Agamemnon

Aeschylus

Aeschylus, Volume 2. Smyth, Herbert Weir, translator. London; New York: William Heinemann; G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1926.

  1. But I will not be angry, since I pity her.
  2. Come, unhappy one, leave the car; yield to necessity and take upon you this novel yoke.
Cassandra
  1. Woe, woe, woe! O Apollo, O Apollo!
Chorus
  1. Wherefore your cry of woe in Loxias’ name?
  2. He is not the kind of god that has to do with mourners.
Cassandra
  1. Woe, woe, woe! O Apollo, O Apollo!
Chorus
  1. Once more with ill-omened words she cries to the god who should not be present at times of lamentation.
Cassandra
  1. Apollo, Apollo! God of the Ways,[*](Cassandra sees an image of Apollo, the protector on journeys, close to the door leading to the street (ἀγυιά).)my destroyer! For you have destroyed me—and utterly—this second time.[*](Ἀπόλλων is here derived from Ἀπόλλυμι, destroy—nomen omen. The god had destroyed her the first time in making vain his gift of prophecy (1209 ff.); whereby she became the object of derision in Troy.)
Chorus
  1. I think that she is about to prophesy about her own miseries. The divine gift still abides even in the soul of one enslaved.
Cassandra
  1. Apollo, Apollo! God of the Ways, my destroyer! Ah, what way is this that you have brought me! To what a house!
Chorus
  1. To that of Atreus’ sons. If you do not perceive this, I’ll tell it to you. And you shall not say that it is untrue.
Cassandra
  1. No, no, rather to a god-hating house, a house that knows many a horrible butchery of kin, a slaughter-house of men and a floor swimming with blood.
Chorus
  1. The stranger seems keen-scented as a hound; she is on the trail where she will discover blood.
Cassandra
  1. Here is the evidence in which I put my trust! Behold those babies bewailing their own butchery and their roasted flesh eaten by their father!
Chorus
  1. Your fame to read the future had reached our ears; but we have no need of prophets here.
Cassandra
  1. Alas, what can she be planning[*](A play on the name Κλυταιμήστρα(μήδομαι).)? What is this fresh woe she contrives here within, what monstrous, monstrous horror, beyond love’s enduring, beyond all remedy? And help[*](Menelaus (cp. l. 674) or Orestes.)stands far away!
Chorus
  1. These prophesyings pass my comprehension; but those I understood—the whole city rings with them.
Cassandra
  1. Ah, damned woman, will you do this thing? Your husband, the partner of your bed, when you have cheered him with the bath, will you—how shall I tell the end?
  2. Soon it will be done. Now this hand, now that, she stretches forth!
Chorus
  1. Not yet do I comprehend; for now, after riddles, I am bewildered by dark oracles.