR: How is it that he comes to Ida’s meadows, wandering from the broad wagon track across the plain?

MESSENGER: I cannot say for certain, though I might guess. It is no idle task for an army to make an invasion by night, hearing that the plains are packed with foemen’s troops. But he frightened us rustic shepherds who dwell along the slopes of Ida, the earliest settlement in the land, as he came by night through the wood full of wild beasts. On surged the tide of Thracian warriors with loud shouts; at this in wild amazement we drove our flocks unto the heights, for fear that some Argives were coming to plunder and harry your steading, till we caught the sound of voices other than Greek and ceased from our alarm. Then I went and questioned in the Thracian tongue those who were reconnoitring the road for their lord, who it was that lead them, and whose son he was called, that came to the city to help the sons of Priam. And when I had heard all I wished to learn, I stood still; and I see Rhesus mounted like a god upon his Thracian chariot. Of gold was the yoke that linked the necks of his horses brighter than the snow; and on his shoulders flashed his shield with figures welded in gold; while a gorgon of bronze like that on the aegis of the goddess was bound upon the front of his horses, ringing out its note of fear with many a bell. The number of his army you could not reckon to an exact sum, for it was beyond one’s comprehension; many knights, many ranks of targeteers, many archers, a great crowd of light-armed troops, arrayed in Thracian garb, to bear them company. Such the man who comes to Troy’s assistance, whom the son of Peleus will never escape, either if he tries to escape or if he meets him spear to spear.

Part 5

CHORUS LEADER: Whenever the gods stand by the citizens, the tide of fortune glides with easy flow to a successful goal.

HECTOR: I shall find many friends now that fortune smiles upon my warring and Zeus is on my side. But we have no need of those who did not share our toils long since, when Ares, driving all before him, was rending the sails of our ship of state with his tempestuous blast. Rhesus has shown the friendship he then bore to Troy; for he comes to the feast, although he was not with the hunters when they took the prey, nor did he join his spear with theirs.

CHORUS LEADER: You are right to scorn and blame such friends; yet welcome those who wish to help the state.

HECTOR: We who have long kept Ilium safe are sufficient.

CHORUS: Are you so sure you have already caught the foe?

HECTOR: I am sure; tomorrow’s light will make that plain.

CHORUS LEADER: Beware of what may happen; often fortune veers about.

HECTOR: I loath the friend who brings his help too late. But let him, since he has arrived, come to our table not as an ally but as a guest; for the gratitude of Priam’s sons is forfeit in his case.

CHORUS LEADER: O prince, to turn away allies earns hatred.

MESSENGER: His mere appearance would cause a panic among the foe.

HECTOR: You counsel rightly; you too take the proper view. Let Rhesus in his gilded armor join the allies of this land, thanks to the messenger’s report. Exit the Messenger.

CHORUS: May Nemesis, daughter of Zeus, check the word that may offend; for lo! I will utter all that it is dear to my soul to say. You have come, O son of the river god, you have come, welcome in your advent, to the halls of Friendship, since late in time your Pierian mother and Strymon, river with fair bridges, are sending you to us.

CHORUS: Strymon, who begot you, his strong young son, that day his swirling waters found a refuge in the tuneful Muse’s virgin bosom. You are my Zeus, my god of light, as you come driving your dappled horses. Now, O Phrygia, O my country, now may you by God’s grace address Zeus the Deliverer!

CHORUS: Shall old Troy once more at last spend the whole day in drinking toasts and singing love’s praise, while the bewildering wine-cup sends a capacious challenge round, as over the sea for Sparta the sons of Atreus quit the Ilian strand? O friend, with your arm and spear may you do me this service, then safe return.

CHORUS: Come, appear, brandish that shield of gold full in Achilles’ face; raise it aslant along the chariot’s branching rail, urging on your horses, and shaking your lance with double point. For none after facing you will ever join the dance on the plains of Argive Hera; no, but he shall die, slain by Thracians, and this land shall bear the burden of his corpse and be glad.

CHORUS: Hail, all hail! O mighty prince! fair the cub you have bred, 0 Thrace, a ruler in his every look. See his stalwart frame in golden corslet! Hark to the ringing bells that peal so proudly from his shield-handle. A god, O Troy, a god, a very Ares, Strymon’s colt and the tuneful Muse’s, has come to breathe courage into you.

RHESUS: Brave son of father as brave, Hector, prince of this land, hail! After many a long day I greet you. I rejoice at your success, to see you camped hard on the enemy towers; I am here to help you raze their walls and fire their fleet of ships.

HECTOR: Son of that tuneful mother, one of the Muses, and of Thracian Strymon’s river, I love to speak plain truth always; nature did not give me a double tongue. Long, long ago should you have come and shared the labors of this land, and not allowed Troy for any help of yours to fall overthrown by hostile Argive spears. You can not say it was any want of invitation that kept you from coming with your help to visit us. What herald or embassy from Phrygia did not come to you, urgently requiring your aid for our city? What sumptuous presents did we not send to you? But you, brother barbarian though you were, pledged away to Hellenes us your barbarian brothers, for all the help you gave. Yet it was I with this arm that raised you from your paltry princedom to high lordship over Thrace, when I fell upon the Thracian chieftains face to face around Pangaeum in Paeonia’s land and broke their serried ranks, and gave their people up to you enslaved; but you have trampled on this great favor done you, and come with laggard step to give your aid when friends are in distress. While they, whom no natural tie of kin constrains, have long been here, and some are dead and in their graves beneath the heaped-up cairn, no mean proof of loyalty to the city; and others in arms and mounted on their chariots, with steadfast soul endure the icy blast and parching heat of the sun, not pledging one another on couches, as you do, in long deep draughts. This is the charge I bring against you and utter to your face, that you may know how frank is Hector’s tongue.

RHESUS: I too am just the same; straight to the point I cut my way; no shuffling nature is mine. My heart was wrung with sorer anguish than yours at my absence from this land; I fumed and chafed, but Scythian people, whose borders march with mine, made war on me on the very eve of my departure for Ilium; I had reached the strand of the Euxine sea, there to transport my Thracian army. Then my spear poured out over Scythia’s land great drops of bloody rain, and Thrace too shared in the mingled slaughter. This then was what chanced to keep me from coming to the land of Troy and joining your standard. But as soon as I had conquered these and taken their children as hostages and appointed the yearly tribute they should pay my house, I have come, sailing across the sea’s mouth, and on foot traversing the other borders of your land—not as you in your jeers at those carousals of my countrymen hint, nor sleeping soft in gilded palaces, but amid the frozen hurricanes that vex the Thracian sea and the Paeonian shores, learning as I lay awake what suffering is, this soldier’s cloak my only wrap. True my coming has tarried, but yet I am in time; ten years already have you been at the fray, and accomplished nothing yet; day in, day out, you fall, throwing the dice of war with Argives. But the light of one day will be enough for me to sack those towers and fall upon their anchored fleet and slay the Achaeans; and on the next day I will go home from Ilium , at one stroke ending all your toil. Let none of you lay hand to spear to lift it, for I, for all my late arrival, will with my lance make utter havoc of those vaunting Achaeans.

CHORUS: Joy, joy! sweet champion sent by Zeus! Only may Zeus, throned on high, keep jealousy, resistless foe, from you for your words! That fleet of ships from Argos never brought, neither formerly nor now, among all its warriors a braver than you. How I wonder will Achilles, how will Aias stand the onset of your spear? Oh! that I might see that day, my prince, on which you may wreak vengeance on them, gripping your lance in your death-dealing hand!

Part 6

RHESUS: Such exploits am I ready to achieve to atone for my long absence; (with due submission to Nemesis I say this); then when we have cleared this city of its foes and you have chosen out first-fruits for the gods, I wish to march with you against the Argives’ country and at my coming lay Hellas waste with war, that they in turn may know the taste of ill.

HECTOR: If I could rid the city of this present curse and restore it to its old security, I should indeed feel deep gratitude towards the gods. But, as for sacking Argos and the pasture-lands of Hellas with the spear, it is no such easy task as you say.

RHESUS: Do they not say that here came the greatest chiefs of Hellas?

HECTOR: Yes, and I do not scorn them; I have enough to do in driving them away.

RHESUS: Well, when we slay these, is our task not fully done?

HECTOR: Do not leave the present need to look to distant schemes.

RHESUS: You are, it seems, content to suffer and make no return.

HECTOR: Yes, for I rule a great empire, even though I am here. But on the left wing or the right or in the centre of the allies you may plant your shield and marshal your troops.

RHESUS: Alone I will face the foe, Hector. But if you are ashamed, after all your previous toil, to have no share in firing their ships’ prows, place me face to face with Achilles and his army.

HECTOR: Against that man you cannot range your eager spear.

RHESUS: Why, it was surely said he sailed to Ilium.

HECTOR: He sailed and he is here; but he is angry and takes no part with the other chieftains in the battle.

RHESUS: Who next to him has won a name in their army?

HECTOR: Aias and the son of Tydeus are, I take it, in no way his inferiors; there is Odysseus, a wheedling rascal, but bold enough indeed, and of all men he has wrought most outrage on this country. For he came by night to Athena’s shrine and stole her image and took it to the Argive ships; next he came inside our battlements, clad as a vagrant in a beggar’s garb, and loudly did he curse the Argives, sent as a spy to Ilium; and then went out again, when he had slain the sentinels and warders at the gate. He is always to be found lurking in ambush about the altar of Thymbrean Apollo near the city. In him we have a troubling pest to wrestle with.

RHESUS: No brave man thinks it right to kill his foe in secret, but to meet him face to face. If I can catch this fellow alive, who, as you say, sits in stealthy ambush and plots his mischief, I will impale him at the outlet of the gates and set him up for winged vultures to make their meal upon. This is the death he ought to die, pirate and temple-robber that he is.

HECTOR: To your quarters now, for it is night. For you I will myself point out a spot where your army can watch this night apart from our array. Our password is Phoebus, if perhaps there should be need of it; hear and remember it, and tell it to the Thracian army. You must advance in front of our ranks and keep a watchful guard, and receive Dolon, who went to spy on the ships, for he, if he is safe, is even now approaching the camp of Troy.

CHORUS: Whose watch is it? who relieves me? night’s earlier stars are on the wane, and the seven Pleiads mount the sky; in the middle of the heavens the eagle floats. Rouse yourselves, why delay? Up from your beds to the watch! Do you not see the moonlight? Dawn is near, dawn is coming, and lo! a star that heralds it. Who was told off to the first watch? The son of Mygdon, whom they call Coroebus. Who after him? The Paeonian contingent roused the Cilicians, and the Mysians us. Is it not then high time we went and roused the Lycians for the fifth watch, as the lot decided?

CHORUS: Hark! hark! a sound; sitting on her blood-stained nest by Simois, she sings with voice of many trills her piteous plaint, the nightingale that slew her child. Already on Ida they are pasturing the flocks, and over the night I catch the shrill pipe’s note. Sleep charms my eyes, for sleep is sweetest at dawn to tired eyelids. Why does not our scout draw near, whom Hector sent to spy on the fleet? He is so long away, I have my fears. Is it possible he has plunged into a hidden ambush and been slain? Perhaps. I am afraid. My counsel is we go and rouse the Lycians for the fifth watch, as the lot ordained. Exit Chorus

ODYSSEUS: Did you not hear, Diomedes, the clash of arms or is it an idle noise that rings in my ears?

DIOMEDES: No, it is the rattle of steel harness on the chariot rails; I, too, was afraid, till I perceived it was the clang of horses’ chains.

Part 7

ODYSSEUS: Beware lest you stumble upon the guard in the darkness.

DIOMEDES: I will take good care how I advance even in the gloom.

ODYSSEUS: If however you should rouse them, do you know their password?

DIOMEDES: Yes, it is Phoebus; I heard Dolon use it.

ODYSSEUS: Ah! I see the enemy have left this bivouac.

DIOMEDES: Yet Dolon surely said that here was Hector’s couch, against whom this sword of mine is drawn.

ODYSSEUS: What can it mean? Has his company withdrawn elsewhere?

DIOMEDES: Perhaps to form some stratagem against us.

ODYSSEUS: Yes, for Hector is bold now, by reason of his victory, bold.

DIOMEDES: What then are we to do, Odysseus? We have not found the man asleep; our hopes are dashed.

ODYSSEUS: Let us go to the fleet with what speed we may. Some god, whichever it be that gives him his good luck, is preserving him; against fate we must not strive.

DIOMEDES: Then should we two not go against Aeneas or Paris, most hateful of Phrygians, and with our swords cut off their heads?

ODYSSEUS: Well, how in the darkness can you find them among a hostile army, and slay them without risk?

DIOMEDES: Yet it would be shameful to go to the Argive ships if we have done the enemy no harm.

ODYSSEUS: What! no harm! Have we not slain Dolon who spied upon the anchored fleet, and have we not his spoils safe here? Or do you expect to sack the entire camp?

DIOMEDES: I agree, let us return; and good luck go with us!

ATHENA: Where are you going, away from the Trojan ranks, with sorrow gnawing at your hearts, because the god does not grant you two to slay Hector or Paris? Have you not heard that Rhesus has come to aid Troy in no mean fashion? If he survives this night until the dawn, neither Achilles nor Aias’s spear can stop him from utterly destroying the Argive fleet, razing its palisades and carrying this the onslaught of his lance far and wide within the gates. Slay him, and all is yours; let Hector’s sleep alone, no throat-cutting slaughter; for he shall find death at another hand.

ODYSSEUS: Queen Athena, it is the well-known accent of your voice I hear; for you are always at my side to help me in my toil. Tell us where that man lies asleep; in what part of the barbarian army is he stationed?

ATHENA: Here lies he close at hand, not marshalled with the other troops, but outside the ranks Hector has given him quarters, till night gives place to day. And near him his white horses are tethered to his Thracian chariot, easy to see in the darkness; they shine like the plumage of a river swan. Slay their master and bear them off home, glorious spoils; for nowhere else in all the world is such a team to be found.

ODYSSEUS: Diomedes, either you slay the Thracian folk, or leave that to me, while your care must be the horses.

Part 8

DIOMEDES: I will do the killing, and you master the horses. For you are well versed in clever tricks, and have a ready wit. And it is right to station a man where he may best serve.

ATHENA: Look! there I see Paris coming towards us; perhaps he has heard from the guard a vague rumor that foes are near.

DIOMEDES: Are others with him or does he come alone?

ATHENA: Alone; to Hector’s couch he seems to wend his way, to announce to him that spies are in the camp.

DIOMEDES: Ought he not head the list of slain?

ATHENA: You can not overreach destiny. It is not decreed that he should fall by your hand. But hasten on your mission of fore-ordained slaughter, while I, feigning to be Cypris, his ally, and to aid him in his efforts, will answer the foe with unsound words. I tell you this; but the fated victim does not know, nor has he heard, for all he is so near. Exeunt Odysseus and Diomedes.

PARIS: To you I call, general and brother, Hector, are you asleep? Should you not awake? Some enemy draws near our army, or thieves perhaps, or spies.

ATHENA: Courage! See, Cypris watches over you in gracious mood. Your warfare is my concern, for I do not forget the honor you once did me, and I thank you for your good service. And now, when the army of Troy is triumphant, I have come bringing to you a powerful friend, the Thracian child of the Muse, the heavenly singer; his father’s name is Strymon.

PARIS: Always to this city and to me you are a kind friend, and I am sure that decision I then made conferred you upon this city, the highest treasure life affords. I came when I heard a vague report—for a rumor prevailed amlng the guards—that Achaean spies are here. One man, that did not see them, says so, while another, that saw them come, cannot describe them; and so I am on my way to Hector’s tent.

ATHENA: Fear nothing; all is quiet in the army, and Hector has gone to assign a sleeping-place to the Thracian army.

PARIS: You persuade me, and I believe your words, and will go to guard my post, free of fear.

ATHENA: Go, for it is my pleasure ever to watch your interests, that so I may see my allies prosperous. Yes, and you too shall recognize my zeal. Exit Paris. In a loud voice, to Odysseus and Diomedes. Son of Laertes, I bid you sheath your whetted swords, you warriors all too keen. For the Thracian chief lies dead and his horses are captured, but the enemy know it, and are coming against you; fly with all speed to the ships’ station. Why delay saving your lives, when the enemy’s storm is just bursting on you?

CHORUS: Oh, oh! At them, at them! Strike them, strike them! Who goes there? Look; I mean that man. There are the thieves who in the gloom disturbed this army. Come here, here, everyone! I have them, I have clutched them fast. What is your company? Where did you come from? Who are you?

ODYSSEUS: It is not for you to know; for you will die today for your villainy.

CHORUS: Will you not declare the password, before my sword finds its way to your heart?

ODYSSEUS: Halt! Be of good heart.

CHORUS: Come near. Strike, everyone!

ODYSSEUS: What! have you slain Rhesus?

CHORUS: No, but you, who came to slay us—

ODYSSEUS: Stay, every man of you!

Part 9

CHORUS: No, no, lay on!

ODYSSEUS: Ah! do not slay a friend!

CHORUS: What is the password, then?

ODYSSEUS: Phoebus.

CHORUS: Right! every man hold back his spear! Do you know where the men have gone?

ODYSSEUS: Somewhere here I caught a sight of them.

CHORUS: Close on their track each man of you! Or should we shout for aid? No, it would be strange conduct to disturb our friends with wild alarms by night. Exeunt Odysseus and Diomedes.

CHORUS: Who was that man who slipped away? Who was he that will loudly boast his daring in escaping me? How shall I catch him now? To whom shall I liken him, the man who came by night with fearless step passing through our ranks and the guard we set? Is he a Thessalian or a dweller in some seacoast town of Locris? Or does he make his living among the islands scattered in the sea? Who was he? Where from? What is his fatherland? What god does he avow as lord of all the rest? Whose work is this? is it the deed of Odysseus? If one may conjecture from his former acts, of course it is. Do you think so really? Why, of course. He is a bold foe for us. What strength? Whom are you praising? Odysseus. Do not praise the crafty weapons that a robber uses.

CHORUS: Once before he came into this city, with swimming bleary eyes, clad in rags and tatters, his sword hidden in his cloak. And like some vagrant menial he slunk about begging his living, his head rough and dirty; and he spoke bitterly of the royal house of the Atreidae—as though he were really opposed to those chiefs! Would, oh! would he had perished, as was his due, before he set foot on Phrygia’s soil! Whether it was really Odysseus or not, I am afraid; for Hector will blame us sentinels. What can he allege? He will suspect. What have we done? Why are you afraid? They got past us— Well, who? The ones who came this night to the Phrygian army.

CHARIOTEER: Oh, oh! Cruel stroke of fate. Woe, woe!

CHORUS LEADER: Hush! be silent all, crouch low; for perhaps there comes someone into the snare.

CHARIOTEER: Oh, oh! dire mishap to the Thracians.

CHORUS LEADER: It is one of the allies who is groaning.

CHARIOTEER: Oh, oh! woe to me and to you, O king of Thrace, how cursed the sight of Troy to you! what an end to your life!

CHORUS LEADER: Who are you? One of the allies? Night’s gloom has dulled these eyes and I cannot clearly recognize you.

CHARIOTEER: Where can I find some Trojan chief? Where does Hector take his rest under arms? To which of the captains of the army am I to tell my tale? What sufferings ours! what dark deeds someone has wrought on us and gone his way, when he had wound up a ball of sorrow manifest to every Thracian!

CHORUS LEADER: From what I gather of this man’s words, some calamity, it seems, is befalling the Thracian army.

CHARIOTEER: Lost is all our army, our prince is dead, slain by a treacherous blow. Oh! Oh! The cruel anguish of this bloody wound that racks my frame within! Would I were dead! Was it to die this inglorious death that Rhesus and I came bringing aid to Troy?

CHORUS LEADER: He does not declare the disaster in riddles; no, he clearly asserts our allies’ destruction.

CHARIOTEER: A sorry deed it was, and more than that a deed most shameful; yes, it is an evil doubly bad; to die with glory, if die one must, is bitterness enough I think to him who dies—how not?— though to the living it may add dignity and honor for their house. But we have died foolishly and without glory. No sooner had great Hector given us our quarters and told us the password than we lay down to sleep upon the ground, overcome by weariness. No guard our army set to watch by night, nor were our arms set in array, nor were the whips hung ready on the horses’ yokes, for our prince was told that you were masters now, and had encamped hard on their ships; so carelessly we threw ourselves down to sleep. Now I with thoughtful mind awoke from my slumber, and with ungrudging hand measured out the horses’ feed, expecting to harness them at dawn for the fray; through the thick gloom two men I see roaming around our army. But when I roused myself they crouched low and were gone once more; and I called out to them to keep away from the army, for I thought they might be thieves from our allies. Nothing from them, so I too said no more, but came back to my couch and slept again. And as I slept a strange fancy came over me: those horses that I had reared and used to drive, stationed at Rhesus’ side, I saw, I thought as in a dream, with wolves mounted on their backs; and these with their tails lashed the horses’ flanks and urged them on, while they snorted and breathed fury from their nostrils, striving in terror to unseat their riders. Up I sprang to defend the horses from the brutes, for the horror of the night scared me. Then as I raised my head I heard the groans of dying men, and a warm stream of new-shed blood bespattered me, beside my murdered master as he died. To my feet I start, but all unarmed; and as I peer about and grope to find my sword, a stalwart hand from somewhere near struck me with a sword beneath the ribs. I felt the sword-thrust, the deep gaping wound it gave me. Down on my face I fell, while they fled clean away with horses and chariot. Oh, oh! Tortured with pain, too weak to stand, a piteous object! I know what happened, for I saw it; but how the victims met their death I cannot say, nor at whose hand. But I can well surmise we have our friends to thank for this grief.

Part 10

CHORUS LEADER: Charioteer of Thrace’s hapless king, do not suspect us. Enemies did this. But Hector himself is here, having learned your mischance; he sympathizes as he should with your hard fate.

HECTOR: You who have caused this great calamity, how did the enemy’s spies come without your knowledge, to your shame, and spread destruction through the army, and you did not drive them away either as they entered or left the camp? Who but you shall pay the penalty for this? You, I say, were here to guard the army. But they are gone without a wound, with many a scoff at Phrygian cowardice, and at me their leader. Now mark you this—by father Zeus I swear—either the scourge or the headsman’s axe awaits you for such conduct; or else consider Hector to be nothing, a mere coward.

CHORUS: Woe, woe! It was in quest of you, yes, you, great lord of my city, that I went, when I brought news to you that the Argive army was kindling fires about the ships; for by the springs of Simois I vow my eye kept sleepless watch by night, nor did I slumber or sleep. Do not be angry with me, my lord; I am guiltless of all. Yet if hereafter you find that I in word or deed have done amiss, bury me alive beneath the earth; I ask no mercy.

CHARIOTEER: Why threaten these? Why try to undermine my barbarian mind with your subtle words, you yourself a barbarian? You did this deed; neither they who have died nor we who are wounded will believe it was any other. A long and clever speech you’ll need to prove to me you did not slay your friends because you coveted the horses, and to gain them murdered your own allies, after strongly imposing on them come. They came, they are dead; Paris found more decent means to shame the rights of hospitality than you, who killed your allies. No, do not tell me some Argive came and slaughtered us. Who could have passed the Trojan lines and come against us without detection? You and your Phrygian troops were camped in front of us. Who was wounded, who was slain among your friends, when that foe you speak of came? It was we, far off, were wounded, while some have met a sterner fate and said farewell to the sunlight. Briefly, then, I blame no Achaean. For what enemy could have come and found the lowly bed of Rhesus in the dark, unless some god were guiding the murderers’ steps? They did not know so much as know of his arrival. No, this is your plot!

HECTOR: For a long time now I have had to do with allies, yes, ever since Achaea’s army settled in this land, and never a harsh word have I known them say of me; but with you I am to make a beginning. Never may such longing for horses seize me that I should slay my friends! This is the work of Odysseus; for who of all the Argives but he would have devised or carried out such a deed? I fear him; and my mind is a little troubled lest he should have met and slain Dolon as well; for he has been gone a long time and does not appear.

CHARIOTEER: I do not know this Odysseus of whom you speak. It was no enemy’s hand that struck us.

HECTOR: If it pleases you to think that, do so.

CHARIOTEER: O land of my fathers, would I might die in you!

HECTOR: Die! No! Enough are those already dead.

CHARIOTEER: Where am I to turn, I ask you, bereft of my master?

HECTOR: My house shall shelter you and cure you of your hurt.

CHARIOTEER: How shall murderers’ hands care for me?

HECTOR: This fellow will never have done repeating the same story.

CHARIOTEER: Curses on the doer of this deed! On you my tongue fixes no charge, as you complain; but Justice is over all.

HECTOR: Take him away; carry him to my palace and tend him carefully, that he may have no fault to find. And you must go to those upon the walls, to Priam and his aged councillors, and tell them to give orders for the burial of the dead at the resting-place along the public road. The charioteer is carried off.

CHORUS: Why does fate change and bring Troy once again to mourning after her great good fortune, planting what seeds? Oh, oh! What deity above our heads, O king, bears in her hands as on a bier the newly slain corpse? I shudder at this sight of woe.

MUSE: Behold me,Trojans; for I, the Muse, one of the nine sisters, that have honor among the wise, I am here, having seen the piteous death his foes have dealt my darling son. Yet the crafty Odysseus, that slew him, one day hereafter shall pay a fitting penalty.

MUSE: O my son, your mother’s grief, I mourn for you in my native strains of woe! What a journey you made to Troy, a very path of ill-fortune and sorrow! starting, in spite of all my warnings and your father’s earnest prayers, in defiance of us. Woe to me for you, my dear, dear son! Ah, woe!

CHORUS LEADER: As far as one can who has no common tie of kin, I bewail and mourn your son.

MUSE: Curses on the son of Oeneus! Curses on Laertes’ child! who has bereft me of my fair son and left me childless! and on that woman, too, that left her home in Hellas, and sailed here with her Phrygian lover, bringing death to you, my dearest, for the sake of Troy, and emptying countless cities of their brave heroes.

Part 11

MUSE: Many indeed are the wounds, Thamyris, son of Philammon, that you have inflicted on my heart, in your life and in your death. Yes, for it was your pride, your own undoing, and your rivalry with the Muses that made me mother of this poor son of mine. For as I crossed the river’s streams I came too near to Strymon’s fruitful couch, that day we Muses came to the brow of Mount Pangaeus with its soil of gold, furnished forth with all our music for one great trial of minstrel skill with that clever Thracian bard; and we blinded him, Thamyris, the man who often reviled our craft. And then, when I gave birth to you, because I felt shame of my sisters and my virginity, I sent you to the swirling stream of your father, the river; and Strymon did not entrust your nurture to mortal hands, but to the fountain nymphs. There you were reared most fairly by the maiden nymphs, and you ruled over Thrace, a leader among men, my child. So long as you ranged your native land in quest of bloody deeds of prowess I did not fear for your death; but I forbade you to set out for Troy, in my knowledge of your doom; but Hector’s sages and those countless embassies persuaded you to go and help your friends. This was your doing, Athena; you alone are to blame for his death —neither Odysseus nor the son of Tydeus had anything to do with it—do not think it has escaped my eye. And yet we sister Muses do special honor to your city, your land we chiefly haunt; and those dark mysteries with their torch processions were revealed by Orpheus, cousin of this dead man whom you have slain. Musaeus, too, your holy citizen, of all men most advanced in lore, was trained by Phoebus and us, the nine sisters. And here is your reward for this; in my arms I hold my child and mourn for him. I’ll bring to you no other learned man.

CHORUS LEADER: Vainly it seems the Thracian charioteer reviled us with plotting this man’s murder, Hector.

HECTOR: I knew it; it needed no seer to say that he had perished by the arts of Odysseus. Now I, when I saw the Hellene army camped in my land, of course would not hesitate to send heralds to my friends, bidding them come and help my country; and so I sent, and he as in duty bound came to share my toils. I do not at all rejoice to see him dead. And now I am ready to raise a tomb for him and burn at his pyre great store of fine raiment; for he came as a friend and in sorrow he is going away.

MUSE: He shall not go into earth’s dark soil; so earnest a prayer will I address to the bride of the nether world, the daughter of the goddess Demeter, giver of increase, to release his soul; and, debtor as she is to me, show that she honors the friends of Orpheus. And to me for the rest of time he will be as one who is dead and does not see the light; for never again will he meet me or see his mother; but he will lie hidden in a cavern of the land with veins of silver, restored to life, a deified man, just as the prophet of Bacchus dwelt in a grotto beneath Pangaeus, a god whom his votaries honored. Lightly now shall I feel the grief of the sea-goddess, for her son too must die. First then for you we sisters must chant our dirge, and then for Achilles when Thetis mourns some day. Pallas, your slayer, shall not save him; so true the shaft Loxias keeps in his quiver for him. Oh, the sorrows that a mother feels! the troubles of mortals! whoever fairly reckons you up will live and die childless and will have no children to bury.

CHORUS LEADER: His mother now must see to this man’s burial; but for you, Hector, if you will carry out any scheme, now is the time, for day is dawning.

HECTOR: Go, bid our allies arm at once and yoke the horses; torch in hand you must await the blast of the Etrurian trumpet; for I hope to pass beyond their army and walls and fire the ships of the Achaeans, bringing to the Trojans this approaching beam of the sun as the day of freedom.

CHORUS: Obedience to our prince! let us go to array ourselves in armor and tell these orders to our allies; perhaps the god who is on our side may grant us victory.