by Aeschylus
feeds and is never full.
Woe, unassuagable woe,
and all through the will of Zeus,
source of all that is,
doer of all that is done,
for without Zeus what
is accomplished among us? What
of all these things is void
of god, not god-ordained?
1710
O my king, my king,
Refrain
how will I weep for you?
How can I speak
love from a shattered heart?
You lie snared in this spider’s web,
heaving your last breath in a sacrilege of death,
alas, like a cowering slave,
killed by the treacherous two-
edged blade your own wife’s
hand brought down.
1720
CLYTEMNESTRA You’re so sure that this was my work.
No longer see
me as the wife of Agamemnon!
Masquerading in the image
of this dead man’s mate, the old
and pitiless avenger of Atreus,
in a manic feast,
cut him down as payment, a grown
man butchered for the butchered young.
CHORUS That you yourself aren’t stained
Antistrophe 2
1730
with slaughter—who would bear witness?
How? How can it be?
But an avenger from
his father’s time may well
have led you on. And down
through streams of kindred blood
black havoc pushes his way
to where he will exact
atonement for the caked gore
of the devoured children.
1740
O my king, my king,
Refrain
how will I weep for you?
How can I speak
love from a shattered heart?
You lie snared in this spider’s web,
heaving away your last breath in a sacrilege of death
alas, on a slavish bed,
killed by the treacherous two-
edged blade your own wife’s
hand brought down.
1750
CLYTEMNESTRA There’s nothing slavish, I think, in this
man’s death. Didn’t
he wreck the house with his treachery?
But now what he has suffered is
as just as it was unjust what
he did to her, my child, the child
he fathered, the child
I weep for still, Iphigenia.
Let him not preen and boast in Hades,
now that he’s paid
1760
by dying for what he began.
CHORUS Thoughts scatter every which way and
I don’t
Strophe 3
know where to turn while the house teeters.
I fear the rain that pummels down on it,
hard rain of blood against the house,
rain beating every moment even harder,
thicker, long past the drizzling
first drops. The hand of fate is honing bright
the blade of justice on another
whetstone for another act of harm.
1770
O earth, earth, if only you had drawn
me down
Mesode 2
into your sunlessness before I saw
my lord inhabiting the slick
bed of the bath, hemmed by its silver walls!
Who now will bury him? Who now sing
his lament? Will it be you? Will you now dare
to do this, to strike your husband down
and then bewail him, and for his shade unjustly
pay ill-favored favor
for his great deeds? Who sob-choked at the tomb
1780
will praise him, the godlike man,
sorrowing in all honesty of heart?
CLYTEMNESTRA This duty is no concern of yours.
He fell by my hand,
by my hand he died, and by my hand
he will be buried, and nobody
in the house will weep. But she, his daughter,
Iphigenia, happily,
as is only right,
will meet her father at the swift ford
1790
of sorrows and cast her shadowy arms
around him and kiss
him just as sweetly as he deserves.
CHORUS Charge answers charge, and who can weigh
them, sift
Antistrophe 3
right from wrong? The ravager
is ravaged, the slayer slain. But it abides,
while Zeus on his throne abides,
that he who does will suffer. That is law.
Who will cast out the seed of curses
from the house? The race is grafted to ruin.
1800
CLYTEMNESTRA Now you have found a true prophecy.
But as for me
I gladly give my promise to
the Spirit of the clan that I
will bear all this, however hard,
if only he will go from the house
for good and grind
some other family out by bringing
kin to murder kin. However
small my share
1810
of wealth may be, I’ll be content
if I have rid our halls at last
of our frenzied killing of each other.
AEGISTHUS enters from the left with
a group of armed followers.
AEGISTHUS O kind light of the day of final justice,
now I can say at last that the gods on high
are avengers of mankind, and do look down
upon earth’s misery, now that I see,
to my delight, this man who’s lying here,
robed in the tangling mesh of the Erinyes,
paying for what his father’s hand devised.
1820
For Atreus, the ruler of this land,
and this man’s father, drove my father from
the city and his very home—Thyestes,
my father and (to say it clearly) his
own brother who challenged his right to rule alone.
And when he came back as a suppliant
there at his own hearth, poor Thyestes found
a kind of safety, since he wasn’t killed
and didn’t stain his birthplace with his blood.
But Atreus, this slain man’s godless father,
1830
an eager but not a loving host, with feigned
good cheer, as if in celebration of
a festive day, served my father up
a feast of his own children’s flesh. First he chopped
the toes and fingers off, and over them
he lay the flesh in strips, and placed the dish
before my father as he sat apart.
And lifting to his lips unknowingly
this or that indistinguishable part,
he ate his family’s ruin, as you can see.
1840
And when he realized what a horrid deed
he’d done, he screamed and fell back, and spewing out
the chewed up meat, called down on Pelops’ clan
a fate as horrible, kicking the table over
to double now the fierceness of his curse:
may all the race be overthrown and fall.
From causes such as these this man lies slain
before you, and I’m the one who planned this murder,
planned it with Justice, for he drove us out,
my wretched father and myself, his third born,
1850
still just a swaddled babe. But when I grew
to manhood, Justice brought me back again,
and from afar I carefully laid my hand
upon this man, stitching to
gether, piece
by fatal piece, the whole cloth of this plan.
So even death would please me, now that I’ve caught
him here at last in the net that Justice spread.
CHORUS LEADER Aegisthus, to gloat amid such misery
like this is something I would never do.
Do you claim you slew this man deliberately,
1860
that you alone conceived, directed every
step of this awful murder? I tell you
in no uncertain terms that on the day
when justice is meted out you won’t escape
the people’s curse, and stoning at their hands.
AEGISTHUS And do you dare to speak to me like this,
you who are seated at the lowest oar
when those on the bench above you steer the ship?
Old as you are, you’ll learn how hard it is
at your age to be taught discretion. Bonds,
1870
and whips, and hunger with its gnawing pains
are wonderfully efficient healers and
instructors of delinquent minds. Can you
have eyes and fail to see this? Don’t kick
against the pricks, or strike them and be struck.
CHORUS LEADER You woman! So while you kept yourself safe
here in the house, and waited for the men to return
from battle, you befouled the husband’s bed,
and plotted death for the supreme commander?
AEGISTHUS From these words, too, will spring a race of tears.
1880
The tongue of Orpheus was not a tongue
like yours, for he led all things in the wake
of his voice’s ecstasy, while you, who stir
up rage, puling and barking, will be led
away and, once broken, will be tame enough.
CHORUS LEADER So you would be our tyrant here in Argos,
you who had plotted death against this man
yet wouldn’t do the deed with your own hand?
AEGISTHUS Yes, the entrapment was the woman’s role,
of course, since I, old enemy of the house,
1880
was suspect. But with his wealth now I will try
to rule the citizens, and anyone
who fights me I will bridle with a strong bit,
and he will be no pampered trace-horse fed
on barley! But the bitter intimate
of darkness, hunger, will see him yield at last.
CHORUS LEADER A coward to the life—why didn’t you kill
this man yourself instead of leaving it
to her, a woman, to do your dirty work,
defiling the country and its gods?
1990
Oh, does Orestes see the light somewhere?
Will he come home at last, with fortune’s favor,
and slay these two with overpowering strength?
AEGISTHUS If that’s the way you’re going to act and speak,
you’ll learn your lesson soon, and learn it well.
CHORUS LEADER Come, friends, to arms, our work is here at hand.
AEGISTHUS (to his guards)
Come, men, hands on hilts, ready your swords!
CHORUS LEADER Ready for death, my hand too clasps the hilt.
AEGISTHUS We cheer the omen: death for yourself you mean.
We’ll take our chance, whatever it may be.
1910
AEGISTHUS’ guards move toward the Chorus, but stop
on clytemnestra’s words
CLYTEMNESTRA No, love, enough, let’s work no further damage.
Already there is too much here to reap,
a sad abundance. There’s been enough destruction;
let’s have no more bloodshed. Go honored elders,
go to your homes, and yield to destiny
before you suffer; what we had to do
we did—all you can do now is accept it.
If we could say “enough” to troubles, we
would be content, for we have all been kicked
by the Spirit’s hard hoof. Such is a woman’s
1920
saying, if any thinks it fit to listen.
AEGISTHUS Can I stand by, though, while these old men pelt me
with flowers from their wayward tongues, hurling
words that tempt their fate and miss the mark
of sense, and self-restraint, as they abuse their master?
CHORUS LEADER Argives will never fawn on an evil man.
AEGISTHUS If not today, then soon, you’ll feel my vengeance.
CHORUS LEADER Not if the Spirit brings Orestes home.
AEGISTHUS I know myself how exiles feed on hope.
CHORUS LEADER Gorge and grow fat, soil justice, since you can.
1930
AEGISTHUS Oh you will pay in time for this arrogance.
CHORUS LEADER Brag on bravely, like a cock by his hen.
CLYTEMNESTRA Ignore these harmless barkings; you and I
will rule the house, and set it all in order.
CLYTEMNESTRA and AEGISTHUS enter the palace, followed by the guards; the CHORUS exits to the right.
LIBATION BEARERS
CHARACTERS
ORESTES son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra
ELECTRA their daughter
CHORUS of captive slaves, serving women of Clytemnestra
ORESTES’ NURSE named Cilissa
AEGISTHUS lover of Clytemnestra, now ruler of Argos
SLAVE of the household of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra
CLYTEMNESTRA Queen of Argos
PYLADES son of Strophius of Phocis, companion of Orestes
Line numbers in the right-hand margin of the text refer to the English translation only, and the Notes on the text beginning at page 212 are keyed to these lines. The bracketed line numbers in the running heads refer to the Greek text.
The scene is in Argos, at the grave of Agamemnon. ORESTES and PYLADES enter from the left.
ORESTES Hermes of the dark earth, go-between,
overseer of my father’s power,
rescue me, fight by my side, I pray, for I’ve
come home at last to this land, come home from exile.
On this grave mound I cry to my father: Father
your son is calling you, listen to me.
I cut this strand of hair now for Inachus,
the stream that gave me life, a second strand
for the death I couldn’t mourn: I wasn’t here
to grieve, my father, when you died, I couldn’t
10
reach my hand out when they bore you away.
ELECTRA enters with the CHORUS of slave-women carrying libations to offer at the tomb.
What’s this? a band of women coming this way,
in black robes that the bright day seems to blacken
even more? What bad luck could it mean?
Has some new blow been struck against the house?
Or is it, could it be, they bring libations
in my father’s honor in the hope
of quelling the angers stirring underground?
That must be it, of course, for isn’t this
Electra, my own sister, who approaches?
20
Wan, wasted, wraith-like, her grief declares her.
Zeus, Zeus, let me avenge my father’s death,
and when I do, fight gladly at my side!
Pylades, let’s hide here out of the way
so I can learn exactly what this band
of black-robed women might be praying for.
ORESTES and PYLADES hide.
CHORUS I was sent marching from the house
Strophe 1
with these libations, my every step
timed to the sharp blows of my own hands,
my cheeks scarred like a field my nails
30
rake red with fresh furrows, anguish
my only heart’s food,
and the only
sound the sound of my garments ripping
as in grief I rip them down,
down to the breast I can’t not strike
for all countless sorrows in my life,
a life no laughter ever nears.
For terror, dream-seer of the house,
Antistrophe 1
with every hair-end bristling, every
sleeping breath now breathing wrath,
40
cried out its shrill cry in the dead
of night, deep from within the palace,
falling heavy on the women’s quarters,
and those who unriddle dreams declared
with the gods’ assurance that the dead,
stirring in anger underground,
are mad with bloodlust for the killers.
Yet with ill-favored favors such
Strophe 2
as these, to fend off harm—
O Mother Earth!—she sends me here,
50
the godless woman. But I
am terrified to speak the words
she’s ordered me to speak.
Can it be scrubbed away, the spilled
blood pooling on the ground?
O hearth blaze of misery!
O great house in shambles!
Sheer sunlessness that all men hate
now covers the house
in shadow, since the Lord’s been killed.
60
Antistrophe 2
And the sovereign awe no one could tame,
fight off, defeat in war,
awe that resounded everywhere,
in every mind and heart,
has slipped away. Now there is only fear.
For though men idolize
success as if it were a god,
no, more than a god, Justice
finds a way to right the balance.
