Agamemnon

The sense of difficulty, and indeed awe, with which a scholar approaches the task of translating the Agamemnon comes directly from its greatness as poetry. It's partly about the choice of words. The language of Aeschylus is something extraordinary, with stiff and simple syntax, and a vocabulary that’s obscure, unexpected, and full of beauty. Its unique features can’t be ignored, or the translation will lose its essence. Yet, not even Milton could capture the same rich music in English, and a translator who ambitiously tries to convey the complex effect of the original would hinder their own ability to express themselves and might break their creative instrument under the strain. However, beyond the choice of words in a narrow sense, there’s a certain atmosphere surrounding the Agamemnon that seems almost impossible to recreate in a different context, largely because it relies on the play’s place in the historical evolution of Greek literature.

If we consider that all art, and Greek tragedy in particular, evolves from religion to entertainment, moving from a service to a performance, the Agamemnon seems to be at a critical point where the balance of these two aspects is almost perfect. The drama is fully alive, but the religious elements haven't faded into mere formality yet. Unlike Aeschylus' Suppliant Women, which feels like a statue only partially shaped from stone, the Agamemnon is a genuine play that showcases conflicts of character and situations, suspense and movement, along with psychological depth and nuance. Yet, it remains something beyond just a play. Its atmosphere feels somewhat otherworldly. Especially in the lengthy lyrical sections, it seems the driving force isn't just the entertainer's desire to captivate an audience, nor solely the pure artist's aim to create beauty, but something more profound and prophetic—a passionate contemplation and expression of truth; although this truth is something felt rather than explicitly stated, an essence that infuses life, an eternal and majestic rhythm akin to the movement of the stars.

So, if Longinus is correct in defining Sublimity as “the essence, or resonance, of greatness of spirit,” we can start to understand where the sublimity of the Agamemnon comes from. It's also important to note that the flaws some critics have pointed out in the play align with this idea. The sublimity that comes from a religious background allows for some flaws while completely rejecting others. The Agamemnon might be slow to get started; it might feel rigid due to old-fashioned conventions. However, it never comes across as cheap, insincere, shallow, sentimental, or showy. It consistently remains a true “critique of life.” The theme it explores, for instance, is significant in its own right; it isn’t just a contrived story cleverly presented.

The trilogy of the Oresteia, which this play is the first part of, focuses on the old and endlessly unresolved issue of

The old blinded desire for revenge and the harm that tries to fix harm.

Every wrong gets justly punished; yet, as things stand, each punishment turns into a new wrong that demands more revenge. Moreover, every wrong is actually rooted in some ancient wrongdoing. It is never without cause, never without temptation from Peitho (Persuasion), never simply evil. The Oresteia first reveals the cycle where one crime leads to another, requiring retaliation, and then looks for a glimmer of hope, a way to break the endless cycle of “evil duty.” In the old order of the world and the heavens, such a way out didn’t exist. Each act called for a counteract and had to do so ad infinitum. However, according to Aeschylus, there's a new Ruler in heaven now—one who has both sinned and suffered and, through that experience, become wise. He is Zeus the Third Power, Zeus the Savior, and his gift to humanity is the capacity to Learn through suffering (pp. 7 f.)

At the beginning of the Agamemnon, we see Clytemnestra distanced from her husband and secretly allied with his ancestral enemy, Aigisthos. The atmosphere is thick and pulsating with hatred; a hatred that is wrong but has its valid reasons. Agamemnon, following the prophet Calchas, had sacrificed his own daughter, Iphigenîa, when the fleet was stuck in a storm at Aulis. If we wonder how a sane man could agree to such an act, we learn about his gradual temptation; the deadly justification provided by ancient superstition; and above all, the fact that he had already internally accepted the terrible reality to which this horror belonged. At the start of his expedition against Troy, an omen had appeared: the bloody sight of two eagles feasting on a mother hare and her unborn young… The question was posed to the kings and their prophet: Did they or did they not accept the omen, and did they want to be those eagles? They answered yes. They wanted their revenge, their complete and ultimate victory, and were willing to pay the price. Once the sign was accepted, the prophet recoiled from the consequences he foresaw; yet the decision was made, and the long history of cruelty continued, leading to the triumphant sack of Troy, which became not an assertion of justice but a storm of godless destruction. Amid all these actions of fierce beasts and angry men, the unseen Pity remained alive and watchful, the Artemis who “abhors the Eagles’ feast,” the “Apollo or Pan or Zeus” who hears the cries of the robbed vulture; indeed, even if the gods were deaf, the sheer “wrong of the dead” at Troy might awaken, searching for some retribution against the “Slayer of Many Men” (pp. 15, 20).

If we ask why men are so blind, pursuing their own well-being through constant wrongdoing, Aeschylus would say the cause is the lingering effects of old sins and cruelties. There’s no doubt there’s a первооткрыватель Ате, a “first blind act of wrongdoing,” but in reality, every wrong stems from another. The Children of Atreus are completely engulfed in them. When the prophetess Cassandra, initially overwhelmed by the horrors of the cursed House, starts to form a clearer picture, the first thing that haunts her is the sound of two little children crying, killed long ago in a conflict that wasn’t theirs. From that moment, more than any other, the spirit or force of the House—more than its “Luck,” slightly less than its Guardian Angel—turns into an Alastor or embodied Curse, a “Red Slayer” that constantly cries out for peace and purification, but can only pursue them in the same blind manner, through vengeance, and when that fails, then through even more vengeance (p. 69).

This terrible idea of a race focused on its own grievances, and blindly moving toward the very danger it's trying to escape, is exemplified, so to speak, in the story of Cassandra. Priam's daughter was loved by Apollo, who gave her the gift of accurate prophecy. For reasons we don’t fully understand, she broke her promise to the God; and since his gift couldn't be taken back, he added a curse that, while she would always foresee and tell the truth, no one would believe her. The scene with Cassandra is something beyond praise or criticism. The old scholar talks about the “pity and amazement” it evokes. The Elders who speak with her want to believe, they try to understand, and they are genuinely convinced of Cassandra’s abilities. But the curse is too powerful. The crucial thing Cassandra repeatedly tries to convey always slips through their fingers, and they are unable to do anything to prevent the disaster from occurring. And when it finally happens, they describe themselves as weak and very old, “dreams wandering in the daylight.”

The characters in this play seem to emerge from the theme and, despite their dramatic depth, carry a deeper meaning that is almost symbolic. Cassandra represents that knowledge which Herodotus describes as the crown of sorrow—the kind of knowledge that sees and warns but can't help (Hdt. ix. 16). Agamemnon, the King of Kings, both triumphant and doomed, symbolizes pride and its downfall. We shouldn't think of him as evil or particularly cruel. The watchman loved him (ll. 34 f.), and the Elders' laments over his death convey a sense of personal affection (pp. 66 ff.). However, I believe Aeschylus, who believed in the mystical significance of names, intended for the name Agamemnon to serve as a warning that Ἄγα μίμνει, “the unseen Wrath abides.” Agâ, in this case, is not exactly wrath; it's more akin to Nemesis, the feeling that something is ἄγαν, “too much,” which condemns Hubris (pride or excess) and anything that goes beyond moderation. Agâ is sometimes referred to as “the jealousy of God,” but that translation misses the mark. It’s not the jealousy or even the indignation of a personal God but the deep rejection and counteraction of Hubris, which is the fundamental law of the Cosmos. Even amidst all the triumph of the conqueror, this Agâ persists.

The most profound and relatable character in the entire play is Clytemnestra. She’s portrayed on a grand Aeschylean scale that even makes Lady Macbeth and Beatrice Cenci look insignificant; she’s more akin to Brynhild. But she’s not just rich in character; she also has a complex psychology. She’s the first and most prominent example of that longtime tragic stage staple, the sympathetic, or partially sympathetic, heroine-criminal. Aeschylus doesn’t use any tricks that later playwrights would to make her compelling. There are no love scenes or clever arguments; instead, he allows us to see things from Clytemnestra’s perspective and to feel her emotions. The intense moment of silent prayer in which we initially see her helps us understand her speeches when they arrive, yet each speech requires careful analysis. She can’t express her true feelings or be honest until Agamemnon is dead; after that, she’s almost deranged.

I believe there’s a point here that hasn’t been noticed. Clytemnestra is really seen as “possessed” by the spirit of the House when she carries out her crime. Her comments on p. 69 aren’t just empty words. A close look at the scene after the murder reveals that she initially appears “possessed” and almost mad with triumph, completely dominating the Elders and leaving them powerless to respond. Gradually, the unnatural energy fades away from her. What started as a moment of overwhelming joy turns into an “affliction” (pp. 72, 76). The strength that once challenged the world wanes and shifts into a desire for peace. She has accomplished her task. She has cleansed the House of its madness; now she just wants to step away and live her life in peace. When Aigisthos shows up, and the scene suddenly becomes filled with the bickering of ordinary men, Clytemnestra falls into a long silence, only emerging at the very end of the drama to once more pray for peace, and strangely enough, to urge: “Let us not stain ourselves with blood!” The mark of her husband’s blood was still on her face at that moment. Had she actually forgotten in her trance-like state, or did she, even then, not see that blood as a stain?

To some readers, it might seem a bit irrelevant, or at least a dilution of the emotional intensity of this tragedy, to point out that the theme it’s based on was also the central theme of both Greek Tragedy and Greek Religion. The fall from Pride and the cycle of revenge is not a new topic chosen by Aeschylus. It’s the most common theme in the moralizing lyrics of Greek tragedy and even within the tragic myths themselves; recent writers have shown how this idea is central to traditional Greek religion. “The life of the Year-Daemon, who is the foundation of many Greek gods and heroes, is generally a tale of Pride and Punishment. Each year comes around, grows strong, commits the sin of Hubris, and must inevitably die. It’s the nature of all life. As an early philosopher stated, “All things receive retribution for their injustices toward one another according to the order of Time.”^[1]

To me, this idea actually makes the interest and beauty of the Oresteia even greater because it enhances its significance. The grand art, the creative genius, and the instinctive eloquence of these plays—that same eloquence that frustrates a translator—are all dedicated to expressing something Aeschylus believed was incredibly important. It wasn’t his invention; rather, it was a truth he felt deeply. It became something he needed to convey with all his might before he passed away, not to assert himself or to argue like a discoverer, but as someone committed to something higher and greater than himself, in the spirit of an interpreter or prophet.

[1] See my Four Stages of Greek Religion, p. 47. Cornford, From Religion to Philosophy, Chapter I. Check out the excellent sections on the Agamemnon in the same author’s Thucydides Mythistoricus, pp. 144, ff. (E. Arnold 1907). G. M.

AGAMEMNON, son of Atreus and King of Argos and Mycenae; Commander-in-Chief of the Greek armies in the war against Troy.

CLYTEMNESTRA, daugher of Tyndareus, sister of Helen; wife of Agamemnon.

AIGISTHOS, son of Thyestes, cousin and sworn enemy of Agamemnon, and lover of Clytemnestra.

CASSANDRA, daughter of Priam, King of Troy, a prophet; now a slave to Agamemnon.

A WATCHMAN.
A HERALD.
CHORUS of Argive Elders, loyal to AGAMEMNON.

MENELAUS, brother of Agamemnon, husband of Helen, and King of Sparta.
The two sons of Atreus are known as the Atreidae.

HELEN, the most beautiful woman; daughter of Tyndareus, wife of MENELAUS; cherished and taken away by Paris.

PARIS, son of Priam, King of Troy, lover of Helen.
Also known as ALEXANDER.

PRIAM, the old King of Troy.

The Greeks are also known as Achaians, Argives, and Danaans; Troy is also called Ilion.

The play was produced during Philocles' time as archon (458 B.C.). The first prize went to Aeschylus for "Agamemnon", "Libation-Bearers", "Eumenides", and the Satyr Play "Proteus".

The Scene shows a space in front of Agamemnon's Palace in Argos, with an Altar of Zeus in the center and many other altars on the sides. A WATCHMAN is standing on a high terrace of the roof. It’s night.

WATCHMAN.
This waste of a year-long vigil I have prayed
to God for some relief, watching with my elbows propped,
like sleuthhounds watch, above the Atreidae’s hall,
until I clearly know that midnight festival
of swarming stars, and those who wander alone,
bearers to mankind of both summer and snow,
great lords shining, throned in heavenly fire.
And still I wait for the sign, the beacon fire
that announces Troy’s capture with a voice of flame
shouting across the sea. So surely, to her aim
pierces a woman’s heart, a heart driven by passion!
And when I turn to my bed—my bed
drenched in dew and dark and hard to navigate, to which nearby
comes no dream nor sleep, but always Fear
breathes around it, warning, lest an eye once eager
to close may close too well to wake again;
I think perhaps to sing or hum a tune
for comfort against sleep; the music soon
turns to sighing for the story untold
of this house, not well managed like before.
However, may God still send us rest, and light
the flame of good news flashed across the night.

[He is quiet, observing. Suddenly, in the distance at night, there's a flicker of fire that quickly grows into a blaze.]

Ha!
O spark of the night, O birth of daylight
At dawn, dancing on Argive land
For this great purpose! All hail!—What's happening inside?
What’s up! Tell Agamemnon’s queen
To rise, like the dawn, and respond strong
With her women’s victory song to this joyful light,
If indeed, truly, the citadel of Ilion
Has fallen, as those flaming beacons indicate.
And I will dance before
Everyone else; for my master’s fate has rolled
In my favor, and tonight I’ve scored three sixes.

[Lights start to appear in the Palace.]

Oh, good or bad, my hand will hold again
My dear lord’s hand, coming back! Beyond that
I say nothing. A heavy weight has settled
On my tongue. But these stone walls know well,
If stones could talk, what stories they would share.
For me, to him who knows, I can still
Speak; if someone else asks, I forget.

[Exit into the Palace. The women’s “Ololûgê” or triumph-cry, is heard inside and then repeated over and over from farther away in the City. Handmaids and Attendants come from the Palace, carrying torches, with which they light incense on the altars. Among them comes CLYTEMNESTRA, who kneels at the central Altar in a desperate prayer.]

[Right now, from the other side of the open area, the CHORUS of ELDERS slowly comes into view and takes their place in front of the Palace. The day is starting to break.]

CHORUS.
It’s been ten years since the just enemies of Troy,
The strong Atreidae,
Menelaus and Agamemnon stood up,
Two thrones, two scepters, united by God;
And a thousand ships from Argos sailed
The seas to right the wrongs;
And the battle’s fury echoed around them,
Like the cries of vultures,
Whose nest has been raided, and they take off
In lonely anguish, spiraling wide,
With their big wings like oars in the empty sky,
Their job taken from them, no longer to guard
The sleeping vulture chicks.
But there is One above who hears,
Whether it’s Pan or Zeus, or some lost Apollo—
That sharp, bird-like cry of pain
From the stranger wronged in God’s own realm;
And sends down, for the law that’s been broken,
The Wrath of the Feet that follow.

So Zeus, the Watcher of Friend and Friend,
Zeus who Prevails, later on
For One Loved by Many Men
Sent Paris the two Atreidae;
Yes, he sent him dances before the end
For his wedding celebration,
Heavy wrestling and exhausted limbs
For Greek and Trojan, kneeling to the ground,
The bloody dust and the broken spear.
He knows that what is here is here,
And that what Shall Be is close behind;
He seeks God with great desire,
He piles up his gifts, he tries to light his pyre
With a torch below and oil above,
With tears, but the anger will never move
The cold Altar that rejects his fire.

We watched the Avengers leave that day,
And they abandoned us here; our bodies are worn
And no longer useful; these sticks support
A strength like that of a child just having fun.
For the energy that rises in a young man’s hand
And the courage of age, they’ve vanished from the land.
And the elderly, while the dead leaves blow
And the old staff feels its way just three feet,
Weak as a baby, walks on alone,
A dream left wandering in the daylight.

[Coming near the Central Altar they see CLYTEMNESTRA, who is still deep in prayer.]

But you, O daughter of Tyndareus,
Queen Clytemnestra, what’s going on? What’s the news?
What story or message has upset you
So much that you’ve sent word all around
For furious worship? For every god
That protects the city, the deep, the high,
Gods of the marketplace, gods of the sky,
The altars are blazing.
One here, one there,
To the night sky the firebrands are flaring,
Drunk with the soft and innocent spell
Of the king's balm from the innermost chamber.
Tell us, O Queen, and don’t hold back,
Everything that can or should be said,
And be the healer for this aching thought,
Which sometimes hovers, evil and cold,
And then from the fires you light
Will Hope be kindled, and anxious Care
Fall back for a little while, without tearing
The heart that beats beneath my breast.

[CLYTEMNESTRA rises quietly, as if unaware of their presence, and enters the House. The CHORUS takes their places and begins their first Stasimon, or Standing-song,]

CHORUS.
(The sign spotted along the path; Eagles shredding a hare with their young.)

It’s our story to share about the Sign of the War-way given,
To stronger men,
(For a life that's similar to ours yet has a heavenly essence
A charm, a Power of Song:)
How the dual might of Achaia, one Crown split
Above all Greeks that exist,
With a vengeful hand and spear directed at Troy
By the Bird of War.
It was a King among birds to all the Kings of the Sea,
One black Eagle, one black but with a fire-white tail,
By the House, on the Spear-hand, positioned for everyone to see;
And they ripped apart a hare, and the life within her womb that was growing,
Yes, the life that was never lived and the journeys never taken they ended.
Sorrow, sing sorrow: but good triumph, triumph!

(How Calchas interpreted the sign; his Vision of the Future.)

And the wise War-seer, as he looked at the Atreid Yoke, With his dual nature, understood Those fierce warriors, the leaders of his army; and spoke, Interpreting the omen correctly. “At last, this Hunt is bringing Ilion down, Yes, and before the wall A brutal split between land and city Will destroy everything; If only God’s gaze doesn’t darken against our gates, And if the great War-restrainer of Troy doesn’t fail. For Pity lives, and she despises those winged Hounds, Who tore the unborn creature from the Trembler’s body. And Artemis loathes the eagles’ feast.” Sorrow, sing sorrow: but good prevail, prevail!

(He prays to Artemis to make the Sign come true, but as his vision grows clearer, he gets scared and calls on Paian, the Healer, to keep her away.)

“You beautiful one, you gentle lover
Of the fresh breath of the Lion’s child;
You are the joy, through the den and cover,
Of the young life at the wild’s breast,
Yet, oh, fulfill, fulfill the sign of the Eagles’ Kill!
Let the vision be accepted, even if it’s terrible….
But I-ê, I-ê! Hold her back, O Paian, hold!
For behold, upon other evils her heart is set,
Long stretches of wind, a ship at sea untraveled,
On, on, until another shedding of blood is done:
They kill but do not feast; they pray not; the law is broken;
Conflict in the flesh, and the bride does not obey,
And beyond, beyond that, wrath awakens—
It plots, it haunts the house, yes, it never forgets—
Wrath for a child to come.”
So Calchas, interpreting the eagles’ sign,
Spoke to the Kings, blessings and words of doom;
And like his song may yours be,
Sorrow, sing sorrow: but good prevail, prevail!

(This religion is tied to old and savage gods, and offers no peace. I look to Zeus, who has taught humanity how to Learn through Suffering.)

Zeus! Zeus, whate’er He be,
If this name He loves to hear,
This is what I will call Him.
Searching earth, sea, and sky.

Refuge I can find nowhere
Except in Him, if I can clear
My mind before it fades away
From the weight of this emptiness.

One who ruled long ago,
Filled with anger to challenge and destroy,
Look, his name is no longer spoken!
And those who followed eventually
Met his Third-thrower, and are gone.
Only those whose hearts have felt
Zeus, the Victor and the Companion,
Will achieve the end of their vision;

Zeus the Guide, who made people turn
Towards thought, Zeus, who decided
That man shall learn through suffering.
So the heart of him, once more
Aching with remembered pain,
Bleeds and cannot sleep, until
Wisdom arrives against his will.
It’s the gift of One through struggle
Raised to the throne of life.

(AGAMEMNON accepted the sign. Then there was a long delay and a storm while the fleet was at Aulis.)

So that day the Elder Lord,
Marshal of the Achaian ships,
Did not fight against the prophet’s word,
He accepted his fate's downfall,
When with empty jars and parched lips
And seas they couldn't cross,
Fate struck that Greek army,
Facing Chalcis as it rested,
By Aulis in the swirling bay.

(Finally, Calchas replied that Artemis was angry and demanded the death of AGAMEMNON’S daughter. The King’s uncertainty and sorrow.)

And winds, winds blew from Strymon River,
Unmoored, starving, winds of futile effort,
Blinding to men, merciless to bond and barrier,
And the waste of days stretched out, even longer,
Until the flower of Argos was shocked and faded;
Then through the storm rose the War-seer’s song,
Which spoke of a remedy that could calm the storm,
But make the Princes yield to an even greater wrong.
Then “Artemis” he whispered, he named the name;
And the brother Kings trembled in their hearts,
And struck the earth with their staffs, and tears fell.

But the King, the older one, has found his voice and spoken:
“A terrible fate, for sure, if it goes against God’s will;
But to kill my own child, who brings joy to my house,
Isn’t that a heavy burden? That her blood should spill
On her father’s hand, right next to an altar?
My path is filled with sorrow wherever I go.
Will Agamemnon let his ships and people down,
And will the troops of Greece dissolve like snow?
They cry out, they’re desperate, for a death that will break the curse,
For a Virgin’s blood: ’tis a rite of old, they say.
And they burn with desire.—Oh God, may the end be good!”

(But his ambition pushed him, until he agreed to the terrible act of killing his daughter, Iphigenia, as a sacrifice.)

To the heavy burden of what must be, he bowed slowly,
And a strange wind stirred within him,
A wind of dark thoughts, unclean and unholy;
And he stood up, daring to the extreme.
For people are emboldened by their ignorance, wandering
Towards base desires, which lead to regret later,
And are, in themselves, a source of grief;
So this man steeled himself for the killing of his own child,
As a way to take revenge for a woman's laughter
And to bring his ships some relief!

Her "Father, Father," her sad cry that lingered,
Her innocent heart's breath they treated as if it didn't matter,
Those bronze-clad witnesses, hungry for battle;
And there they prayed, and once the prayer was done
He ordered the young men to lift and bind her,
Like you would lift a wild kid, high above the altar,
Fiercely huddled together, fallen, clinging tight
To the robe that wrapped her; yes, he commands them to stop
The sweet mouth’s voice, the cries that stumble,
—His curse forevermore!—

With violence and the silent anger of the curb.
She threw her saffron stole to the ground,
And her eye, struck by an arrow of compassion, found its way
To the heart of every man who killed:
A face in a painting, struggling in disbelief;
The little girl who danced at her father's table,
The innocent voice that love never approached,
Who added her small song of joy
When the third cup was poured….

What happened next, I didn’t see nor can I recount.
But Calchas’s skill didn’t fail.—It's written, He
Who Suffers Will Learn; the rule stands strong.
And what’s meant to be,
You will eventually understand; why cry before the time?
For it will come, just like dawn breaks from night.
Only may good arise from all this evil;
So prays this Heart of Argos, this frail tower
Guarding the land alone.

[As they finish, CLYTEMNESTRA comes out of the Palace with Attendants. She has completed her prayer and sacrifice, and is now pumped up to confront her husband. The Leader approaches her.]

LEADER.
Before your presence, O Queen, I lower my gaze.
It’s said that when a man’s throne is empty,
The woman should be honored.—Have you heard
Any reliable news? Or is it just Hope that’s ignited
These altars? Even though we long
To know, it’s up to you to share or to remain silent.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Glad-voiced, the old saying goes, comes this morning,
The star-child born from a dancing midnight,
And brings to your ear a word of joy
Beyond all hope: the Greeks have taken Troy.

LEADER.
How?
Your words go right over my head; they're unbelievable.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Troy is ours. I'm not speaking in riddles.

LEADER.
Such joy arrives right at the door of sadness.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Yes, it's a loyal heart that the eye reveals.

LEADER.
What reason do you have? Is there any evidence for this?

CLYTEMNESTRA.
There is; unless a God has lied, there is.

LEADER.
Did some figure from your dreams come to you while talking?

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Who thinks I'm a fool with sleepy eyes?

LEADER.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Am I a fool to listen to stuff like this?

LEADER.
Troy has fallen?—But for how long? When did it fall, tell me?

CLYTEMNESTRA.
The very night that gave birth to this new day.

LEADER.
And which herald arrived with such anger?

CLYTEMNESTRA.
A fire god from Mount Ida scattering flames.
From where it started, beacon after beacon burst
In fiery messages heading this way. Ida first
Signaled to Hermes’ Lemnian Rock, whose response
Was spotted by towering Athos, the divine,
With massive pines—yes, the night’s fish
Swam skyward, intoxicated by that leaping light,
Which grew like some strange sun, until dim and far
Makistos’ watchmen saw a twinkling star;
They, neither reluctant nor drowsy,
Jumped up to send the fiery message on,
And a distant light beyond the Eurîpus told
That the news had reached Messapion’s sentinels.
They signaled back, then onward with a high
Heap of dead heather blazing to the sky.
And onward still, not faltering or faint,
Across the Asôpus like a shining moon
The great news jumped, and on Kithairon’s height
Awoke a new relay of racing light.
His watchers recognized the wandering flame, nor did
They hide their welcome, blazing higher than expected.
Out over Lake Gorgôpis then it floated,
To Aigiplanctos, waking the wild goats,
Crying for “Fire, more Fire!” And fire was raised,
Endless and high, a stormy, flowing beard,
That waved in flames beyond the rocky promontory
Watching the Saronian sea,
Lighting up the night: then one quick swoop to catch
The Spider’s Crag, our city’s watch tower;
From there it came to the Atreidae’s roof,
A light truly born of Idaean flame.
Torch-bearer after torch-bearer, look
At the story in many stages,
Each one made perfect before it passed,
And Victory in the first as in the last.
These are my proofs and signs that my lord
From Troy has spoken to me a burning word.

LEADER.
Woman, go ahead and speak. From now on, my prayers
Will be directed to God; for now, just let me listen,
Again and fully, to the wonder and the joy.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Right now, the Achaean holds Troy!
I feel like there's a cry in the streets
That brings no harmony. When sweet perfume mixes
With vinegar in one bottle, I bet no one
Can bring those arguing together in love.
So you'll hear the conquerors and the conquered,
Two divided voices, two lives of joy or fear.
Here women are in the dust around their dead,
Husbands or brothers, and beside old men
Pale children who will never be free again,
For all they loved on Earth cry out in despair.
And close by, the war-stained Greeks, who stark
Have gathered after battle and lengthy searches through the dark,
Hungry, at dawn, to feast
At last on all the riches Troy had,
With no rules for that feast, but each man grabbing
At whatever chance prize he can find.
Yes, at last under proper roofs they lie,
Of men beaten by spears, no frost beneath the sky,
No more watches, no bitter moonlit dew…
How blessed they will sleep through the entire night!
Oh, if they can keep themselves free from sin
Toward Ilion’s conquered shrines and those within
Who watch undefeated, maybe not again
Shall the attacker be attacked, or the taker be taken.
May God grant that greed for gold, which drives men mad,
And the desire to spoil sacred things, does not fall on that host!
But half the journey
Is done, leading back to home and peace.
Yes, even if they pass by God unchallenged,
I think the pain of all those desolate dead
Might awaken, searching for its will…
You hear
A woman’s word, likely a woman’s fear.
May goodness triumph in the final tilt
Of the scale! Of all prayers, that prayer is mine.

LEADER.
Oh Woman, you speak with the loyalty and wisdom of a man.
I accept your testimonies
And turn to God in praise, for today we have gained
Something that makes up for all our suffering.

[CLYTEMNESTRA returns to the Palace. The CHORUS takes their position for the Second Stasimon.]

AN ELDER.
O Zeus, All-ruler, and Night the Helper,
Bringer of victories, have you spread
Your net tight over the towers of Ilion
So that no one quick and no one tall
Can escape
The trap of the captor that holds everyone?

ANOTHER.
And Zeus, the Watcher of Friends, I also praise, who has brought this to an end. Long ago on Paris his arrow he drew, And aimed it true, Not falling too soon nor too far, The fire of the avenging star.

CHORUS.
(This is God’s judgement on Troy. I hope it's not too harsh! No amount of gold can save someone who rejects Justice.)

The hand of Zeus has found them! This day makes it clear
The story, and easy to follow.
He judged, and Troy has fallen.—And have people said
That God doesn’t bother to notice man’s stubbornness,
Crushing to the ground the grace
Of holy and fragile things?—Sin leads that way.
For clearly Pride brings its own consequences
On prideful men, who, when their homes overflow
With fortunate wealth, always breathe anger and violence.
Yet let the rightful revenge not burn too fiercely;
Only as deemed fit
By one who is wise.

Never will the state or wealth
Protect his heart from pain
Whoever rejects the ancient Altar of Justice
Will awaken to a restless night.

(The sinner endures his desire until finally, temptation takes control of him; just like Paris was overwhelmed by his longing for Helen.)

The lure of suffering drives him, the fear
Child of planned Misery!
And help is useless; the cruel desire inside him
Is not hidden but shines brightly like Sin:
And just like fake gold will reveal
Darkness where the touchstone tests, so does his
Honor fade in God’s trials. Like a child,
Forgetting everything, he has chased his flying dreams,
And planted a sharp thorn among his people.
And no God hears his prayer, or if they have heard,
The man so easily deceived
They throw aside in scorn.

Paris went to Argos;
A woman's love drove him;
So he disgraced God's altar,
Stealing from the hand that supported him.

(Helen’s journey; the visions observed by the King’s seers; the apparition of Helen and the King’s sorrow.)

She has left her people with the sound of shields and swords,
The march of armed men where the long ships are docked;
She has taken Desolation as her inheritance as she left;
She has hurried through the grand gated Tower,
And what couldn’t happen has happened!
And the Seers they saw visions, and they talked about strange misfortune:
“A Palace, a Palace; and a great King in it:
An empty bed that was once filled with love:
And you, you, what are you? Let us be, you so quiet,
Beyond anger, beyond begging, to the lips missing you!”
For the one he desires is beyond the deep sea,
And a ghost in his castle will be queen.

Images in sweet disguise
Carved will never move him,
Where is Love in empty eyes?
Gone, gone forever!

(His dreams and his pain; but the War he started caused even greater and more widespread suffering.)

But a shape that is a dream, in the phantoms of the night,
comes near, full of tears, bringing empty delight:
For in vain, when desiring, he can feel the joy’s breath
—Nevermore! Nevermore!—from his arms it disappears,
on wings down the pathways of sleep.

In the main hall of the castle, by the kings' fireplace,
There are these sorrows, and sorrows beyond these,
But in every home of the crew that sailed the seas,
A sorrowful woman waits; she has many thoughts,
And deep within her heart, she holds patience.

Know she them she sent,
Does she know? Look, returning,
Comes instead of the man that went
Armor and dust of burning.

(The return of the funeral urns; the whispers of the People.)

And the gold-changer, Ares, who quickly swaps life for death,
Who balances his scale in the clash of battle,
Brings back from Troy heavy dust, soaked with tears,
Brings ashes with men’s names neatly placed in his urns.
And they mourn for the men, praising each one individually,
Saying how this one was a wise warrior, and this one fell nobly—
“Fighting to win back someone else’s wife!”
Until a murmur starts,
And an angry pain creeps in
Against kings too eager in the fight.

There by Ilion’s gate
Many soldiers sleep,
Young, beautiful men; caught in hate
Troy holds its conqueror.

(For the Bloodshedder is in deep danger and definitely noticed by God. I hope I never become a City Destroyer!)

But the people's rumor is heavy and cold; And even though no curse is spoken, it weighs like one; My heart awaits news that the darkness keeps hidden, For God does not overlook the one who sheds much blood. And whoever conquers unjustly... Look, the life of man deteriorates; There are Watchers dimming his light as the years go by; He falls, he is forgotten, and hope fades away. There is danger in the praise He hears when he is overly praised; For the thunder is cast from God’s eyes.

Glory that causes conflict,
Pride of the Destroyer of Cities;
Yes, and the life of the captured victim,
Spare me, O God of Compassion!

DIVERS ELDERS.
—The fire of good news has passed through the city,
But who knows if a god is playing tricks? Or who knows if any of it is real?
It would be the way of a child,
Or someone lost in a daydream,
To be ignited by the first
Message of the torch as it flares up,
And then, as it fades, to fade away too.

—It's like a woman's scepter, to decree
Welcome to joy before the end is clear!

—A woman's ears are too easily opened;
Her boundaries trampled by many intruders,
And easily crossed; but quickly lost
Are the weight of a woman's hopes or fears.

[Here a break occurs in the action, like the lowering of the curtain in a modern theater. A few days are assumed to have gone by, and we find the Elders gathered once more.]

LEADER.
Soon we will understand the message clearly;
Were the fire, signal flares, and lights
true speakers, or just pretty lights that appear
and aren’t real, like sweet whispers in a dream?
I see a Herald over there by the shore,
covered in olive branches. And from his tattered
clothes, he shouts a message from afar,
Dry Dust, born brother to the Mire of war,
He doesn’t come in silence, and through the smoke
of the mountain forests, his story won’t be silent;
But either shouting for a joyful day,
or else…. But I push those other thoughts away.
As good has begun, may good continue, we pray!

—And whoever prays for anything else for this City, let them face the consequences of their thoughts!

[Enter the HERALD, running. His clothes are ripped and covered in dirt from battle. He drops to his knees, kisses the ground, and greets each altar one by one.]

HERALD.
Land of my ancestors! Argos! Am I really here…
Home, home at this tenth light of the year,
And all of Hope’s anchors broken except this one!
For I hardly dared to dream, here in my own
Argos at last to find my peace….
But now—All Hail, O Earth! O Blessed Sunlight!
And Zeus Most High!

[Pausing as he looks at the altar of Apollo.]

And you, O Pythian Lord;
No longer let your swift arrows rain down on us!
By Scamander, we learned how true
Your hatred is. Oh, since you are also a Healer,
Heal us! Since you are the Savior of the Lost,
Save us too, Apollo, as we are tossed
In this storm! … All you Daemons of the Pale!
And Hermes! Hermes, my own guardian, hail!
Beloved messenger, to whom all heralds bow….
You Blessed Dead that sent us, now receive
In love your children whom the spear has spared.
O House of Kings, O dearly beloved roof,
O solemn thrones! O gods that face the sun!
Now, now, if ever in the days gone by,
After so many years, with burning eyes,
Give welcome and glory to your King’s return!
For Agamemnon is coming! A great light
Is coming to men and gods out of the night.
Give him a grand greeting—it must be grand—
Who, with God’s avenging axe in his hand,
Has destroyed Troy’s towers and dug her ground,
Turning her gods' homes into dead spaces;
Her altars lie in waste, and every seed
That could bring life is blasted! His deed is so perfect,
So severe the burden he has placed on Ilion,
The first Atreides, King of Kings at last,
And happy among men! To whom we give
The highest honor above all things that live.
For Paris nor his guilty land can outweigh
The deed they did compared to the pain they bore.
“Thief and plunderer,” he heard God’s judgement fall;
So he lost his spoils, and like grass
Cut down his father’s house and all his land;
And Troy pays double for the sin she planned.

LEADER.
Be happy, you messenger of the Greeks from Troy!

HERALD.
I'm so glad, I'm ready, if God allows, to die!

LEADER.
Did your love for this land cause you so much pain?

HERALD.
Tears of joy fill my eyes.

LEADER.
It was a bittersweet moment when it happened to you.

HERALD.
How sweet? I can’t understand your message.

LEADER.
To long once more for those who truly loved you.

HERALD.
Did you long for us, like we longed for you?

LEADER.
The heart of the entire land was in darkness and mourned for you.

HERALD.
Dark? Why is that? What’s the reason for this darkness?

LEADER.
Silence in wrongdoing is our best remedy here.

HERALD.
Your kings are gone. What else should you be afraid of?

LEADER.
It’s over! Like you now, I could happily die.

HERALD.
Even so! It's over, and all that’s left is victory.
And during our lives in those long years, there were
Definitely some tough days, and some were good.
Who but a god goes through life without getting hurt?….
Oh, if only I could describe the exhausting toil of the day,
The restless nights, cramped quarters with poor bedding;
The anger and frustration when we didn’t have enough
Food to eat! And then on land, it was worse than ever.
Our living spaces were squeezed beneath the enemy’s walls;
And rain—and from the ground the dew—
Always wet! It soaked into our clothes,
Like a plague, and bred nasty bugs in every hair.
If only I could tell how horrible midwinter
Came down from Ida until the birds dropped dead!
Or the still heat, when on his noonday bed
The lifeless blue sea lay calm without a wave!….
Why think of it? They're over and buried,
All those long troubles. I believe the slain
Care little if they stay asleep or wake again;
And we, the living, why should we hurt
Counting all our losses, until we awaken
The old harmful fates? If Goodbye
Comes from their side, then let them go, I say.
Surely for us, who live, goodness prevails
Undisputed, without any fluctuation;
So we boast to these shining skies,
As wide over sea and land our glory spreads:
“By the men of Argolis who conquered Troy,
These spoils, a memory and an ancient joy,
Are honored in the gods’ temples throughout Greece.”
Whoever reads this will increase
Praise for our land, our kings, and God’s abundant grace
That made these wonders possible.—My story is done.

LEADER.
You've definitely won this one. People say that the wisdom
In older men’s eyes still helps us learn the right way.
But Clytemnestra and the family should hear
This news first, even if I care about their well-being.

[As the final words are spoken CLYTEMNESTRA walks in from the Palace.]

CLYTEMNESTRA.
A long time ago, I raised my voice in joy,
When the first messenger from burning Troy
Spoke through the darkness of destruction and defeat.
And the naysayers mocked me: “Just because beacons are showing
On the hills, does that mean Troy has fallen? Women’s hopes are fleeting!”
Yes, many scorned me;
But I offered sacrifice; and by my word
Through all the city our woman’s cry was heard,
Lifted in blessing around the seats of God,
And soothing incense glowed
In fragrance over the altars.
And for you, what need is there to tell
Your further story? My lord himself will tell me well.
Yet, to greet my lord and king
With all due respect at his return—
What greater joy can light up a woman's eyes
Than this, which opens wide her gate to celebrate
The husband whom God brings home safely from war?—
Go, take my prayer to my lord: That he rush home,
Quickly and safely to this town that loves his name;
And in his castle may he find the same
Wife he left, a protector of the home,
Faithful to him and fierce to others;
A body and soul unchanged, with no bond of his
Broken in the years he was away.—No thought of comfort
Nor joy from other men has touched my soul,
Nor will it until bronze be dyed like wool.
Such a faithful and straightforward vow, I believe,
Spoken by a royal Queen does not shame her.

[Leave CLYTEMNESTRA.]

LEADER.
Listen closely to her message. It seems good
And needs a clear interpreter….
But, Herald, I want to ask you; tell me the truth
About Menelaüs. Will he come with you,
Our land’s beloved crown, unharmed?

HERALD.
I don’t know how to say nice things that aren’t true
So friends can gain a real benefit from them.

LEADER.
Can you talk about truth while feeling at ease? When those two
Are separated, it's a divide that's not easily crossed.

HERALD.
Your king is missing from the Achaean army,
He and his ship! That's the news I've brought.

LEADER.
Did he sail alone from Troy? Or was he caught
By storms among you and swept away?

HERALD.
You’ve hit the nail on the head; a skilled shooter, as people say!
And suffering for a long time is just short to explain.

LEADER.
What were the sailors saying? Was there one story going around, saying he was alive or dead?

HERALD.
No one knows, no one has news, except for the head
Of Helios, guardian and observer of the world.

LEADER.
Then tell us about the storm. How, when God unleashed
His wrath, did it arise? How did it fade away?

HERALD.
I don’t like this; it’s a day full of foreboding
With a sorrowful message to deliver. Those two, I declare,
Are better off apart. When one, with a fearful brow,
Returns from lost battles, bringing home
Word that the dread of her prayers has arrived;
One wound in her great heart, and many fates
For countless homes of men cast out to satisfy
The two-fold scourge that fulfills Ares’ desire,
Spear crossed with spear, dust mingled with bloody dust;
Who bears such a heavy burden of wrong,
Then let him, if he wants, raise the song
That is Hell’s victory. But to come as I
Have now come, loaded with high deliverance,
Back to a land of peace and joyful faces,
And ruin it all with that wrath of the skies
Which made our Greeks curse God—how can this be?
Two ancient enemies, Fire and Sea,
Swore sudden friendship, proving their bond
By waging war on us poor sailors through that night
Of suffering, when the terror of the waves
Towered over us, and winds from Strymon drove
Hull against hull, until good ships, by the horns
Of the mad whirlwind, were gored and overthrown,
One here, one there, amid rain and blinding spray,
Like sheep herded by a demon, disappeared.
And when the blessed Sun raised his head,
We saw the Aegean sea foaming with the dead,
Dead men, dead ships, and wrecked spars.
Yet for us, our one unharmed hull
Was either stolen or freed by some good spirit—surely he was no man!—
Who steered us clear; and until now
Fortune has favored us, perched on the prow.
No surge to disrupt our anchoring, and no rocks
To tear us apart when we made for shore.
Then, escaping from that hellish sea, with the clear sun
Above us and all trust in fortune gone,
We wandered like sheep in our thoughts
Of that lost army, shattered and lashed with
The scourge of evil. And I think, if they still breathe,
They talk of us as if we’ve met our end—
How else?—and so we say of them! For you,
Since Menelaus must be your first concern,
If by some word of Zeus, who won’t yet
Leave the old house forever barren,
Some ray of sunlight on a distant sea
Guides him, still green and living … we might see
His ship someday in the harbor!—You asked me for the truth,
And the truth you have received!

[Exit HERALD. The CHORUS takes position for the Third Stasimon.]

CHORUS.
(There was definitely deeper meaning in the name HELENA, a meaning that came to life when she escaped to Troy.)

Who was the one who gave you
That name, completely true—
Was it someone beyond our sight
Moving confidently in pre-decision
Of man’s fate with his mysterious words?—
Calling you, the Battle-bound,
You, surrounded by Strife,
HELEN? Yes, in fate’s mockery,
Destruction in cities, destruction in ships,
Destruction in the hearts of men who knew her,
When the soft and delicate curtain
Of her life was pulled back,
And into the sea, into the sea, she was cast
In the grasp of the West Wind;
And with spear and sword behind her
Came the hunters like a flood,
Down the unseen path of the oars,
Tracking, until in Simoïs’ valley
Through the leaves they crept to find her,
A Wrath, a seed of blood.

(The Trojans welcomed her with celebration and praised Alexander until eventually their song shifted and they saw a different meaning in Alexander’s name too.)

So the name for Ilium came
On God’s thought-fulfilling flame,
A vengeance and a sign
Of the unfaithfulness in broken bread,
Of God’s hearth betrayed,
Against those whose voices rose
Celebrating the prize they held
And the Spoiler’s bold bragging
And the song his brethren sang
Among the burning wedding torches;
Until, look, the ancient City
Of King Priam turned, and turning
Took on a new song to learn,
A changed song, full of pity,
With the cry of a lost nation;
And she changed the bridegroom’s name:
Called him Paris, the Ghastly-wed;
For her sons were among the dead,
And her life one long lament,
Amid blood and burning flames.

(Like a lion cub raised as a pet who later becomes a powerful predator,)

Once there was a herdsman raised
In his own home, or so the stories go,
A lion cub, a milk-fed little one
And soft in the early days of life
Among the young animals of the herd;
The happy children loved him a lot,
And old men smiled, and often, they say,
In people's arms, like a baby, he lay,
Bright-eyed, and reaching for the hand that teased him
Eagerly seeking food or play.

Then one day, the sudden
Rage of the lion's offspring flashed out;
He repaid those who had fed him
With the wreckage of herds and bloody carnage,
Yes, he created a great feast uninvited,
Until all the paths of the house ran with blood;
A sight that made the servants flee weeping,
A great red killer, beard foaming,
High priest of some cursed altar
God had raised against that home.

(So it was with Helen in Troy.)

And how should I name the thing that arrived
At the first hour in the city of Ilium?
Call it a dream of unmatched peace,
A hidden joy wrapped in a golden haze,
A woman’s gaze that was gentle, like fire,
A flower that consumed a man’s heart with compassion.

But she turned away and made her kiss have a bitter end,
And there was anger in her heart, anger toward her friends,
When she quickly fled across the sea to Priam and his sons,
With the god she betrayed, watching over her in the wind,
A death-bride, whom brides will mourn for a long time.

(People say that Good Fortune makes God jealous; that's not true; Good Fortune can be innocent, and then there’s no punishment.)

A gray word exists, from the morning
Of ancient times among humans spoken,
That a man's wealth will grow strong and not
Fall childless, but instead have sons as well;
And from great happiness is born
A tear that won’t stop and a heart shattered.

But I keep my thoughts to myself and am not misled by others;
It's the unholy actions that will lead to more wrongdoings, child after child,
Sin after sin, just like their parents; and they will be as they were.

But the man who walks straight, and his house, although Fate
Elevates him, the children will be fine.

(It’s Sin, it’s Pride and Ruthlessness, that create offspring just like themselves until Justice is served upon them.)

But Old Sin loves, when the hour comes again,
To bring forth New,
Which laughs joyfully amid the tears of men;
Yes, and Unruth, his companion, with whom no one
Can argue or fight, who dares to go on and on,
Knowing no fear or anything holy;
Two fires of darkness in a house, born true,
Like their ancient source.

But justice shines in a humble home
With smoke-stained walls,
And honors those who make the most of their own situation;
But she flees from the unclean hand on the golden staircase,
Avoiding those with averted eyes, seeking places
Where things are innocent; and, paying no attention to the power
Of wealth misused by man, she leads all
To her own destined time.

[Here amid a great procession enter AGAMEMNON on a Chariot. Behind him on another Chariot is CASSANDRA. The CHORUS approach and bow. Some of AGAMEMNON’S men have a White Horse on their shields, some have a Lion. Their weapons are decorated and somewhat foreign.]

LEADER.
All hail, O King! Hail, Son of Atreus!
Sacker of Cities! Destroyer of Ilion!
With what grand words should I greet you again,
How should I show you my respect, without
Going overboard or falling short?
For many will hold on. To appearances
Even more tightly because they’ve sinned before;
And a man might sigh without a trace
Of grief in his heart, and a man may smile
With empty eyes and a strained lip.
But the wise Shepherd knows his flock,
And his gaze sees deep
Into the faith that is like water, fawning and feigning.

But I hide nothing, O King. That day
When we went to battle for Helen,
Your name was etched in my heart
With the letters of conflict;
And your soul’s ship,
Poorly led and aimlessly driven,
Was always chasing, through dying men,
One wild heart that wanted to escape.
But on this new day,
From the depths of my thoughts and in love, I say,
“Sweet is a grief that has found its end;”
And in the flow of time, you will learn and know
The truth from the lies,
Of those who were left to guard the walls
Of your empty, friendless Hall.

[During the above CLYTEMNESTRA has appeared on the Palace steps, with a train of Attendants, to receive her Husband.]

AGAMEMNON.
To Argos and the gods of Argolis
All hail, who share in the glory of this
Homecoming and the revenge I took
On Priam’s City! Yes, even if no one speaks,
The great gods heard our cause, and in unison
Rising up, in the urn of bitter blood,
That men should scream and die and towers should burn,
Cast their great vote; while over Mercy’s urn
Hope waved her empty hands and nothing fell.
Even now in smoke, that City tells its tale;
The ruinous wind lives on, and where Ilion fell
The stench of her old arrogance
Rolls far from the hot and writhing ashes.
For this, let thanks as wide as our glories go,
Be lifted; seeing the Beast of Argos has
Built his fence of wrath around Ilion’s towers
And, for one woman seized against her will, wrecked a City. Look, the leap of the wild Horse
In darkness when the Pleiades were dead;
A armored multitude, a Lion unfed,
Which leaped the tower and lapped the blood of Kings!

Look, I offer these thanks to the gods.
But because of your words: I noticed them, and I remember
Their meaning, and my voice will support
Yours. For not many men, as the saying goes,
Can love a friend who’s fortunate
Without envy; and in the envious mind
Cold poison lingers, amplifying all the pain
Life brings him. He must tend to his own hurts,
And feels another’s happiness like a curse.

Well, I can talk. I understand the mirrored glass
Called friendship and the shadowy figures that pass
And pretend to be a King’s friends. I have known only one—
Odysseus, the one we caught against his own
Will!—who once wore his burden quite well …
Whether he is alive or dead, the story goes on
About him. And for the rest, regarding our situation
And the gods, we will gather to discuss
A meeting of all Argos, making sure
To come up with solid advice that what is good now may last
Well, and if anything needs healing, still
With cutting and with fire, with all good intention,
I will try to prevent the aftermath
Such sickness creates.

Yeah, heaven has brought me back;
And on this hearth where my fire still burns
I will go give heaven what I owe,
Which brought me here, which saved me from far away.
O Victory, now mine, may you always be mine!

[CLYTEMNESTRA, at the front of her group, steps forward. She struggles to manage her anticipation but slowly becomes braver as she moves ahead.]

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Elders, Council of the Argive name,
Here present, I will no longer find it shameful
To reveal my feelings before men’s eyes.
There comes a time for a woman when fear disappears
Forever. No one has taught me. No one could tell,
Except me, the unbearable burden of years
I endured while this man was at Ilion.
That any woman should sit alone like this
In a half-empty house, with no man around,
Makes her almost blind with fear! And in her ear
Always some voice of anger; sometimes messengers
Of doom; sometimes not; then others worse,
Crying disaster against me and mine.
Oh, if he had even half the wounds that were rumored to come home, his body would be a net,
Full of holes from heel to head! And if he faced
As many deaths as I heard tales about,
Is he some monstrous being, some Gêryon
With three souls, who won’t die until, over his head,
Three layers of earth are piled to keep him dead?
Yes, many times my heart broke, and the noose
Of death had me; but they set me free.
It was those voices always in my ear.

For that reason, young Orestes isn't here
with me, as we should be, since he above
all else holds the certainty of our love;
Don't let your heart be troubled. It happened like this:
Our dear friend took him, Strophius
the Phocian, who warned me about trouble
from two sides, your own danger at Troy,
and ours here, if the rebellious crowd
should overthrow the Council. It's always people's nature
to reject the fallen. That's what he said,
and I'm sure he meant no harm.

But for me,
The old, turbulent rivers of my sadness are gone
Now at the spring; not a single tear left uncried.
My eyes are weary from keeping watch, endlessly
Crying for the warning lights that waited for you
Forever unanswered. And if I dreamed,
The faint buzz of a gnat would jolt me, like a scream
Of battle, and reveal you, swept away by fears,
Crowded, too many for the time I slept.

From all that stress delivered and free-spirited,
I greet my lord: O guardian of the flock,
O sure anchor that doesn’t waver in the storm,
O strong pillar of a grand hall;
O only son to a father weighed down by age;
O unexpected land seen by shipwrecked sailors;
Sunshine more beautiful when the storms are gone;
Spring of fresh water in a lifeless desert ….
How sweet it is to be free from any chains!

These are my words to welcome him home again.
No god should hold it against us. Surely you and I
Have suffered enough in the past! And now
Step down, O head crowned with love and glory,
From this high chariot; yet don’t place on bare ground
Your foot, great King, the foot that defeated Troy.
Hey, maidens, rise! Don’t forget your task,
To lay a floor of crimson fabrics
For the King’s path. Let all the ground be red
Where those feet walk; and may Justice, once dark,
Guide him home to the hearth he does not expect!
What comes next, our tireless watch will ensure
Is arranged as God’s good pleasure may dictate.

[The attendants spread tapestries of crimson and gold from the Chariot to the Door of the Palace. AGAMEMNON stays still.]

AGAMEMNON.
Daughter of Leda, guardian of my flock,
Honestly, your welcome, serious and well-expressed,
Fits perfectly with my years apart. Though it probably would’ve been
More appropriate, I think, for someone else, not my Queen,
To give these honors. As for the rest, I say,
Don't try to make me soft in a womanly way;
Don’t shout your praise at me openly, or throw
Yourself down, like to some savage king.
And don’t lay down decorated fabrics on my path,
To stir up hidden anger. It is God who deserves
Such worship; and for a mortal man to step
Roughly on this decorated beauty …
I promise there’s danger in that. Let my way
Be honored, absolutely; but as a man, not a god.
Rugs for the feet and that fancy fabric over there …
The names are all different! … Yes, and not going
Suddenly blind is the highest gift
God gives, for I consider no man blessed
Until he’s really finished his race.
So be it; and if, like I’ve done today,
I will always do, then I fear no harm.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Tell me but this, definitely not against your will …

AGAMEMNON.
You can be sure my resolve will neither waver nor diminish.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Was this a promise made in a time of great danger?

AGAMEMNON.
That's enough! I've stated my intention clearly and directly.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
If Priam were the conqueror … Just think, would he hold back?

AGAMEMNON.
Oh, piles of fabrics would be ruined then!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
My lord, don't bother with what people are nitpicking about!

AGAMEMNON.
The whispers of the crowd carry a heavy significance.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Those who fear envy are afraid of being great.

AGAMEMNON.
It’s unseemly when a woman tries to take charge.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
When a powerful conqueror surrenders, it’s truly an act of grace,

AGAMEMNON.
So in this war, you have to be my conqueror?

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Give in! Being willing to give in is winning!

AGAMEMNON.
Alright, if I have to … Let it be as you said!
Hurry! Free me these bound slaves that I'm stepping on,
And while I explore the wonders of the sea,
I hope no angry gaze is directed at me
From afar!

The attendants untie his shoes.

For even now, I don’t like
To waste my house, by ruining underfoot
The pride of it, and amazing tapestries
Purchased in distant lands with silver. But enough of these.
And listen, I tell you, this princess
From Ilion; take care of her with all gentleness.
God sees and loves from afar,
The merciful conqueror. For no war slave
Is a slave by choice. She is the prize
And chosen jewel of Ilion’s treasures,
Set by the soldiers’ gift to follow me.
Now therefore, since I am compelled by you
And do your bidding, I walk in the guise of a conqueror
Beneath my Gate, stepping on sea-red dyes.

[As he gets off his horse and steps onto the Tapestries CLYTEMNESTRA’S women shout their Cry of Triumph once more. The people bow or kneel as he walks by.]

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Look at the sea—who will drain its caverns?—
Home to many purple fish, their color
Richer than silver, always fresh and new,
For kings' robes. And we, by right endowed,
Have more than enough. Your house, O King,
Knows no limits or shortages.
What trampling of fine clothing, had the cry
So echoed in the halls of prophecy,
I would have sworn all these years, as payment
For this dear life in danger far away!
Where the roots are, the leaves will soon
Dress a house and spread its leafy shade
Against the burning sun; and now you’ve come,
You, on the center hearth of your home,
Oh, warmth in winter leaps to greet you.
And when God’s summer turns into wine
From the green grape, that house will feel cool
Where the true man, the master, walks his hall.

Zeus, Zeus! True Master, may my prayers be real!
And, oh, don’t forget what you’re meant to do!

[She follows AGAMEMNON into the Palace. The followers of both the King and Queen enter after them. CASSANDRA stays behind.]

CHORUS.
What is this that constantly, [Strophe 1.
A chilling fear at the door
Of this heart filled with dread,
Pale as death lingers here?
While an unwelcome, unsought song,
Chanted by some inner voice,
Reveals the secret within;
And to remove it from my veins
Like an unclear dream
No gentle Courage now
Sits at the helm of my heart.

Yet I know that many
Days, like sand, have grown old

Since the day those cables were thrown onto the shore
Lines flapping and connected
Standing ready for Ilion
The long ships took to the sea

[Antistrophe 1.
And in the harbor—my own eye
Has seen—again they lie;
Yet that music without a lyre hidden
Still whispers words of trouble,
'Tis my Soul uninvited,
Like some Fury weighed down by sorrow,
Weeping over things that fade away.
Neither does Hope's dear confidence
Awaken in my senses;
For this flesh that groans within,
And these bones that know of Sin,
This restless heart on the current
Of a whirlpool that is Fate,
Surely these do not lie. Yet deep
Beneath hope, my prayer runs,
All will die like dreams and slide
Into the forgotten and undone.

[Strophe 2.
—Surely at the end of it all,
True happiness doesn't come easily; Fever
Creeps close, pressing hard against the tight wall.]

—Woe to anyone who doesn’t fear fate!
It’s the ship that sails straight ahead
That hits the reef below;
He who fears and lightens his load,
Throwing away, in measured toss,
From the wealth he’s acquired…
His whole ship won’t sink,
Burdened with too much stuff,
Nor will deep seas crash over him.
—Look, when famine comes near,
One good gift from Zeus again
From the harvest of a single year
Quickly ends the starved pain;

[Antistrophe 2.
—But once the blood of death has fallen, dark
And oozing at a dead man's feet, oh no!
By spell or song, who can bring it back?

—One there was of old who showed
Man the way from death to life;
But Zeus, raising his staff,
Did not hold back when he ordered him to stop.

—Save that every doom of God
Has been crossed by other fate
So that no one can rule alone,
In one overwhelming groan
All this passion has spilled out,
Which now quietly hides away,
Full of pain, and losing hope
Of ever unraveling
The tangle of my soul,
From a heart of burning coal.

[Suddenly CLYTEMNESTRA appears in the doorway.]

CLYTEMNESTRA.
You too, come in! I call your name,
Cassandra;

[CASSANDRA shakes, but keeps staring ahead, as if not hearing CLYTEMNESTRA.]

seeing the Gods—why be upset with them?—
Have placed you here, to share within these walls
Our cleansing waters, among a crowd of servants
Who stand obedient around the altar-stone
Of our Possession. So come down,
And don’t be too proud. The story goes
How once Alcmêna’s son himself, being sold,
Was patient, even though he didn’t like the slaves’ meal.
And more, if Fate must bring you to this situation,
Thank God you’ve come to a House of great reputation
And wealth from long ago. The lower class,
Who have gained some unexpected fortune,
Are always cruel to their slaves, and selfish
In their treatment. We will give whatever is owed.

[CASSANDRA is quiet.]

LEADER.
She speaks to you and waits… clear words and true!
Oh, doom surrounds you like a net;
Give in, if you can…. Belike thou canst not yet.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
I think, unless this wandering girl is someone
Whose voice is like a swallow's, with an unfamiliar
And foreign tongue, she can understand my clear intention.
I only use words and seek her agreement.

LEADER.
Ah, come on! It’s for the best, with the world as it is today.
Get down from this high-throned chariot and follow!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
How long must I wait at the Gate?
Even now the animals meant for Hestia
Wait by the central fire, since this great purpose
Has come to pass, something no one expected.
So, if you’re willing to follow
Anything I want, please, don’t take any longer!
If you’re so numb you can’t understand…
Thou show her, not with words but with force!

[To the Leader of the CHORUS.]

LEADER.
The unusual maid needs a special interpreter.
She is shaking like a wild animal caught in a trap.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Honestly, she’s lost her mind and only hears her own
Nonsense! A servant, with her city completely ruined,
She has to hold back her anger until this frustration
Is washed away in blood and bitter sweat.
I won’t waste any more words being insulted like this.

[She goes back inside the Palace.]

LEADER.
I feel so sorry for you, there's no anger or pride in me.—Come, get down! Accept the blow that fate has for you, and learn to understand your burden.

He gently rests his hand on CASSANDRA’S shoulder.

CASSANDRA (moaning to herself).
The day before yesterday … Dreams. Dreams.
Apollo. Oh Apollo!

SECOND ELDER.
Why are you crying for Apollo? It’s written,
He doesn’t love sadness nor listen to it.

CASSANDRA.
Oh, dreams. Dreams.
Apollo. Oh Apollo!

LEADER.
Still to that god she pours out her tears
Who has no place for people to feel sadness or die.

CASSANDRA.
Apollo, Apollo! Light of Humanity!
My enemy!
Have you led me back into darkness once more?

SECOND ELDER.
What? Is she going to predict her own
Sorrows? That ability remains even when everything else is lost!

CASSANDRA.
Apollo, Apollo! Light of everything!
My enemy!
Where have you taken me? … Ha! What kind of house is this?

LEADER.
The Atreidae’s castle. If you don’t know, I
Am here to help you, and I will help you faithfully.

CASSANDRA (whispering).

No, no. This is the house that God hates.
There are many things that know its secret; painful
And wicked things; murders and strangling death.
This is where they kill men…A bloody floor.

SECOND ELDER.
The strange maid seems sharp-witted, like a hound
For blood.—And what she’s looking for can definitely be found!

CASSANDRA.
The witnesses … I follow where they lead.
The crying … of small children … near the gate:
Crying for wounds that bleed:
And the smell of the cooked meat their father ate.

SECOND ELDER (realizing her insight, and pushed away).

Word of your mysterious power has reached us
for a long time. Still, we don’t need any prophets here.

CASSANDRA.
Oh no! What are they up to? Something terrible is happening.
A major sin is brewing in this house today;
It's too powerful for the faithful, and no remedy can help…
And assistance is far away.

LEADER.
I can’t read this warning, even though I know
That other story. It echoes throughout the city.

CASSANDRA.
Oh Woman, you! The lord who was with you!
Will you wash with water, and then … How does it all end?
It happens so fast. A hand … another hand …
That reach, reach blindly….

LEADER.
I still don’t see. These riddles, filled with blind
Flashes of worry, just confuse my mind.

CASSANDRA.
Ah, ah! What is happening? There; it’s becoming clear.
A trap ... some trap from Hell.
No, the one who is with him ... is she the trap?
And half of his blood on it. It holds strong….
O crowd of hungry voices, be happy, yes, shout
And call for the stoning, call for the banishment!

SECOND ELDER.
What crazy voices are you shouting to be angry
Against this castle? I don't like those words.

And deep inside me, I felt that sick
And yellow drop, creeping to my heart
To die as the final rays of life fade away.
Bad luck arrives so suddenly.

CASSANDRA.
Ah, look! Look! Stop his friend from the Wild Bull!
A mess of clothes, see;
A black horn, and a strike, and he falls, right
In the marble by the water. I advise you.
I’m being clear … Blood in the bath and betrayal!

LEADER.
I'm not a great interpreter of oracles,
but I think this is some kind of trouble ahead.

What spring of goodness has sorcery ever created
To rise from the darkness?
It’s just a weaving of words, a skill of sorrow,
To instill fear in humanity.

CASSANDRA.
Poor woman! Poor dead woman! … Yes, it’s me,
Poured out like water among them. Weep for me….
Ah! What is this place? Why must I come with you….
To die, just to die?

LEADER.
You are carried on the breath of God, you wild spirit,
For your own destiny to lament,
Like that winged voice, that heart so heavy
Which, always crying, longs to cry more,
“Itylus, Itylus,” until it sings her child
Back to the nightingale.

CASSANDRA.
Oh, happy Singing Bird, so sweet, so clear!
Soft wings made by her God,
And a gentle passing, without pain or tears …
For me, it’ll be torn flesh and a rending blade.

SECOND ELDER.
Where did this come from, carried on God's breath,
This pointless anguish?
This pulsing fear turned into melody,
The moaning of evil mixed with high music?
Who has marked out for you that mysterious path
Through the wilderness of your suffering?

CASSANDRA.
Oh, the kiss, the kiss of Paris, the curse of his people!
Oh, Scamander River, the water my ancestors drank!
Long ago, I played along your banks,
And was loved and grew strong;
Now by a River of Wailing, by shores of Suffering,
Soon I will make my song.

LEADER.
What do you say? It's so obvious,
This awful thing you've said!
Even a baby could understand you.
It pierces me like a snake's fang,
The sharp, painful echo of her suffering:
I’m amazed as I listen.

CASSANDRA.
Oh, the struggle, the struggle of a city, worn out from suffering!
Oh, my father’s prayers before the fortress,
The sheep that bled and the chaos of their breaths!
But no assistance came from them
To save the towers of Troy from crashing down!…
And I will writhe on the ground, my heart burning.

SECOND ELDER.
Darkness on darkness, new threatening words of doom!
Surely some Evil Thing has come upon you,
Crushing you, making you bleed
And in the pain of your vision, singing
These sorrowful, death-laden prophecies … Yet still, still,
I cannot see their end!

CASSANDRA. [With determination, she takes control of herself again and speaks directly to the Leader.]

For God's sake, my oracle won’t hide anymore
Behind veils like a newlywed bride!
A bright wind will blow out of this darkness,
Cutting through the dawn, growing like rising waves,
To explode in the heart of sunrise … much more
Powerful than this weak pain of mine. I won’t cloud
My wisdom with mists.
Stay close to me as I go,
Tracking down the evil things from the past,
And bear witness. For this roof has
Music swirling around it, like a choir that sings
In unison, but poorly, because the words
Are not good. Drunken, drunken, and filled with blood,
To make them bolder, there’s a wild party
In the rooms, which no one can throw out,
Of sister Furies. And they weave their song,
Haunting the House, its first blind act of wrong,
Despising in turn that king’s desecrated bed,
Defiled, which paid a brother’s sin with hate….
Did it miss or hit, my arrow? Am I just a poor
Dreamer, begging and rambling at the door?
First, give your oath in witness, that I know
Of the sins committed long ago in this grand dome.

ELDER.
And how will my sworn oath, though boldly given,
Satisfy you? Still, I’m amazed that someone born
Across the seas, speaking a different language, could fit in
So perfectly, as if she had lived here and seen everything.

CASSANDRA.
The Seer Apollo made me see as well.

ELDER (in a whisper).

Was God's heart pierced with desire for you?

CASSANDRA.
There was a time when I felt ashamed to talk about this.

ELDER.
Ah, shame is for the strong, not the weak.

CASS

ELDER.
Did you come here to have children, as is appropriate?

CASSANDRA.
I made a promise to Loxias, and I made a false promise.

ELDER.
Do you already have the gift of prophecy?

CASSANDRA.
I've already shown my people the way.

ELDER.
And Loxias didn't strike you in his anger?

CASSANDRA.
After that mistake… no one believed me again.

ELDER.
No, then, your wisdom seems certain to us.

CASSANDRA.
Oh, no! The pain, the pain!
Once again, the terrible burden of prophecy
Hits me, driving me insane as it comes….
Do you see them there … hitting against the wall?
So young … like figures that gather in a dream …
Killed by someone they loved. They look like children,
Murdered … and in their hands they hold cooked meat:
I think it's them. Yes, flesh; I see it;
And their insides…. Oh, what a horrific weight
To bear! And their father drank their blood.

From these, I warn you, vengeance is still brewing,
A lion's rage, which doesn't rush to kill
But hides in its den, watching the grand
Hall of my long-gone master … Master? Yes;
Mine, mine! The burden is nailed around my neck….
Oh, lord of ships and trampler on the ruins
Of Troy, does he not know this she-wolf's tongue,
Which licks and fawns, and laughs with ears perked up,
To bite in the end like a hidden death?—And can
A woman? Kill a strong armed man? …
What fanged creature like her slithers about?
Some double-headed serpent, some Scylla, deep
Hidden in the rock, where sailors scream and die,
Mother of Hell, driven mad with rage, which cries
For its own flesh war, war without mercy …
God! And she shouted in his face her delight,
Like men in battle when the enemy falls apart.
And pretends to be thankful for his safety’s sake!
What if no one believes me? It doesn’t matter.
What must happen will happen; yes, and soon
You too shall grieve for these things, and here
Standing, I’ll admit I’m all too accurate a seer.

LEADER.
I understood the Thyestean feast of children killed,
and it makes me shudder. Yeah, my mind
spins at these visions, undeniably real.
But later, even though I listened, I lost the trail.

CASSANDRA.
You will see Agamemnon dead.

LEADER.
Calm down, Mouth of Evil! Let’s not say those things!

CASSANDRA.
No god of peace is watching over this hour.

LEADER.
If it has to happen. God forbid it, Divine Force!

CASSANDRA.
They aren't thinking about prayer; they're thinking about death.

LEADER.
They? Which man has committed this terrible act?

CASSANDRA.
Oh no, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__!

LEADER.
How could such an act be accomplished? I see no way.

CASSANDRA.
But don't I know the Greek language well enough?

LEADER.
The Greek sayings from Delphi are wise, but tricky to understand.

CASSANDRA.
Ah! Ah! There!
What a strange fire! It moves … It’s coming for me.
Oh Wolf Apollo, have mercy! Oh the pain! …
Why is she with a wolf, this lone lioness,
Two-handed, when the royal lion is gone?
God, she’s going to kill me! Just like those who brew
Poison, I see her mixing something for me too
A separate vial in her anger, and swearing,
Sharpening her blade for him, that I must share
His death … because, because he dragged me here!
Oh, why these mockers at my throat? This mess
Of wreathèd bands, this staff of prophecy?
I plan to kill you first, before I die.
Get lost!

She rips off her prophetic garments and then throws them on the ground, stomping on them.

Down to ruin! … Do you really say that?
This is how I repay you! Now let some other Bird of Evil
get rich from misery, not me anymore!

[Waking up to reality.]

Ah, look! It’s Apollo himself who has taken
His crown from me! He watched me long ago
In this same prophet’s robe, by friends and foes,
All speaking with one voice, all blind, mocking me:
“A thing of dreams,” “a washed-up beggar girl,”
Poor, starving, and scorned, I endured it all;
And now the Seer, who called me until my call
Was complete, leads me to this final despair….
It’s not the altar stone where they killed
My father; it’s a block, a bloody block
Still hot, waiting for me, from someone slain before.
But we shall not lie unnoticed by God.
One who lifts up the fallen is coming after;
A branch where blooms
The vengeance of a father and the death of a mother.
Exiled and wandering, cast out from this land,
One day He shall return and place the final
Crown on these sins that have trampled his house.
For, behold, there is a great oath sworn by God,
His father’s lifted face shall guide him home.
Why should I grieve? Why pity these men’s fate?
I who have seen the City of Ilion
Fall as she fell; and those who brought her down
Have met their end, as God gives judgment true….
I go to drink my cup. I will endure
To die. O Gates, Gates of Death, all hail to you!
Only, I pray God the strike is swift!
I pray God, without agony, with blood that flows
Quickly to friendly death, may these eyes close!

LEADER.
O full of sorrows, full of great wisdom,
Woman, your words are full of deep pain; yet,
Knowing your fate, why do you walk with clear eyes,
Like some god-blinded creature, to offer yourself up?

CASSANDRA.
There's no way out, friends; only pointless delays.

LEADER.
Isn't the later part of the day still the sweetest?

CASSANDRA.
The day has arrived. There's no point in running now.

LEADER.
Through all your troubles, Woman, your spirit is strong.

CASSANDRA.
Unfortunately, no one who is happy hears that kind of praise.

LEADER.
Aren't the brave who have died honored in later days?

CASSANDRA.
Oh Father! Oh my brave brothers, I’m here!

She moves towards the house, but pulls back, trembling.

LEADER.
What scares you? What are you afraid of?

CASSANDRA.
Ah, gross! Gross!

LEADER.
What’s making you react like that in fear?
Unless it’s some kind of disgust in your mind …

CASSANDRA.
Death is creeping in from the doors, and blood is pouring down like rain!

LEADER.
It's just the dumb animals being killed at the altar.

CASSANDRA.
And fumes from a morgue … Look there!

LEADER.
It’s Tyrian incense filling the air.

CASSANDRA (regaining her composure).

So be it!—I will go, into that room
To weep for my fate and Agamemnon’s doom.
Let death be everything! Strangers, I am no bird
That sings in fear at a thicket rustled
By the empty wind. Bear witness on that day
When a woman will pay for this woman’s life,
And a man for a bad match will lie low:
I ask this favor, as I’m about to die.

LEADER.
Oh no, I feel sorry for you and your mysterious fate!

CASSANDRA.
I want to say just one word, one mournful song
Over my own body. To this last shining Sun
I pray that, when the Avenger’s job is finished,
His enemies might also remember this:
This small thing, the woman slave they killed!

O world of men, goodbye! A colorful display
Is all your glory; and when life is down,
The touch of a wet sponge wipes it all away.
Oh, this is sadder than any proud man’s fall!

She enters the house.

CHORUS.
Great Fortune is a greedy thing,
And fills no heart anywhere,
Though people with threatening fingers
Point at the big house, none will dare,
When Fortune knocks, to shut the door
Proclaiming: “Come here no more!”
Look, to this man the Gods have given
Great Ilion to walk on in the dust
And home to return, shining from heaven;
If it’s written, he too will go
Through blood for blood shed long ago;
If he too, dying for the dead,
Should crown the deaths of distant years,
What mortal far away, who hears,
Will brag that he’s Fortune’s Child, and led
Above the endless tide of tears?

[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__]

VOICE.
Hey! There's treason in the house! I'm hurt: I'm dying.

LEADER.
Quiet! In the castle! It was a cry
From a man fatally wounded.

VOICE.
Oh God, not again! I'm hit once more.

LEADER.
I think the task is complete. It was the King
Who sighed…. Stand close, and consider if anything….

[The old men come together, shocked, and argue in confusion.]

ELDER B.
I’m giving you my honest opinion. Call all the citizens to help. Sound the alarm!

ELDER C.
No, no! Just barge in without saying anything!
Get in there and catch them with their bloody sword!

ELDER D.
Yes; that or something like it. Quick, I say,
Get moving! This is no time to waste.

ELDER E.
We have time to think. This beginning … They have plotted
Some plan to enslave the land.

ELDER F.
Yes, while we hang out here! They don’t think twice
About hanging around, and their sword arm doesn’t rest!

ELDER G.
I have no advice. I can’t say a word. Oh,
Let someone who can take action give advice!

ELDER H.
I agree with what this man says. I have no faith
In words that can bring a dead man back to life.

ELDER I.
What do you mean? Are we going to let them drag out our lives and cower to these people who are ruining the land?

ELDER J.
No, that's too much! It's better to fight and die!
Death is an easier fate than being a slave.

ELDER K.
We heard a groaning sound, nothing clear,
How do we know—are we visionaries?—that one is dead?

ELDER L.
Oh, let’s figure out the truth before we get
So passionate! Guessing isn’t the same as knowing.

LEADER.
Come on in, then! This is the advice you all offer,
And find out for sure how things are with the King.

[They gather near the Palace Door, as if to break in, when the great Door swings open, revealing CLYTEMNESTRA, who stands, axe in hand, over the dead bodies of AGAMEMNON and CASSANDRA. AGAMEMNON'S body is wrapped in a luxurious crimson shroud. There is blood on CLYTEMNESTRA’S forehead, and she speaks with wild triumph.]

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Oh, I’ve said enough lies today
That I’m no longer ashamed to take back.
How should a woman work, to the very end,
Hatred towards a damned hater, pretending to be a friend;
How to trap him like a hunter,
Too high to escape from, except by lies?
I dreamed of this hour a long time ago;
A thing born from ancient hate. It was very slow
To come, but it has come. And here I stand
Right where I struck, with all the plans I made
Accomplished! What good does it do to deny?—
The man could neither protect himself nor escape.
An endless snare, like something strung by a fisherman,
A deadly abundance of fabric, I wrapped
All around him, and struck twice; and with two cries
His limbs turned to water and broke; and as he lies
I delivered my third stroke, a prayer well-sped
To Zeus of Hell, who watches over his dead!
So he gasped his life away as he lay;
And gasping, the blood gushed out… Like dark spray
That splashed, it came, a salty and deadly dew;
Sweet, sweet as God’s precious raindrops ever fell
On a parched field, the day the buds come to life! …
With all this in mind, ye distinguished Councillors,
Leave in joy, if joy is what you want. As for me,
I feel proud. Oh, if only it were possible
To pour out thank-offerings over the dead,
It would be just, yes, just and more,
For the one who filled the House with treacheries
Cursed and has drunk it to the dregs!

LEADER.
We are stunned by what you said. How dare you,
Wild mouth! boast like that over your murdered King!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Are you trying to scare me like a clueless woman? Look,
This heart does not tremble. And, though you know well,
I tell you … Curse me if you want, or bless me,
It’s all the same to me … This is Agamemnon; this,
My husband, dead by my own hand, a blow
Delivered by a justified craftsman. Yes, it’s true.

CHORUS.
Woman, what wicked tree,
What poison sprouted from the earth
Or drink from the rolling sea
Has found its way to your lips,
Causing you to wrap your heart
In anger, yes, in burning curses
When your own people pray?
You have cut off, you have discarded;
And a thing discarded you are,
A thing of hatred and rejection!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Yes, now, for me, you have your words of fate;
Exile from Argos and the people's hate
Forever! No one cried out against him,
When, uncaring, as if he were an animal that died,
With flocks thriving over his vast land,
He killed his child, my love, my source of pain, …
Great God, like magic for the winds of Thrace!
Why wasn’t he hunted down for his actions,
To cleanse the blood that stained him? … When the act
Is mine, oh, then you are truly a judge!
But go ahead and threaten. I’m prepared, and I stand
Ready; if your hand strikes down my hand,
You rule. If anything else is God’s will,
Your lesson will be learned, even if it comes too late.

CHORUS.
Your thoughts are very proud;
Your breath is that of a scorner;
Isn't the madness loud
In your heart, intoxicated by death?
Yes, and above your brow
A star of wet blood burns!
Oh, doom will have her day,
The last friend thrown away,
When a lie answers a lie
And a stab returns a stab!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
And listen to the gods of Oaths gathering to my side!
By my dead child’s Revenge, now fulfilled,
By Mortal Blindness, by all Powers of Hell
That Hate, to whom he was sacrificed,
My Hope will not walk in the house of Fear,
While one fire still burns bright on my hearth,
One lover, one Aigisthos, just like before!
What should I fear, when here I hold
This enemy, this scorner of his wife, this plaything
And fool of every Chryseis under Troy;
And there too is his soothsayer and slave,
His chanting partner, his bold lover,
Who rowed the galleys’ benches at his side.
But, oh, they received their reward as they died!
For he lies here, and she, like a wild swan,
Has trod her last mournful dance,
And lies, his lover, swept away over the sea
For his bed’s comfort and my deep disdain.

CHORUS. (Some Elders.)

Would God that suddenly
Without much pain,
No long, tiring wait,
My time would come to me,
My moment, and soon
Bring the eternal, the
Endless Sleep,
Now that my Shepherd, he
Whose love cared for me,
Lies in the deep!

ANOTHER.
For the sake of a woman, he endured and fought bravely,
And he fell by a woman's hand.

OTHERS.
What have you done, O Helen, blind in thought,
O face that took the lives on Troy’s plains,
One face, one face, and countless lives lost?
The old hatred that rested on this castle,
Built on desire, a husband’s terrible day,
Has bloomed for you a perfect flower once more
And remains, an old and burning stain
Never to fade away.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
No, don’t pray for the hour of death; it’s too painful
To endure these blows.
Don’t direct your anger at Helen,
The Killer of Men, the face that has ruined
A thousand Greek souls and created a deep
Wound that no healer can fix.

CHORUS.
—Daemon, whose heel is planted
On the House and the dual family
Of the great Tantalidae,
A power, as heavy as destiny,
You wield through a woman's sin,
Piercing my heart!

—Like a raven swollen with hate
He has set his claw on the dead,
He croaks a song to satisfy
His fury, and calls it Law!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Oh, call on Him! Yes, call—
And your thoughts have found their way—
The spirit that haunts this hall,
The thrice-fed Fury;

From him comes the pain of the body
For blood that was born and grew;
Before the old wound has healed
It leaks out again.

CHORUS.
—Indeed, He is very powerful,
And His anger is severe,
The spirit who controls the fate
Of the ancient Tantalidae:
Alas, alas, you share a terrible story
Of empty wrath and endless!

—Ah me,
And yet it's all as Zeus has willed,
Doer of everything and Cause of everything;
By His Word, every chance happens,
No end is fulfilled without Him;
What of these things
But comes from the wisdom of high Heaven?

[i>A group of mourners has gathered in the house.]

MOURNERS.
Oh, the pain, the pain! My King, my King!
How should I cry, what should I say?
Trapped in this web of this horrible thing,
In cruel death, your life slipping away!
Woe is me, woe is me, for this dishonorable lying,
The fate of deception and the solitary dying,
The sharp blade and the hands that kill!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
And do you still cry that this deed is
my doing? No, look and do not think
that this is Agamemnon’s Queen.
It is He, it is He, who has created
this illusion of the dead man’s wife;
He, the old Wrath, the Driver of Men astray,
the one who pursued Atreus for the defiled feast;
To settle an old score, he has ended this life;
A warrior and a crowned King today
makes up for the death of a slain child.

CHORUS.
—How can anyone claim you're innocent in this?
What mouth dares to brag? It can't be,
But from the depths of old sins,
The Avenger may have worked through you.

—On the red Slayer crashes, groping wildly
For blood, more blood, to find his peace again,
And wash away like water the old frozen stain
Of the torn child.

MOURNERS.
Oh, the pain, the pain! My King, my King!
How should I cry, what words can I find?
Trapped in this spider's web,
In ugly death, gasping away your life.
Oh, woe is me, woe is me, for this deceitful bondage,
The curse of cleverness and the solitude of dying,
The sharp double-edged blade and the hands that kill!

CLYTEMNESTRA.
And what about the curse that he started,
cursing the House?
What about the outcome of this severed root,
Iphigenia, the one who is unavenged?
The wrong done was equal to the pain:
He won’t find joy in the House of the dead,
When everything is tallied;
He has only caused destruction and paid again
What he owes for the sword.

CHORUS.
I'm lost; my mind is blank
Doesn't know or feel
Where to go or hide
While the House shakes.
The sound of rain falling
On the roof scares me,
Washing away the walls;
Rain that falls like blood.

Does the sound ever fade?
Look, the next Hour of Fate
Sharpening her rightful vengeance
On new whetstones, for new
Acts of hatred.

MOURNERS.
I wish you had covered me, Earth, O Earth,
Before I had seen my lord like this, so low,
In the pale marble with silver edges!
What hands can wrap him, what tears can fall?

Not yours, O Woman who dared to kill him,
You can't weep to him now, or pray to him,
Nor offer anything to his soul's deep unworthiness
Of gift or prayer to forget your strike.

—Oh, who with a sincere heart
Will bring praise or sorrow
To rest upon the grave
Of the great leader?

CLYTEMNESTRA.
You have no right to arrange his burial.
He fell by my hand, he died because of me,
I’ll see him to the grave, not wept for
By mourners from his family; no,

His own child for a day like this
Waits, as is fitting, and will run
By the white waves of Acheron
To hold him in her arms and kiss!

CHORUS.
Look, she who was once hated
Hates back; and who can say?
Loot taken from those who looted,
Vitality from those who kill!
Surely while God follows
His laws, while Time goes on
It’s written: To the one who does,
It will be done.

This is God's law and grace,
So who will track down the race
Of curses from this hall?
The House is sealed tight
To terror.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Yeah, you’ve discovered the Law and walked
In the path of Truth.—But even now I summon
The Living Wrath that haunts this hall
To a truce and agreement. I accept

All the misery he piles on me,
I tell him to take his self-destructive grief
To the homes of strangers. I will keep

Some small fortune, and leave everything else behind
Completely satisfied.
I have cleared the madness from the sky
Where these brothers killed their own.

[As she stops, tired and with the spark gone out of her, AIGISTHOS, with Attendants, breaks in triumphantly.]

AIGISTHOS.
Oh shining day, oh dawn of righteousness
Fulfilled! Now, I will truly confess
That divine watchers over man’s death and birth
Look down on all the suffering of the earth,
Now that I see him lying, just as I love
To see him, caught in this net the Furies wove,
To pay for the old deeds of his father’s hand.
For Atreus, this man’s father, ruling in this land
Challenged by Thyestes on his throne—
He was his brother and my own
Father, cast out from home and city;
And he, after long exile, turned back
And threw him, a suppliant, on the hearth, and won
A promise of mercy, that his own
Life-blood would not stain his father’s hall.
Then that godless brother, Atreus, called
To welcome my father—More eagerness, oh God,
Was present than love!—a feast of brotherhood.
And, pretending it was a joyful banquet, laid as food
Before him his dead children. The white feet
And finger-fringed hands he set apart,
Veiled from sight, and separated
The tables. And he, immediately unaware,
Took from those bodies, eating that which brought
No good for all his lineage. And when he realized
The unnatural act, he pushed back from the table,
Vomiting that murderous meal, and angrily
Flipped over the table, to strengthen the curse he spoke:
“Thus perish all of Pleisthenês’s offspring!”
For that is why this man lies here; and all the scheme
Is mine, most justly. Because of me, the third,
Atreus spared me when killing my two brothers
And cast me away with my broken father that day,
A small thing in swaddling clothes, into exile;
Where I grew, and finally
Justice has brought me back home! Though I was an outcast
In a far land, my arm has reached this king;
My mind, my hatred, created all the planning;
And all is well. I have seen my enemy
Dead in the trap, and I don’t care if I die!

LEADER.
Aegisthus, I dislike insulting the dead.
All the advice you've given was yours alone;
and your will caused this tragic bloodshed. As justice is served,
you won't escape—my heart predicts it—
the day of curses and the thrown death.

AIGISTHOS.
How, you poor oarsman of the nether row,
When the main deck is in charge? Do you say that?…
For such old minds, the lesson might be tough,
I worry when "Obedience" is the rule.
But hunger, chains, and cold help people discover
Their wits.—They are amazing healers of the mind!
Do you have eyes and not see this?—Don’t kick
Against a spike, because it might hurt if you hit it.

LEADER (turning from him to CLYTEMNESTRA).

Woman! A soldier just back from war! To keep
Watch over his home and shame him while he sleeps…
To scheme this plan against a lord of warriors…

[CLYTEMNESTRA, as if in a dream, doesn’t pay attention. AIGISTHOS interrupts.]

AIGISTHOS.
These are the words, old man, that bring tears!
You have a contrast to Orpheus’ voice,
Who captivated everything with his magical song,
For your wild noise will trap you.
That's enough! Once you are controlled, you will be calmer.

LEADER.
You master? Is old Argos really that cursed?
You who scheme from a distance, never having the courage
To raise your own hand to confront and take him down…

AIGISTHOS.
It was the wife’s job to lure him in. Everyone here knows me, his long-time sworn enemy.
But with his possessions, I will learn how to be King. And anyone who doesn’t obey me
Will be forced into service, not a pampered horse,
Starved and stuck in hunger’s grasp, the damp darkness will see his fury fade.

LEADER.
You cowardly soul! Why not confront him directly
and kill him? Why burden his wife with blood guilt,
polluting the Gods of Argos and ruining the land?…But young Orestes is still alive.
Oh, Fate will lead him back home again,
to avenge, to conquer, and to kill these two!

AIGISTHOS.
By God, if it's your wish to speak and act this way, you will hear soon enough!
Hey there, my loyal spears, move forward! It’s time to get to work with the weapon.

A group of Spearmen, from hiding outside, rush in and take over the stage.

LEADER.
Hey there, people of Argos! Get up! Stand and be ready, sword out of the sheath!

AIGISTHOS.
By God, I'm also ready, sword in hand, and I won't shy away from death!

LEADER.
Come, find it! We believe you. You're offering what we crave.

[Some of the Elders pull out their swords along with the Leader; others are too weak to stand. Men from AGAMEMNON’S group have gathered and are getting ready to fight, when, before anything can happen, CLYTEMNESTRA breaks her long silence.]

CLYTEMNESTRA.
No, please, my beloved! Let's have peace! And let’s not do any more harm.
Surely, what we've gathered from the past is a full harvest, and it’s not good,
And there are enough wounds everywhere.—Let’s not taint ourselves with blood.
You respected Elders, go back to your own homes,
Before things happen that make people suffer.—What we did had to be done.
And if we can finally be done with all these conflicts, oh, I will kneel
And thank God, even though we’re battered beneath the Daemon’s heavy foot.
This is what a woman says, to see if any man will listen.

AIGISTHOS.
And who are these to boldly speak without sense and wisdom,
And say meaningless things that dare Fortune's anger,
And forget all wise advice, attacking the one who wears the crown?

LEADER.
To bow down to a coward’s rule doesn't align with Argive principles.

AIGISTHOS. (putting away his sword and turning away from them).

Bah, I will be a hand of vengeance that will come down on you in the future.

LEADER.
Not if God leads Orestes back home in the future!

AIGISTHOS.
I know how men in exile survive on dreams…and I know that kind of food is useless.

LEADER.
Go ahead and thrive! Compromise what's right for this brief moment of yours!

AIGISTHOS.
I'm letting you go for now. Just know that because of all this foolishness, you'll experience my strength.

LEADER.
Yeah, brag about your greatness, just like a bird does next to its mate.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Vain hounds are barking around you; oh, ignore them! You and I will live
Like royalty in this grand House. The two of us will finally set everything right.

[The Elders and the remains of AGAMEMNON’S group leave in a gloomy mood, leaving the Spearmen in charge. CLYTEMNESTRA and AIGISTHOS turn and go into the Palace.]

The main characters in the play are all part of one family, as demonstrated by the two family trees:—

                            TANTALUS

                               |

                             Pelops

                               |

                  ———————————————————————————

                  |                         |

                Atreus                   Thyestes

                  |                         |

          —————————————————                 |

          |               |                 |

      Agamemnon        Menelaus         Aigisthos

      (= Clytemnestra)    (= Helen)     (= Clytemnestra)

          |

    ————————————————————————

    |           |          |

Iphigenia    Electra    Orestes

(Also, a sister of Agamemnon, known by different names, married Strophios and was the mother of Pylades.)

     Tyndareus = Leda = Zeus

        |             |

     ——————         —————————————————————————

        |            |           |          |

Clytemnestra      Castor    Polydeuces    Helen

[P. 1, l. 1.]—The Watchman, like many characters in Greek tragedy, is rooted in the Homeric tradition, although in Homer (Od. iv. 524) he is just a servant of Aigisthos.

[P. 2, l. 28, Women’s triumph cry.]—This cry of the women appears several times in the play: see p. 26, ll. 587 ff., p. 55, l. 1234. It is typically shown as “ololû”; the call to Apollo, Paian is “I-ê,” l. 146, and Cassandra’s cry is “ototoi” or “otototoi,” p. 47.

[Pp. 3 f., ll. 40 ff.]—With this quiet moment of Clytemnestra, compare the long silence of Cassandra below, and Prometheus’s silence in that play until his tormentors have gone. Check out the critique of Aeschylus in Aristophanes, Frogs, ll. 911-920, pp. 68, 69 in my translation.

[P. 5, l. 104, Sign of the War-Way.]—i.e. a threatening omen noticed by the army as they began their journey. In Homer’s Iliad, ll. 305-329, it’s a snake that eats the nine chicks of a mother bird and then the mother herself, and is later turned to stone. —Throughout this chorus, the words of the prophet Calchas are deliberately vague and puzzling—the typical style of prophecy.

[P. 7, l. 146, But I-ê, i-ê.]—(Pronounce Ee-ay.) Calchas, seeing in his vision the future repercussions that Artemis will impose if she follows through with the sign, calls on Apollo Paian, the Healer, to intervene.

[P. 7, l. 160, Zeus, whate’er He be.]—This idea of Zeus is also expressed in Aeschylus’ Suppliant Women and likely developed in the Prometheus Trilogy. See my Rise of the Greek Epic, p. 291 (Ed. 2).
It relates to the common Greek idea of the Tritos Sôtêr—the Saviour Third. First, there is the one who sins; next, the one who takes revenge; and third, the one who saves. In vegetation worship, the Old Year symbolizes the one who has committed Hubris, the sin of pride, in summer; the Winter kills him; and the New Year will save him. In mythology, the three successive Rulers of Heaven are identified by Hesiod as Ouranos, Kronos, and Zeus (cf. Prometheus, 965 ff.), but we cannot determine if Aeschylus accepted Hesiod's version of the story. Cf. note on l. 246, and Clytemnestra’s blasphemy at l. 1387, p. 63.

[P. 9, l. 192, Winds from Strymon.]—From the great river gorge of Thrace, NNE; see below, l. 1418.

[P. 9, l. 201, Artemis.]—Her name was awful because of what it implied. She demanded the sacrifice of Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigenia. (See Euripides’ two plays, Iphigenia in Tauris and Iphigenia in Aulis.) In other poets, Agamemnon usually commits a specific sin against Artemis, but in Aeschylus, Iphigenia's death seems to be just one of the consequences of his acceptance of the Sign.

[P. 10, l. 215, ’Tis a Rite of old.]—Literally “it is Themis.” Human sacrifice was part of the early religion of Greece; therefore, Agamemnon couldn’t refuse the soldiers’ demand as it was clearly a crime. See Rise of Greek Epic, pp. 150-157.

[P. 11, l. 246, The Third Cup.]—Typically offered to Zeus Sôtêr, the Savior, along with a song of praise or shout of joy.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—that is, themselves.

[P. 11, l. 264, Glad-voiced.]—Clytemnestra is on edge, as Agamemnon's return could either lead to her downfall or her freedom. In such a tense moment, she cannot afford any bad omens, so she confronts her fate.

[P. 12, l. 276, A word within that hovereth without wings.]—that is, a feeling of what’s to come. “Winged words” are those spoken aloud, traveling from the speaker to the listener. An ‘unwinged’ word is one that isn’t spoken. This phrase comes from Homer.

[Pp. 13 ff., ll. 281 ff.]—Beacon Speech. There’s no need to question the practical possibility of this chain of beacons. Greek tragedies don’t focus on this kind of detail. There might have been a tradition that Agamemnon, like the Great King of Persia, used a chain of beacons across the Aegean. —Notice how vividly Clytemnestra’s imagination is firing in her excitement. She seems to visualize each flickering light in the chain, just as in the next speech she envisions the scene in Troy almost with the intensity of a vision.

[P. 14, l. 314, Victory in the first as in the last.]—All are symbols of victory; the spirit of victory affects them all in the same way. See line 854 below, where Agamemnon prays that the victory he currently has, or that is within him, will stay.

[P. 15, l. 348, A woman’s word.]—Her hatred and fear of Agamemnon, making her acutely aware of the horrors of the destruction and the danger facing the conquerors, has pushed her to the edge. She stops herself and apologizes for her feminine worry. Cf. l. 1661, p. 77.

[P. 18, ll. 409 ff., Seers they saw visions.]—A challenging and unclear situation. I think the seers associated with the royal family (see Libation-Bearers, l. 37, where they are called to interpret a dream) were somewhat like what we now refer to as clairvoyants. When consulted, they gaze into a body of liquid or something similar; there, they slowly see the palace, the wounded King, the empty room, and finally, a ghostly figure of Helen herself, lingering in the area.

[P. 21, l. 487.]—This pause in the action, lasting several days, was initially noted by Dr. Walter Headlam. Interestingly, it addresses the most serious challenges presented by Dr. Verrall in his well-known essay on the plot of the Agamemnon.

[P. 21, l. 495, Dry dust, own brother to the mire of war.]—i.e. “I can tell by his clothes, covered in dry dust that used to be the mud of battle, that he comes straight from the war and knows what he's talking about.” The Herald is likely (though maybe not entirely consistently) thought of as having hurried to deliver his news.

[Pp. 22 ff., HERALD.]—The Herald rushes in, bursting with excitement and joy, filled with love for his home and everything around him. This is a stark contrast to Agamemnon, ll. 810 ff. It's important to note that his first speech confirms all the worst fears Clytemnestra had. Agamemnon has committed every sin she prayed against, and then some. The chilling lines 527 ff., “Till her Gods’ Houses, etc.,” are very similar to a passage in the Persae, 811 ff., where the exact same actions by the Persian invaders of Greece make their future punishment unavoidable.

[P. 22, l. 509, Pythian Lord.]—Apollo often appears as a threatening figure in tragedy. See Sophocles Oedipus, ll. 915 ff., pp. 52 ff., and the similar scene in Electra, 655 ff. Here, it’s shocking for the Herald to suddenly encounter the god who was the main adversary of the Greeks at Troy. You can also sense Apollo's evil presence in the Cassandra scene, 11. 1071 ff., pp. 47 ff.

[P. 23, l. 530, Happy among men.]—The peak of his success! Early Greek thinkers were constantly pondering the question, What is true happiness for a human? According to the Herald, Agamemnon has found happiness like no one else ever has. See the famous tale of Croesus asking Solon who the happiest man in the world is (Herodotus, I. 30-33).

[P. 24, ll. 551 ff., Herald’s second speech.]—The connection of thought is: “After all, why should either of us want to die? Everything has turned out fine.” This vivid description of the realities of war can be understood better now than it could in 1913.

[P. 25, l. 577, These spoils.]—There were trophies claimed to be from the Trojan War in Greek temples during Aeschylus’ time and afterward.

[P. 26, l. 595, Our women’s joy-cry.]—It appears that there was an old popular festival in Argos that celebrated, either joyfully or mockingly, the supposed deaths of a man and a woman. Homer (Od. iii. 309 f.) attributes it to Orestes rejoicing over Aigisthos and Clytemnestra; see below, ll. 1316 ff., p. 59; Aeschylus mentions it here and Sophocles in the Electra, linking it to a celebration by Clytemnestra for the deaths of Agamemnon and Cassandra. It was likely an ordinary New Year and Old Year celebration that the poets added a tragic flair to. It seems to have included a woman’s “Ololugmos," perhaps shouted by men. Refer to Kaibel’s note, Soph. Electra 277-281.

[P. 26, l. 612, Bronze be dyed like wool.]—Not possible in the literal sense, but there is, after all, a way to dye a sword red!

[P. 27, l. 617, Menelaus.]—This side note about Menelaus comes from the poet’s obligation to stick to tradition, just like similar side notes in Greek plays. Homer kicks off his longest retelling of Agamemnon's death by asking, “Where was Menelaus?” (Od. iii. 249). Agamemnon could be targeted easily because he was by himself. Menelaus was absent, either shipwrecked or stuck due to the wind.

[P. 28, l. 642, Two-fold scourge.]—Ares exerts his influence when weapons clash, when individuals confront each other. That's why it's called "two-fold."

[P. 29, CHORUS. The name HELENA.]—There was a debate in Aeschylus’ time about whether language, including names, was based on Convention or Nature. Was it simply random, allowing you to change the name of anything whenever you wanted? Or was language something grounded in nature and established by God long ago? Aeschylus supports the latter idea: Why is this being called Helena? If one understood God’s intention, it would be clear that she really was “Helenâs”—Ship-destroyer. (The Herald’s account of the shipwreck inspired this particular notion.) Similarly, if a hero was named Aias and experienced great sorrow, one could see that he was named from ‘Aiai,’ “Alas!”—The antistrophe seems to find significance in the name Paris or Alexandras, even though the etymology isn’t as clear.

[Pp. 33 ff.]—Entrance of Agamemnon. The rhythm of the Chorus suggests a march, indicating that the procession takes some time to cross the stage and get into place. Cassandra would be wearing a long white robe down to her feet, topped with an agrênon—a wool net with big gaps; she would carry a staff and wear some ribbons or crowns. The Leader greets the King: he points out that, although he opposed the war ten years ago and hasn't changed his mind, he remains a loyal servant of the King … and that not everyone feels the same way. He made a similar remark to the Herald earlier, ll. 546-550, p. 24.

[P. 35, Agamemnon.]—A tough, chilling speech, filled with pride in the beginning, and shifting to threatening tones at the end. Those who have dared to be deceitful will be crushed.—In the end, there’s a hint of fear, similar to the fear in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. He is so full of triumph and success; he must tread carefully to avoid a downfall.—Victory, Nike, was a vivid and contagious concept for the Greeks. It could cling to you or abandon you. And someone truly embodying Victory, like Agamemnon, was incredibly valuable to his friends and followers. That’s why they made wingless statues of Victory—to ensure she wouldn’t fly away. See Four Stages of Greek Religion, p. 138 note.

[P. 36, Clytemnestra.]—A fantastic speech. It seems to me that Aeschylus captured all the tangled emotions in Clytemnestra’s mind, but his craft wasn’t quite refined enough to make them all clear and explicit. She is in a state of uncertainty; does Agamemnon know about her guilt or not? At least, if she’s going to die, she wants to say something that justifies or excuses her in front of the world. A hint of hysteria sets in; why couldn’t he have been killed all these years? Why must he return, like some monster from the grave, impossible to kill? Slowly, she regains her composure, clearly explains the suspicious reason for Orestes’ absence, and pours out her words and gestures of welcome to an almost extravagant extent (which Agamemnon rebukes, ll. 918 ff., p. 39). Again, at the end, when she realizes that for now she is safe, her true feelings nearly spill over.

[P. 38.]—What is the motive behind the Crimson Tapestries? I think the tangled robe must be part of the tradition, just like the murder in the bath was. One motive is clear: Clytemnestra is tempting Agamemnon to sin or "cross the line." He tries to resist, but the allure of an opulent homecoming draws him in, and he gives in. But is that enough to explain such a peculiar detail in the story, especially since it's highlighted so much? Later, we learn that Clytemnestra draped her victim with an "endless web," long and luxurious (p. 63), to stop him from seeing or fighting back. I can't help but think this endless web was the same as the crimson pall.
If we try to figure out where this strange story came from, it might help to note that the word droitê means both a bath and a sarcophagus, or rather that the thing called droitê, a narrow stone or marble vessel about seven feet long, was used as a sarcophagus in pre-classical and post-classical times, but mainly or exclusively as a bath during classical times. If some later farmers found a royal mummy or skeleton in a sarcophagus among the prehistoric graves at Mycenae, wrapped in a robe of royal crimson and showing signs of violent death—like Schliemann thought he found—wouldn’t they say: "We found the body of a King murdered in a bath, wrapped all around in a grand robe?"

[P. 39 f.]—Agamemnon is facing temptation. He complains a bit too much and ultimately gives in.

[P. 39, l. 931, Tell me but this.]—This short exchange really captures Aeschylus's style. Euripides would have stretched it out three times longer and made all the points obvious. Aeschylus has that nuance, but it's not always easy to grasp.

[P. 40, l. 945, These bound slaves.]—meaning his shoes. The metaphor reflects the direction of his unconscious mind.

[P. 41, l. 950, This princess.]—This is the first time the audience notices Cassandra. She is also one of Aeschylus’ quiet characters. I picture her looking pale, staring blankly ahead, almost as if she’s in a trance, until fear overwhelms her at Clytemnestra’s greeting in l. 1035, p. 45.

[P. 41, l. 964, The cry.]—that is, the shout of the possessed prophetess that echoed from the inner sanctuary at Delphi and was interpreted by the priests.—The last two lines of the speech are clear in meaning but difficult to translate. Literally: “when the complete, or fulfilled, person walks home,—O Zeus the Fulfiller, grant my prayers.”

[P. 42, l. 976.]—The victim has been lured into the house; the Chorus sings a haunting song: every audience at a Greek tragedy would expect to hear a scream from within or see a terrified messenger rush out. Instead, the door opens and there stands Clytemnestra: what does she want? “You come too!” One victim isn’t enough.—In the next scene, we need to understand why Clytemnestra is impatient. If she waits too long outside, someone will alert Agamemnon; if she leaves Cassandra behind, Cassandra's foresight will warn the Chorus. If only they could get Cassandra inside, everything would be safe!

[P. 44, l. 1022, “One there was of old.”]—Asclepius, the doctor, brought Hippolytus back to life, and Zeus struck him down for disrupting the natural order.

[P. 45, l. 1040, Alcmêna’s son.]—Heracles became a slave to Omphalê, the Queen of Lydia. His complaints about not getting enough food were a source of humor.

[P. 45, l. 1049, Belike thou canst not yet.]—See below, ll. 1066 ff. The Elder speaks understandingly. “It's probably hard for you to accept this right now.”

[P. 46, l. 1061, Thou show her.]—It’s strange to consider that this passage has been translated for centuries as if it’s all directed at Cassandra: “But if you don’t understand what I’m saying, please show me with your rude hand!”—What finally makes Cassandra speak? I think the Elder likely touches her, and that touch somehow breaks the spell.

[P. 47, l. 1072, Cassandra.]—“Otototoi” essentially serves as a stage direction: she lets out a long, low sob.—The exclamation I've translated as “Dreams!” appears when people encounter ghosts or visions. Alcestis, 261; Prometheus, 567. See also Phoenissae 1296.—“Mine enemy!” The name “Apollon” suggests “apollyon,” Destroying … the term used in the Book of Revelation (Rev. ix. 11).
    Notice how, throughout the lyrical scene, Cassandra’s vision becomes increasingly clear: First, a vague horror of the House; then the cries of children, killed long ago; next, a new act of violence approaching; a woman involved: a wife; then, with great effort, she tries to describe the actual killing in the bath. Finally, she sees herself among the dead. (This last point is significantly expanded by Euripides, Trojan Women, ll. 445 ff., pp. 33 f.).
    The story of the Children of Thyestes is detailed below, ll. 1590 ff., p. 73. Procnê (or Philomêla) was an Attic princess who, in her rage against her Thracian husband, Tereus, killed their child Itys, or Itylus, and was transformed into a nightingale, to mourn for him forever.

[P. 52, ll. 1178 ff.]—Dialogue. During the lyrics, Cassandra has been “possessed” or “entranced”: her shift to dialogue shows she is consciously trying to regain control and clearly communicate her warning. To demonstrate her abilities, she first recounts past events that the Elders know about but she couldn't possibly have known. Once they believe in her genuine prophetic skills, she can warn them of what’s coming!—The brief ‘stichomythia’ (line-for-line dialogue), filled with awed whispers about things that can barely be spoken, keeps Cassandra’s story shrouded in mystery. Then her self-control collapses, and the power of the God overwhelms her; see below, lines 1256 ff.; where it hits her like a visible shape of fire, something not uncommon with modern clairvoyants.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—Because they had said “what guy”

[P. 56, l. 1265, These wreathed bands, this staff of prophesy.]—See Trojan Women, ll. 451 ff., p. 34.

[P. 60, ll. 1343 ff., The death cry; the hesitation of the Elders.]—This scene is often criticized or even mocked, probably due to misunderstanding. We know the Old Men are helpless, like “dreams wandering in the day.” It's crucial to the story that when the crisis hits, they are found lacking. However, they are neither foolish nor cowardly; each statement they make is natural and fitting, but their opinions are divided. It would be interesting to know if Aeschylus had them speak in a confused manner, as would definitely happen on a modern stage, or if the formal conventions of Greek tragedy required that each speaker finish their thoughts. In any case, what happens is that after a moment or two of conflicting advice, the Elders decide to break into the Palace, but just as they step onto the stairs, the large doors swing open, and Clytemnestra stands before them, looming over the dead bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra.
    The intended illusion is that the Elders have entered the Palace and found Clytemnestra. However, since the mechanical setups of the Greek stage couldn't manage such a sudden change of scene, and even with perfect machinery it would be a bothersome interruption, a bit of confusion or inconsistency is allowed. We're meant to believe we're inside the house; but in reality, that notion is soon forgotten, and the play continues without paying attention to the specific location of the action. For Clytemnestra's speech, see Introduction, p. xiii.

[P. 63, l. 1387, A prayer well sped to Zeus of Hell]—As the third offering or tribute was ceremoniously presented to Zeus the Savior, Clytemnestra disrespectfully implies that her third and unwarranted strike was a fitting offering to a kind of anti-Zeus, a Savior of Death.

[P. 65, l. 1436, Aigisthos.]—Finally, the name everyone has been thinking about is mentioned!—Chrysêïs was a war captive, the daughter of Chrysês, who was a priest of Apollo. Agamemnon was forced to give her back to her father, and this led to his conflict with Achilles, which is the focus of the Iliad.

[Pp. 67-72, ll. 1468-1573, Daemon.]—The genius or guardian spirit of the house has turned into wrath, an ‘Alastor’ or ‘Driver Astray.’ See Introduction, pp. x ff.

[P. 68, l. 1513, MOURNERS.]—This assignment of the various speeches or songs to different speakers is, of course, based on speculation. Ancient dramas have been passed down to us with no stage directions and very limited identification of the speakers.

[P. 72, l. 1579, AIGISTHOS.]—The arrival of Aigisthos brings energy back to the scene after the heavy and confused conclusion of the conversation between Clytemnestra and the Elders. At the same time, it appears, likely by design, to make it feel ordinary. Aigisthos' reasoning for his actions is mostly valid, but he is definitely no hero.

[P. 73, l. 1602, Pleisthenês.]—He seems to be one of Atreus's ancestors, but it’s unclear where he fits into the family tree. He might be the same person as Pelops.

[P. 74, l. 1617, Oarsman of the nether row.]—On an old ship, whether bireme or trireme, the rowers using the lower bank of oars were considered less important than those operating the long oars from the deck.

[P. 76, l. 1654.]—Clytemnestra, see Introduction, p. xiii. She craves peace, yet after all “Did Zimri have peace after killing his master?” The end of the play leaves us anticipating the return of Orestes. In the first scene of the Libation-Bearers, he is found standing by night at his father’s grave.