by Aeschylus
[338] Now if they keep clear of guilt towards the gods of the town — those of the conquered land — and towards their shrines, the captors shall not be made captives in their turn. Only may no mad impulse first assail the army, overmastered by greed, to pillage what they should not! For to win safe passage home they need to travel back the other length of their double course. But even if, without having offended the gods, our troops should reach home, the grievous suffering of the dead might still remain awake — if no fresh disaster transpires. These are my woman’s words; but may the good prevail clearly for all to see! For, choosing thus, I have chosen the enjoyment of many a blessing.
CHORUS
[351] Lady, you speak as wisely as a prudent man. And, for my part, now that I have listened to your certain proofs, I prepare to address due prayers of thanksgiving to the gods; for a success has been achieved that well repays the toil.
[355] Hail, sovereign Zeus, and you kindly Night, you who have given us great glory, you who cast your meshed snare upon the towered walls of Troy, so that neither old nor young could overleap the huge enslaving net of all-conquering Destruction. Great Zeus it is, lord of host and guest, whom I revere — he has brought this to pass. He long kept his bow bent against Alexander until his bolt would neither fall short of the mark nor, flying beyond the stars, be launched in vain.
[367] “The stroke of Zeus” they may call it; his hand can be traced there. As he determines, so he acts. Someone said that the gods do not trouble themselves to remember mortals who trample underfoot the grace of things not to be touched. But that man was impious!
[374] Now it stands revealed! The penalty for reckless crime is ruin when men breathe a spirit of pride above just measure, because their mansions teem with more abundance than is good for them. But let there be such wealth as brings no distress, enough to satisfy a sensible man. For riches do not protect the man who in wantonness has kicked the mighty altar of Justice into obscurity.
[385] Perverse Temptation, the overmastering child of designing Destruction, drives men on; and every remedy is futile. His evil is not hidden; it shines forth, a baleful gleam. Like base metal beneath the touchstone’s rub, when tested he shows the blackness of his grain (for he is like a child who chases a winged bird) and upon his people he brings a taint against which there is no defence. No god listens to his prayers. The man associated with such deeds, him they destroy in his unrighteousness.
[399] And such was Paris, who came to the house of the sons of Atreus and dishonoured the hospitality of his host by stealing away a wedded wife.
[403] But she, bequeathing to her people the clang of shield and spear and army of fleets, and bringing to Ilium destruction in place of dowry, with light step she passed through the gates — daring a deed undareable. Then loud wailed the seers of the house crying, ”Alas, alas, for the home, the home, and for the princes! Alas for the husband’s bed and the impress of her form so dear! He sits apart in the anguish of his grief, silent, dishonored but making no reproach. In his yearning for her who sped beyond the sea, a phantom will seem to be lord of the house. The grace of fair-formed statues is hateful to him; and in the hunger of his eyes all loveliness is departed.
[420] Mournful apparitions come to him in dreams, bringing only vain joy; for vainly, whenever in his imagination a man sees delights, straightaway the vision, slipping through his arms, is gone, winging its flight along the paths of sleep.Such are the sorrows at hearth and home, but here are sorrows surpassing these; and at large, in every house of all who went forth together from the land of Hellas, unbearable grief is seen. Many things pierce the heart. Each knows whom he sent forth. But to the home of each come urns and ashes, not living men.
[437] Ares barters the bodies of men for gold; he holds his balance in the contest of the spear; and back from Ilium to their loved ones he sends a heavy dust passed through his burning, a dust cried over with plenteous tears, in place of men sending well made urns with ashes. So they lament, praising now this one: “How skilled in battle!” now that one: “Fallen nobly in the carnage,”— “for another’s wife— “ some mutter in secret, and grief charged with resentment spreads stealthily against the sons of Atreus, champions in the strife. But there far from home, around the city’s walls, those in their beauty’s bloom have graves in Ilium — the enemy’s soil has covered its conquerors.
[456] Dangerous is a people’s voice charged with wrath — it acts as a curse of publicly ratified doom. In anxious fear I wait to hear something shrouded still in gloom. The gods are not blind to men with blood upon their hands. In the end the black Spirits of Vengeance bring to obscurity that one who has prospered in unrighteousness and wear down his fortunes by reverse. Once a man is among the unseen, there is no more help for him. Glory in excess is fraught with peril; the lofty peak is struck by Zeus’ thunderbolt. I choose prosperity unassailed by envy. May I not be a sacker of cities, and may I not myself be despoiled and live to see my own life in another’s power!
(ONE ELDER)
[475] Heralded by a beacon of good tidings a swift report has spread throughout the town. Yet whether it is true, or some deception of the gods, who knows?
(A SECOND ELDER)
[479] Who is so childish or so bereft of sense, once he has let his heart be fired by sudden news of a beacon fire, to despair if the story changes?
(A THIRD ELDER)
[483] It is just like a woman’s eager nature to yield assent to pleasing news before yet the truth is clear.
(A FOURTH ELDER)
[485] Too credulous, a woman’s mind has boundaries open to quick encroachment; but quick to perish is rumor spread by a woman.
(LEADER OF THE CHORUS)
[489] We shall soon know about this passing on of flaming lights and beacon signals and fires, whether they perhaps are true or whether, dream-like, this light’s glad coming has beguiled our senses. Look! I see approaching from the shore a herald crowned with boughs of olive. The thirsty dust, consorting sister of the mud, assures me that neither by pantomime nor by kindling a flame of mountain wood will he signal with smoke of fire. Either in plain words he will bid us to rejoice the more, or — but I have little love for the report opposite to this! May still further good be added to the good that has appeared!
(ANOTHER ELDER)
[501] Whoever makes this prayer with other intent toward the state, let him reap himself the fruit of his misguided purpose!
[Enter a Herald]
HERALD
[503] All hail, soil of Argos, land of my fathers! On this happy day in the tenth year I have come to you. Many hopes have shattered, one only have I seen fulfilled; for I never dared to dream that here in this land of Argos I should die and have due portion of burial most dear to me. Now blessings on the land, blessings on the light of the sun, and blessed be Zeus, the land’s Most High, and the Pythian lord; and may he launch no more his shafts against us. Enough of your hostility did you display by Scamander’s banks; but now, in other mood, be our preserver and our healer, O lord Apollo. And the gods gathered here, I greet them all; him, too, my own patron, Hermes, beloved herald, of heralds all revered; and the heroes who sped us forth, I pray that they may receive back in kindliness the remnant of the host which has escaped the spear.
[519] Hail, halls of our kings, beloved roofs, and you august seats, and you divinities that face the sun, if ever you did in days gone by, now after long lapse of years, with gladness in your eyes receive your king. For bearing light in darkness to you and to all assembled here alike, he has returned — Agamemnon, our king. Oh greet him well, as is right, since he has uprooted Troy with the mattock of Zeus the Avenger, with which her soil has been uptorn. Demolished are the altars and the shrines of her gods; and the seed of her whole land has been wasted utterly. Upon the neck of Troy he has cast such a yoke. Now he has come home, our king, Atreus’ elder son, a man of happy fate, worthy of honor beyond all living men. For neither Paris nor his partner city can boast that the deed was greater than the s
uffering. Convicted for robbery and for theft as well, he has lost the plunder and has razed in utter destruction his father’s house and even the land. The sons of Priam have paid a twofold penalty for their sins.
CHORUS
[538] Joy to you, Herald from the Achaean host!
HERALD
[539] I do rejoice. I will no longer refuse to die, if that pleases the gods.
CHORUS
[540] Was it yearning for this your fatherland that wore you out?
HERALD
[541] Yes, so that my eyes are filled with tears for joy.
CHORUS
[542] It was then a pleasing malady from which you suffered.
HERALD
[543] How so? Teach me, and I shall master what you say.
CHORUS
[544] You were smitten with desire for those who returned your love.
HERALD
[545] Do you mean that our land longed for the longing host?
CHORUS
[546] Longed so, that often from a darkly brooding spirit I have sighed.
HERALD
[547] Where did this gloom of melancholy upon your spirit come from?
CHORUS
[548] Long since have I found silence an antidote to harm.
HERALD
[549] How so? Did you fear anyone when our princes were gone?
CHORUS
[550] In such fear that now, in your own words, even death would be great joy.
HERALD
[551] Yes, all’s well, well ended. Yet, of what occurred in the long years, one might well say that part fell out happily, and part in turn amiss. But who, unless he is a god, is free from suffering all his days? For were I to recount our hardships and our wretched quarters, the scanty space and the sorry berths — what did we not have to complain of . . . Then again, ashore, there was still worse to loathe; for we had to lie down close to the enemy’s walls, and the drizzling from the sky and the dews from the meadows distilled upon us, working constant destruction to our clothes and filling our hair with vermin.
[563] And if one were to tell of the wintry cold, past all enduring, when Ida’s snow slew the birds; or of the heat, when upon his waveless noonday couch, windless the sea sank to sleep — but why should we bewail all this? Our labor’s past; past for the dead so that they will never care even to wake to life again. Why should we count the number of the slain, or why should the living feel pain at their past harsh fortunes? Our misfortunes should, in my opinion, bid us a long farewell. For us, the remnant of the Argive host, the gain has the advantage and the loss does not bear down the scale; so that, as we speed over land and sea, it is fitting that we on this bright day make this boast: “The Argive army, having taken Troy at last, has nailed up these spoils to be a glory for the gods throughout Hellas in their shrines from days of old.” Whoever hears the story of these deeds must extol the city and the leaders of her host; and the grace of Zeus that brought them to accomplishment shall receive its due measure of gratitude. There, you have heard all that I have to say.
CHORUS
[583] Your words have proved me wrong. I do not deny it; for the old have ever enough youth to learn aright. But these tidings should have most interest for the household and Clytaemestra, and at the same time enrich me.
[Enter Clytaemestra.]
CLYTAEMESTRA
[587] I raised a shout of triumph in my joy long before this, when the first flaming messenger arrived by night, telling that Ilium was captured and overthrown. Then there were some who chided me and said: “Are you so convinced by beacon-fires as to think that Troy has now been sacked? Truly, it is just like a woman to be elated in heart.” By such taunts I was made to seem as if my wits were wandering. Nevertheless I still held on with my sacrifice, and throughout all the quarters of the city, according to their womanly custom, they raised a shout of happy praise while in the shrines of the gods they lulled to rest the fragrant spice-fed flame.
[598] So now why should you rehearse to me the account at length? From the king himself I shall hear the whole tale; but I should hasten to welcome my honored husband best on his return. For what joy is sweeter in a woman’s eyes than to unbar the gates for her husband when God has spared him to return from war? Give this message to my husband: let him come with all speed, his country’s fond desire, come to find at home his wife faithful, even as he left her, a watchdog of his house, loyal to him, a foe to those who wish him ill; yes, for the rest, unchanged in every part; in all this length of time never having broken any seal. Of pleasure from any other man or of scandalous repute I know no more than of dyeing bronze.
[Exit.]
HERALD
[613] A boast like this, loaded full with truth, does not shame the speech of a noble wife.
CHORUS
[615] Thus has she spoken for your schooling, but speciously for those that can interpret right. But, Herald, say — I want to hear of Menelaus. Has he, our land’s dear lord, travelled safe home and has he returned with you?
HERALD
[620] It would be impossible to report false news so fair that those I love should take pleasure for long.
CHORUS
[622] Oh if only you could tell tidings true yet good! It is not easy to conceal when true and good are split apart.
HERALD
[624] The prince was swept from the sight of the Achaean host, himself, and his ship likewise. I speak no lies.
CHORUS
[626] Did he put forth in sight of all from Ilium, or did a storm, distressing all in common, snatch him from the fleet?
HERALD
[628] Like a master bowman you have hit the mark; a long tale of distress have you told in brief.
CHORUS
[630] Did the general voice of other voyagers bring news of him as alive or dead?
HERALD
[632] None knows to give clear report of this — except only the Sun that fosters life upon the earth.
CHORUS
[634] How then do you say rose the storm by the wrath of the gods upon the naval host and passed away?
HERALD
[636] An auspicious day one should not mar with a tale of misfortune — the honor due to the gods keeps them apart. When a messenger with gloomy countenance reports to a people dire disaster of its army’s rout — one common wound inflicted on the State, while from many a home many a victim is devoted to death by the two-handled whip beloved of Ares, destruction double-armed, a gory pair — when, I say, he is packed with woes like this, he should sing the triumph-song of the Avenging Spirits.
[646] But when one comes with glad news of deliverance to a city rejoicing in its happiness — how shall I mix fair with foul in telling of the storm, not unprovoked by the gods’ wrath, that broke upon the Achaeans? For fire and sea, beforehand bitterest of foes, swore alliance and as proof destroyed the unhappy Argive army. In the night-time arose the mischief from the cruel swells. Beneath blasts from Thrace ship dashed against ship; and they, gored violently by the furious hurricane and rush of pelting rain, were swept out of sight by the whirling gust of an evil shepherd. But when the radiant light of the sun rose we beheld the Aegean flowering with corpses of Achaean men and wreckage of ships. Ourselves, however, and our ship, its hull unshattered, some power, divine not human, preserved by stealth or intercession, laying hand upon its helm; and Savior Fortune chose to sit aboard our craft so that it should neither take in the swelling surf at anchorage nor drive upon a rock-bound coast. Then, having escaped death upon the deep, in the clear bright day, scarce crediting our fortune, we brooded in anxious thought over our late mischance, our fleet distressed and sorely buffeted. So now, if any of them still draw the breath of life, they speak of us as lost — and why should they not? We think the same of them. But may all turn out for the best! For Menelaus, indeed; first and foremost expect him to return. At least if some beam of the sun finds him alive and well, by the design of Zeus, who has not yet decided utterly to destroy the race, there is some hope that he
will come home again. Hearing so much, be assured that you hear the truth.
[Exit.]
CHORUS
[681] Who can have given a name so altogether true — was it some power invisible guiding his tongue aright by forecasting of destiny? — who named that bride of the spear and source of strife with the name of Helen? For, true to her name, a Hell she proved to ships, Hell to men, Hell to city, when stepping forth from her delicate and costly-curtained bower, she sailed the sea before the breath of earth-born Zephyrus. And after her a goodly host of warrior huntsmen followed on the oars’ vanished track in pursuit of a quarry that had beached its boat on Simois’ leafy banks — in a strife to end in blood.
[699] To Ilium, its purpose fulfilling, Wrath brought a marriage rightly named a mourning, exacting in later time requital for the dishonor done to hospitality and to Zeus, the partaker of the hearth, upon those who with loud voice celebrated the song in honor of the bride, even the bridegroom’s kin to whom it fell that day to raise the marriage-hymn. But Priam’s city has learned, in her old age, an altered strain, and now, I trust, wails a loud song, full of lamentation, calling Paris “evil-wed”; for she has born the burden of a life in which everything was destroyed, a life full of lamentation because of the wretched slaughter of her sons.
[716] Even so a man reared in his house a lion’s whelp, robbed of its mother’s milk yet still desiring the breast. Gentle it was in the prelude of its life, kindly to children, and a delight to the old. Much did it get, held in arms like a nursling child, with its bright eye turned toward his hand, and fawning under compulsion of its belly’s need.
[727] But brought to full growth by time it showed the nature it had from its parents. Unbidden, as payment for its fostering, it prepared a feast with ruinous slaughter of the flocks; so that the house was defiled with blood, and whose who lived there could not control their anguish, and great was the carnage far and wide. A priest of ruin, by order of a god, it was reared in the house.
[737] At first, I would say, there came to Ilium the spirit of unruffled calm, a delicate ornament of wealth, a darter of soft glances from the eye, love’s flower that stings the heart. Then, swerving from her course, she brought her marriage to a bitter end, sped on to the children of Priam under escort of Zeus, the warder of host and guest, ruining her sojourn and her companions, a vengeful Fury who brought tears to brides.
