Masters of the Theatre

by Delphi Classics

  PROMETHEUS. Ah! by the gods! if only Zeus does not espy me! Where is

  Pisthetaerus?

  PISTHETAERUS. Ha! what is this? A masked man!

  PROMETHEUS. Can you see any god behind me?

  PISTHETAERUS. No, none. But who are you, pray?

  PROMETHEUS. What’s the time, please?

  PISTHETAERUS. The time? Why, it’s past noon. Who are you?

  PROMETHEUS. Is it the fall of day? Is it no later than that?

  PISTHETAERUS. Oh! ‘pon my word! but you grow tiresome!

  PROMETHEUS. What is Zeus doing? Is he dispersing the clouds or gathering them?

  PISTHETAERUS. Take care, lest I lose all patience.

  PROMETHEUS. Come, I will raise my mask.

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah! my dear Prometheus!

  PROMETHEUS. Stop! stop! speak lower!

  PISTHETAERUS. Why, what’s the matter, Prometheus?

  PROMETHEUS. H’sh, h’sh! Don’t call me by my name; you will be my ruin, if Zeus should see me here. But, if you want me to tell you how things are going in heaven, take this umbrella and shield me, so that the gods don’t see me.

  PISTHETAERUS. I can recognize Prometheus in this cunning trick. Come, quick then, and fear nothing; speak on.

  PROMETHEUS. Then listen.

  PISTHETAERUS. I am listening, proceed!

  PROMETHEUS. It’s all over with Zeus.

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah! and since when, pray?

  PROMETHEUS. Since you founded this city in the air. There is not a man who now sacrifices to the gods; the smoke of the victims no longer reaches us. Not the smallest offering comes! We fast as though it were the festival of Demeter. The barbarian gods, who are dying of hunger, are bawling like Illyrians and threaten to make an armed descent upon Zeus, if he does not open markets where joints of the victims are sold.

  PISTHETAERUS. What! there are other gods besides you, barbarian gods who dwell above Olympus?

  PROMETHEUS. If there were no barbarian gods, who would be the patron of

  Execestides?

  PISTHETAERUS. And what is the name of these gods?

  PROMETHEUS. Their name? Why, the Triballi.

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah, indeed! ’tis from that no doubt that we derive the word ‘tribulation.’

  PROMETHEUS. Most likely. But one thing I can tell you for certain, namely, that Zeus and the celestial Triballi are going to send deputies here to sue for peace. Now don’t you treat, unless Zeus restores the sceptre to the birds and gives you Basileia in marriage.

  PISTHETAERUS. Who is this Basileia?

  PROMETHEUS. A very fine young damsel, who makes the lightning for Zeus; all things come from her, wisdom, good laws, virtue, the fleet, calumnies, the public paymaster and the triobolus.

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah! then she is a sort of general manageress to the god.

  PROMETHEUS. Yes, precisely. If he gives you her for your wife, yours will be the almighty power. That is what I have come to tell you; for you know my constant and habitual goodwill towards men.

  PISTHETAERUS. Oh, yes! ’tis thanks to you that we roast our meat.

  PROMETHEUS. I hate the gods, as you know.

  PISTHETAERUS. Aye, by Zeus, you have always detested them.

  PROMETHEUS. Towards them I am a veritable Timon; but I must return in all haste, so give me the umbrella; if Zeus should see me from up there, he would think I was escorting one of the Canephori.

  PISTHETAERUS. Wait, take this stool as well.

  CHORUS. Near by the land of the Sciapodes there is a marsh, from the borders whereof the odious Socrates evokes the souls of men. Pisander came one day to see his soul, which he had left there when still alive. He offered a little victim, a camel, slit his throat and, following the example of Ulysses, stepped one pace backwards. Then that bat of a Chaerephon came up from hell to drink the camel’s blood.

  POSIDON. This is the city of Nephelococcygia, Cloud-cuckoo-town, whither we come as ambassadors. (To Triballus.) Hi! what are you up to? you are throwing your cloak over the left shoulder. Come, fling it quick over the right! And why, pray, does it draggle this fashion? Have you ulcers to hide like Laespodias? Oh! democracy! whither, oh! whither are you leading us? Is it possible that the gods have chosen such an envoy?

  TRIBALLUS. Leave me alone.

  POSIDON. Ugh! the cursed savage! you are by far the most barbarous of all the gods. — Tell me, Heracles, what are we going to do?

  HERACLES. I have already told you that I want to strangle the fellow who has dared to block us in.

  POSIDON. But, my friend, we are envoys of peace.

  HERACLES. All the more reason why I wish to strangle him.

  PISTHETAERUS. Hand me the cheese-grater; bring me the silphium for sauce; pass me the cheese and watch the coals.

  HERACLES. Mortal! we who greet you are three gods.

  PISTHETAERUS. Wait a bit till I have prepared my silphium pickle.

  HERACLES. What are these meats?

  PISTHETAERUS. These are birds that have been punished with death for attacking the people’s friends.

  HERACLES. And you are seasoning them before answering us?

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah! Heracles! welcome, welcome! What’s the matter?

  HERACLES. The gods have sent us here as ambassadors to treat for peace.

  A SERVANT. There’s no more oil in the flask.

  PISTHETAERUS. And yet the birds must be thoroughly basted with it.

  HERACLES. We have no interest to serve in fighting you; as for you, be friends and we promise that you shall always have rain-water in your pools and the warmest of warm weather. So far as these points go we are armed with plenary authority.

  PISTHETAERUS. We have never been the aggressors, and even now we are as well disposed for peace as yourselves, provided you agree to one equitable condition, namely, that Zeus yield his sceptre to the birds. If only this is agreed to, I invite the ambassadors to dinner.

  HERACLES. That’s good enough for me. I vote for peace.

  POSIDON. You wretch! you are nothing but a fool and a glutton. Do you want to dethrone your own father?

  PISTHETAERUS. What an error! Why, the gods will be much more powerful if the birds govern the earth. At present the mortals are hidden beneath the clouds, escape your observation, and commit perjury in your name; but if you had the birds for your allies, and a man, after having sworn by the crow and Zeus, should fail to keep his oath, the crow would dive down upon him unawares and pluck out his eye.

  POSIDON. Well thought of, by Posidon!

  HERACLES. My notion too.

  PISTHETAERUS. (to the Triballian). And you, what’s your opinion?

  TRIBALLUS. Nabaisatreu.

  PISTHETAERUS. D’you see? he also approves. But hear another thing in which we can serve you. If a man vows to offer a sacrifice to some god and then procrastinates, pretending that the gods can wait, and thus does not keep his word, we shall punish his stinginess.

  POSIDON. Ah! ah! and how?

  PISTHETAERUS. While he is counting his money or is in the bath, a kite will relieve him, before he knows it, either in coin or in clothes, of the value of a couple of sheep, and carry it to the god.

  HERACLES. I vote for restoring them the sceptre.

  POSIDON. Ask the Triballian.

  HERACLES. Hi! Triballian, do you want a thrashing?

  TRIBALLUS. Saunaka baktarikrousa.

  HERACLES. He says, “Right willingly.”

  POSIDON. If that be the opinion of both of you, why, I consent too.

  HERACLES. Very well! we accord the sceptre.

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah! I was nearly forgetting another condition. I will leave

  Heré to Zeus, but only if the young Basileia is given me in marriage.

  POSIDON. Then you don’t want peace. Let us withdraw.

  PISTHETAERUS. It matters mighty little to me. Cook, look to the gravy.

  HERACLES. What an odd fellow this Posidon is! Where are you off to? Are we going to war about a woman?

  POSIDON. What
else is there to do?

  HERACLES. What else? Why, conclude peace.

  POSIDON. Oh! the ninny! do you always want to be fooled? Why, you are seeking your own downfall. If Zeus were to die, after having yielded them the sovereignty, you would be ruined, for you are the heir of all the wealth he will leave behind.

  PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by the gods! how he is cajoling you. Step aside, that I may have a word with you. Your uncle is getting the better of you, my poor friend. The law will not allow you an obolus of the paternal property, for you are a bastard and not a legitimate child.

  HERACLES. I a bastard! What’s that you tell me?

  PISTHETAERUS. Why, certainly; are you not born of a stranger woman? Besides, is not Athené recognized as Zeus’ sole heiress? And no daughter would be that, if she had a legitimate brother.

  HERACLES. But what if my father wished to give me his property on his death-bed, even though I be a bastard?

  PISTHETAERUS. The law forbids it, and this same Posidon would be the first to lay claim to his wealth, in virtue of being his legitimate brother. Listen; thus runs Solon’s law: “A bastard shall not inherit, if there are legitimate children; and if there are no legitimate children, the property shall pass to the nearest kin.”

  HERACLES. And I get nothing whatever of the paternal property?

  PISTHETAERUS. Absolutely nothing. But tell me, has your father had you entered on the registers of his phratria?

  HERACLES. No, and I have long been surprised at the omission.

  PISTHETAERUS. What ails you, that you should shake your fist at heaven? Do you want to fight it? Why, be on my side, I will make you a king and will feed you on bird’s milk and honey.

  HERACLES. Your further condition seems fair to me. I cede you the young damsel.

  POSIDON. But I, I vote against this opinion.

  PISTHETAERUS. Then all depends on the Triballian. (To the Triballian.)

  What do you say?

  TRIBALLUS. Big bird give daughter pretty and queen.

  HERACLES. You say that you give her?

  POSIDON. Why no, he does not say anything of the sort, that he gives her; else I cannot understand any better than the swallows.

  PISTHETAERUS. Exactly so. Does he not say she must be given to the swallows?

  POSIDON. Very well! you two arrange the matter; make peace, since you wish it so; I’ll hold my tongue.

  HERACLES. We are of a mind to grant you all that you ask. But come up there with us to receive Basileia and the celestial bounty.

  PISTHETAERUS. Here are birds already cut up, and very suitable for a nuptial feast.

  HERACLES. You go and, if you like, I will stay here to roast them.

  PISTHETAERUS. You to roast them! you are too much the glutton; come along with us.

  HERACLES. Ah! how well I would have treated myself!

  PISTHETAERUS. Let some bring me a beautiful and magnificent tunic for the wedding.

  CHORUS. At Phanae, near the Clepsydra, there dwells a people who have neither faith nor law, the Englottogastors, who reap, sow, pluck the vines and the figs with their tongues; they belong to a barbaric race, and among them the Philippi and the Gorgiases are to be found; ’tis these Englottogastorian Phillippi who introduced the custom all over Attica of cutting out the tongue separately at sacrifices.

  A MESSENGER. Oh, you, whose unbounded happiness I cannot express in words, thrice happy race of airy birds, receive your king in your fortunate dwellings. More brilliant than the brightest star that illumes the earth, he is approaching his glittering golden palace; the sun itself does not shine with more dazzling glory. He is entering with his bride at his side whose beauty no human tongue can express; in his hand he brandishes the lightning, the winged shaft of Zeus; perfumes of unspeakable sweetness pervade the ethereal realms. ’Tis a glorious spectacle to see the clouds of incense wafting in light whirlwinds before the breath of the Zephyr! But here he is himself. Divine Muse! let thy sacred lips begin with songs of happy omen.

  CHORUS. Fall back! to the right! to the left! advance! Fly around this happy mortal, whom Fortune loads with her blessings. Oh! oh! what grace! what beauty! Oh, marriage so auspicious for our city! All honour to this man! ’tis through him that the birds are called to such glorious destinies. Let your nuptial hymns, your nuptial songs, greet him and his Basileia! ’Twas in the midst of such festivities that the Fates formerly united Olympian Here to the King who governs the gods from the summit of his inaccessible throne. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus! Rosy Eros with the golden wings held the reins and guided the chariot; ’twas he, who presided over the union of Zeus and the fortunate Heré. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus!

  PISTHETAERUS. I am delighted with your songs, I applaud your verses. Now celebrate the thunder that shakes the earth, the flaming lightning of Zeus and the terrible flashing thunderbolt.

  CHORUS. Oh, thou golden flash of the lightning! oh, ye divine shafts of flame, that Zeus has hitherto shot forth! Oh, ye rolling thunders, that bring down the rain! ’Tis by the order of our king that ye shall now stagger the earth! Oh, Hymen! ’tis through thee that he commands the universe and that he makes Basileia, whom he has robbed from Zeus, take her seat at his side. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus!

  PISTHETAERUS. Let all the winged tribes of our fellow-citizens follow the bridal couple to the palace of Zeus and to the nuptial couch! Stretch forth your hands, my dear wife! Take hold of me by my wings and let us dance; I am going to lift you up and carry you through the air.

  CHORUS. Oh, joy! Io Paean! Tralala! victory is thine, oh, thou greatest of the gods!

  AGAMEMNON by Seneca the Younger

  c. AD 65

  Translated by Frank Justus Miller

  CONTENTS

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  AGAMEMNON

  This play was taken from our Complete Works edition:

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  AGAMEMNON, king of Argos, and leader of all the Greeks in their war against Troy.

  GHOST OF THYESTES, returned to earth to urge on his son to the vengeance which he was born to accomplish.

  AEGISTHUS, son of Thyestes by an incestuous union with his daughter; paramour of Clytemnestra.

  CHORUS of Argive women.

  EURYBATES, messenger of Agamemnon.

  CASSANDRA, daughter of Priam, captive of Agamemnon.

  ELECTRA, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.

  STROPHIUS, king of Phocis.

  ORESTES, son of Agamemnon (persona muta).

  PYLADES, son of Strophius (persona muta).

  BAND of captive Trojan women.

  THE SCENE is laid partly within and partly without the palace of Agamemnon at Argos or Mycenae, on the day of the return of the king from his long absence at Troy, beginning in the period of darkness just preceding the dawn.

  ARGUMENT

  The blood-feud between Atreus and Thyestes was not ended with the terrible vengeance which Atreus wreaked upon his brother. It was yet in fate that Thyestes should live to beget upon his own daughter a son, Aegisthus, who should slay Atreus and bring ruin and death upon the great Atrides, Agamemnon.

  The Trojan war is done. And now the near approach of the victorious king, bringing his captives and treasure home to Argos, has been announced. But little does he dream to what a home he is returning. For Clytemnestra, enraged at Agamemnon because he had sacrificed her daughter Iphigenia at Aulis to appease the winds, and full of jealousy because he brings Cassandra as her rival home, estranged also by the long-continued absence of her lord, but most estranged by her own guilty union with Aegisthus, is now plotting to slay her husband on his return, gaining thus at once revenge and safety from his wrath.

  AGAMEMNON

  GHOST OF THYESTES

  [1] Leaving the murky regions of infernal Dis, I come, sent forth from Tartarus’ deep pit, doubting which world I hate the more – Thyestes flees the lower, the upper he puts to flight. Lo, my spirit shudders, my limbs quake with fear; I see my father’s, nay more, my brother’s house. This is the anc
ient seat of Pelops’ line; here ’tis the custom of the Pelasgians to crown their kings; on the this throne sit high lords whose proud hands wield the sceptre; here is their council-chamber – here they feast.

  [12] Fain would I turn me back. Is it not better to haunt even the gloomy pools, better to gaze upon the guardian of the Styx, tossing his three-fold neck with sable mane? where one, his body bound on the swift-flying wheel, is whirled back upon himself; where vain uphill toil is mocked as the stone rolls ever backward; where a greedy bird tears at the liver constantly renewed; and the old man, thirst-parched midst waters, catches at fleeting waves with cheated lips, doomed to pay dearly for the banquet of the gods. But how small a part of my offence is his? Let us take count of all whom for their impious deeds the Cretan judge with whirling urn condemns; all of them by my crimes shall I, Thyestes, conquer. But by my brother shall I be conquered, full of my three sons buried in me; my own flesh have I consumed.

  [28] Nor thus far only has Fortune defiled the sire, but, daring greater crime than that committed, she bade him seek his daughter’s incestuous embrace. Fearlessly and to the dregs did I drain her bidding, but ’twas an impious thing I did. And therefore, that a father’s power might extend o’er all his children, my daughter, forced by fate, bore child to me, worthy to call me father. Nature has been confounded; father with grandsire, yea, monstrous! husband with father, grandsons with sons, have I confused – day with night.

  [37] But at length, though late and coming after death, the promise of dim prophecy is fulfilled to me, worn with my woes; that king of kings, that leader of leaders, Agamemnon, following whose banner a thousand ships once covered the Trojan waters with their sails, now that, after ten courses of Phoebus, Ilium is o’erthrown, now is he near at hand – to give his throat into his wife’s power. Now, now shall this house swim in blood other than mine; swords, axes, spears, a king’s head cleft with the axe’s heavy stroke, I see; now crimes are near, now treachery, slaughter, gore – feasts are being spread. The author of thy birth has come, Aegisthus. Why dost hang thy head in shame? Why doth thy trembling hand, doubtful of purpose, fall? Why doest take counsel with thyself, why turn the question o’er and o’er whether this deed become thee? Think on thy mother; it becomes thee well.