The Greek Plays
Page 43
for someone my age and unlike myself.
But your enmity and your actions
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have driven me to do these deeds.
Shamelessness inspires shameless action.
CLYTEMNESTRA: Shameless child! So it’s me and my words
and my deeds that make you talk like that!
ELECTRA: You say that, I don’t. But you do it,
and deeds find their own descriptions.
CLYTEMNESTRA: No, I swear by queen Artemis, you’ll pay for
your insolence, when Aegisthus comes home.
ELECTRA: You see, you fall into a rage, after you said
I could speak. You don’t know how to listen.
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CLYTEMNESTRA: Won’t you let me offer a sacrifice without
ill-omened shouting,*30 since I let you speak freely?
ELECTRA: Go ahead, please, make sacrifice, and don’t blame
me for speaking, for I shall say nothing more.
(Electra remains near the door, while Clytemnestra and a slave approach the altar at the front of the stage.)
CLYTEMNESTRA:
You, stand near me and bring me my offerings,
fruits that I may raise to this god to free
my sleep from the fears that I have now.
Phoebus our protector, I hope you listen
to my secret utterance. I am not speaking
among friends; it is not safe to unfold
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the whole tale to the light when she is near me;*31
with her hatred and endless talk
she’d scatter harmful rumors everywhere in town.
No, listen to me now: for I’ll speak to her as well.
For during this past night I have seen visions
of ambiguous dreams; grant, my lord, that these
may come to pass, if they are favorable.
If they are hostile, send them against my enemies.
Let me know if some are planning now
by treachery to cast me from my present wealth.
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No, let me go on living thus, a life unharmed
in the house of the Atreidae,*32 wielding the scepter,
living with the friends I live with now,
happily and with the children who bear me
no ill will or give me bitter grief.
Hear me, Lycian Apollo, with kindness,
and grant me everything I ask.
Everything else I think you know,
because you are a god, despite my silence.
For surely Zeus’ children can see everything.
(As Clytemnestra completes her prayer, the Old Slave enters and delivers the false message that Orestes is dead.)
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OLD SLAVE: Ladies of Mycenae, how might I come to know
if this is the home of king Aegisthus?
CHORUS: This is it, stranger. You have guessed correctly.
OLD SLAVE: (gesturing toward Clytemnestra)
And am I right in supposing that this lady
is his wife? She has the appearance of a queen.
CHORUS: Yes, absolutely. She is standing beside you.
OLD SLAVE: Greetings, my lady. I have come bringing you,
and Aegisthus, good news from a friend.
CLYTEMNESTRA: I welcome your news. But first I need to know
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who it is who has sent you.
OLD SLAVE: Phanoteus of Phocis, with a message of importance.
CLYTEMNESTRA: What is it, stranger? Tell me. I know that coming
from a friend, you’ll bring us welcome news.
OLD SLAVE: Orestes is dead. I have stated it concisely.
ELECTRA: Oh, no, take pity on me, I’ve died this day.
CLYTEMNESTRA: What can you tell me, stranger? Don’t listen to her.
OLD SLAVE: I said it then; I say it now: Orestes is dead.
ELECTRA: I’m dead, poor me, I’m nothing now.
CLYTEMNESTRA: (to Electra) You, mind your own business! Stranger,
tell me the truth. How did he die?
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OLD SLAVE: I was sent here for this and shall tell all.*33
Orestes went to Greece’s famous showplace,
To win a prize at Delphi at the contest.*34
When he heard the loud proclamation of the herald
announcing the footrace that comes first of all,
he entered in glory, admired by everyone.
His finish was as glorious as his start.
He brought back the honor and reward of victory.
To tell you all in a few words, I do not know
any other man who has achieved so much.
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Understand this: whatever contest was announced,
in all of these he took the victor’s prize.
He was proclaimed as an Argive, called
Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, who long ago
assembled the famous army from Greece.*36
That is how it was. But when a god destroys,
not even a strong man can escape.
So on another day, when at sunrise,
the swift-footed horse contest took place,
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he came in with the other charioteers.
There was an Achaean and a Spartan.
Two were Libyans, masters of yoked chariots.
Orestes was fifth, with Thessalian horses.
The sixth contestant came from Aetolia
with chestnut colts. A Magnesian was seventh.
The eighth, a man from Aenia, had white horses.
A ninth came from Athens, founded by the gods,
then a Boeotian, filling the tenth chariot.
They took their stands after the official judges
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sorted lots and assigned their places.
They raced away when the bronze trumpet sounded.
The drivers shouted at their horses, grasped and shook
their reins. The whole racecourse was filled
with noise and the rattling of chariots.
Dust flew up; all were clustered close together.
They laid on their goads; each sought to go
beyond the wheels and snorting of their horses.
The breath of horses fell on them; foam covered
the horses’ backs and the turning wheels.
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Orestes kept close to the far turning post,
grazed it with his wheel.*37 Slacking his right horse’s rein
to block the path of the chariot next to him.
Before this all were standing in their chariots.
But then the Aenanian’s unreined colts broke loose,
and carried him away. Sixth out of the turn,
they started on their seventh lap and struck
their foreheads against a Libyan chariot.
And after that, one after the other crashed and fell.
From this one mistake, the whole plain
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of Crisa*38 was filled with the shipwrecks of chariots.
The clever charioteer from Athens saw this,
pulled his horses aside, held them back and avoided
the tidal wave of chariots in the middle of the course.
He drove on last, because his horses were inferior,
Orestes did, and trusted in the final outcome
of the race. He saw that only the Athenian was left,
and hurled a sharp command into the ears
of his swift horses and pursued him. The two charioteers
drew level and drove on, first one, then the other
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pushed his horses and chariot into the lead.
And through all the other laps he remained safe,
poor man, standing straight in his upright chariot.
Then he let his left rein go slack, as his horse turned.
He didn’t
see he’d struck the tall turning post.
He broke the axle between the wheels,
slipped off the chariot rails, got twisted
in the reins. He hit the ground; the horses
dashed off to the middle of the track.
When the crowd saw that he’d fallen from the chariot,
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they cried out in sorrow for the young man,
who did such deeds and then had such bad luck,
dragged on the ground, then on his back, his legs
toward the sky, until the charioteers
managed to rein in the rushing horses
and freed him, so bloody that no friend
could recognize his poor remains.
Men appointed by the Phocians*39
burned him in pyre, and in a small bronze urn
are bringing his great body, now sad ashes,
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so he can be buried in his ancestral land.
That is how it was. A sad tale to tell,
and for those of us who saw it, as did we,
the worst disaster that I’ve witnessed.
CHORUS: Oh, no! All my old master’s family is gone,
torn from its roots, or so it seems.
CLYTEMNESTRA: Zeus, what should I do? Shall I call it lucky
or terrible or good? It is so cruel
that my own misfortune has saved my life.
OLD SLAVE: Why does this story trouble you so much?
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CLYTEMNESTRA: Giving birth is strange: one cannot hate
a child even when he can do you wrong.
OLD SLAVE: It seems that we have come in vain.
CLYTEMNESTRA: No, not in vain! How could you say in vain,
If you have come bringing certain proof
that he is dead. Though I gave life to him,
he turned away from my breast and nurture,
became an exile, a stranger. Once he left
this land, he didn’t see me, but he blamed me
for his father’s death and swore to do me harm.
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So not by night nor day does sweet sleep
shelter me, but time stands near me
and keeps on telling me that I’ll be killed.
But now—for on this day I’ve been freed from fear,
from her (pointing to Electra) and him. She’s the worse pain
because she lives with me, and sucks out the blood
straight from my life—now we’ll be secure,
safe at least from that creature’s threats.
ELECTRA: Oh, misery, now, Orestes, I can weep
for your misfortune, because though you are dead
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this mother of ours insults you. Is my life good?
CLYTEMNESTRA: Yours is not, but his is good, as it is now.
ELECTRA: Hear her, Nemesis*40 of the man who has just died.
CLYTEMNESTRA: She’s heard what she needs; she made the right decision.
ELECTRA: Insult me! For now you’re fortunate in your good fortune.
CLYTEMNESTRA: Why can’t you and Orestes stop mocking me?
ELECTRA: We’ve been stopped, but not so we can stop you.
CLYTEMNESTRA: Stranger, you would be a valued friend
if you could stop her endless talk.
OLD SLAVE: May we now depart, if you are satisfied?
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CLYTEMNESTRA: No indeed. That would be unworthy of me
and of the friend who sent you. No,
go inside, and let her keep up her loud lament
for her misfortunes, and her friends’ sorrows.
(Clytemnestra and the Old Slave go into the palace.)
ELECTRA: Don’t you think that she should have been sad
and sorrowful and wept and wailed
in misery for the son who’d died like that?
No, she laughed and left. And I am suffering.
Dear Orestes, your death has destroyed me.
You’ve gone and torn out of my mind
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the few hopes I had left, that you were alive
and would return someday to avenge your father
and mine. Poor me, now where can I go?
I am alone, left without you and my father
both. Now I must be a slave again
in the home of the people I most hate,
my father’s murderers. Is my life good?
No, I shall not live in the same house
In future time, but here at this very gate
without a friend I’ll eke out my life.
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For that, anyone inside is free to kill me,
if it troubles them. Killing me would be a favor;
keeping me alive, a pain. I have no wish to live.
strophe 1
CHORUS: Where then are Zeus’ thunderbolts, and where
is the blazing Sun-god. Can they look on this
calmly and keep it dark?
ELECTRA: ē ē aiai.
CHORUS: Dear child, why are you weeping?
ELECTRA: pheu.
CHORUS: Do not cry so loudly!
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ELECTRA: You’re destroying me.
CHORUS: How?
ELECTRA: If you hold any hope for those
who have clearly gone to Hades, you are trampling
me down in my suffering.
antistrophe 1
CHORUS: I know that noble Amphiaraus
was trapped by a woman’s golden chains*41
and now beneath the earth—
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ELECTRA: ē ē iō.
CHORUS: he lives and rules.*42
ELECTRA: pheu.
CHORUS: pheu, yes, his destroyer
ELECTRA: was killed,
CHORUS: she was.*43
ELECTRA: I know, I know. An avenger came
for him in his grief. But there is no one alive for me.
There was once, but he is gone.
strophe 2
CHORUS: In your misery you have won misery.
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ELECTRA: I know this, I know too well,
in a life filled with hateful sorrows
in full flow, never ending.
CHORUS: We have seen what you are saying.
ELECTRA: Never, never, persuade me to go where—
CHORUS: What are you saying?
ELECTRA: —I cannot find help from a noble sibling.
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CHORUS: Death comes to all mortals.
ELECTRA: Indeed, but like that, in the contest
of swift hooves, as that poor man died,
caught and cut in the reins?
CHORUS: An infinite outrage!
ELECTRA: Indeed, as if he were a stranger,
he lies there—
CHORUS: papai.
ELECTRA: —where I could not give him burial*44
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or lamentation.
(As the lyric lamentation ends, Chrysothemis returns from Agamemnon’s grave.)
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Dearest, I’m rushing to you in joy,
I have put aside decorum and come swiftly.
I bring you joy and release from the troubles
you had in the past and are still lamenting.
ELECTRA: How could you have found me any help
from troubles that clearly have no cure?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Orestes is here for us. You’ve heard me say this
as clearly as you see me standing here.
ELECTRA: You poor thing! Have you lost your mind,
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making a mockery of your troubles, and of mine?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I swear by our father’s hearth, I do not speak
in mockery: Orestes is here for us!
ELECTRA: oimoi, I am so miserable! Who in the world
told you a tale you’re too ready to believe?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: No one told me. I believe it because
I saw for myself clear evidence.
/> ELECTRA: What proof did you see? What did you behold
that without fire warmed your heart and mind?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: By the gods, listen to me, so that you can learn
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the rest, and say if I’m a fool or sensible.
ELECTRA: Then tell me, if it will make you happy.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Indeed, I’ll tell you everything that I saw.
When I came to our father’s ancient tomb,
I saw fresh streams of milk flowing
from the column’s top and all kinds of flowers
wrapped around our father’s tomb.*45 I saw it,
wondered, and looked around to see
if someone was standing somewhere near.
I took my time and surveyed the whole place,
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and went close to the tomb. But then I saw
at the pyre’s edge a new-cut lock of hair.
As soon as I saw it, a familiar image struck
my mind: I was seeing evidence
of the dearest of all men, Orestes.
I took it in my hand and in pious reverence
my eyes soon filled with tears of joy.
I know now just as I knew then, that gift
could only have been brought by him.
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Who else would do it, other than you and me?
I did not do it, I am certain of that
and you did not. How could you? You’ll be punished,
even if you go from home to the gods’ temples.
No, certainly our mother’s not inclined to do this,
and if she did, we would know about it.
No, these tomb-offerings come from Orestes.
So, take heart, my dear. The same misfortune
does not always hover over the same people.
Our old fortune was hateful, but perhaps today
will bring an encounter with great good.
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ELECTRA: Oh, I have been pitying you for your folly.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Why? Doesn’t my message make you happy?
ELECTRA: You don’t know where you are or think you are.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: How can I not know what I have plainly seen?
ELECTRA: Orestes is dead, poor thing, no help can come
to you from him. Look to him for nothing.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: oimoi, poor me, who on earth told you that?
ELECTRA: A man who was near him when he died.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: And where is he? It’s astonishing!
ELECTRA: In the house, welcomed, not rejected by our mother.
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CHRYSOTHEMIS: oimoi, poor me. But who on earth was it
who left the grave-offerings on Father’s tomb?
ELECTRA: I believe that someone placed them there
as offerings in memory of Orestes.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Poor me, and I had hurried here in joy