Agamemnon

Aeschylus

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

  1. Listen then to this too, this the righteous sanction on my oath: by Justice, exacted for my child, by Ate, by the Avenging Spirit, to whom I sacrificed that man, hope does not tread for me the halls of fear,
  2. so long as the fire upon my hearth is kindled by Aegisthus, loyal in heart to me as in days gone by. For he is no slight shield of confidence to me. Here lies the man who did me wrong, plaything of each Chryseis at Ilium;
  3. and here she lies, his captive, and auguress, and concubine, his oracular faithful whore, yet equally familiar with the seamen’s benches. The pair has met no undeserved fate. For he lies thus; while she, who, like a swan,
  4. has sung her last lament in death, lies here, his beloved; but to me she has brought for my bed an added relish of delight.
Chorus
  1. Alas! Ah that some fate, free from excess of suffering, nor yet with lingering bed of pain,
  2. might come full soon and bring to us everlasting and endless sleep, now that our most gracious guardian has been laid low, who in a woman’s cause had much endured and by a woman’s hand has lost his life.
  1. O mad Helen, who did yourself alone destroy these many lives, these lives exceeding many, beneath the walls of Troy. Now you have bedecked yourself with your final crown, that shall long last in memory,
  2. because of blood not to be washed away. Truly in those days strife, an affliction that has subdued its lord, dwelt in the house.
Clytaemestra
  1. Do not burden yourself with thoughts such as these, nor invoke upon yourself the fate of death. Nor yet turn your wrath upon Helen,
  2. and deem her a slayer of men, as if she alone had destroyed many a Danaan life and had wrought anguish past all cure.
Chorus
  1. O Fiend who falls upon this house and Tantalus’ two descendants,[*](Agamemnon and Menelaus.)
  2. you who by the hands of women exert a rule matching their temper, a rule bitter to my soul! Perched over his body like a hateful raven, in hoarse notes she chants her song of triumph.
Clytaemestra
  1. Now you have corrected the judgment of your lips in that you name the thrice-gorged Fiend of this race. For by him the lust for lapping blood is fostered in the mouth; so before
  2. the ancient wound is healed, fresh blood is spilled.
Chorus
  1. Truly you speak of a mighty Fiend, haunting the house, and heavy in his wrath (alas, alas!)—an evil tale of catastrophic fate insatiate;
  2. woe, woe, done by will of Zeus, author of all, worker of all! For what is brought to pass for mortal men save by will of Zeus? What herein is not wrought of god?
  1. Alas, alas, my King, my King,
  2. how shall I bewail you? How voice my heartfelt love for you? To lie in this spider’s web, breathing forth your life in an impious death! Ah me, to lie on this ignoble bed, struck down in treacherous death wrought
  3. by a weapon of double edge wielded by the hand of your own wife!
Clytaemestra
  1. Do you affirm this deed is mine? Do not imagine that I am Agamemnon’s spouse.