THE HOUSE OF ATREUS

Of the life of Aeschylus, the first of the three great masters of Greek tragedy, only a very brief outline has come down to us. He was born in Eleusis, near Athens, in 525 B.C., the son of Euphorion. Before he turned twenty-five, he started competing for the tragic prize but didn’t win for twelve years. He spent two periods of time in Sicily, where he died in 456, reportedly killed by a tortoise that an eagle dropped on his head. Although he was a professional writer, he also fought for his country and is said to have participated in the battles of Marathon, Salamis, and Plataea.

Of the seventy or eighty plays he is said to have written, only seven still exist: “The Persians,” which focuses on Xerxes' defeat at Salamis; “The Seven against Thebes,” part of a four-play series about the legend of Thebes; “The Suppliants,” which tells the story of the daughters of Danaüs; “Prometheus Bound,” part of a trilogy likely starting with “Prometheus, the Fire-bringer,” and ending with “Prometheus Unbound”; and the “Oresteia,” the only complete Greek tragic trilogy that has survived, consisting of “Agamemnon,” “Choephorae” (The Libation-Bearers), and “Eumenides” (Furies).

The significance of Aeschylus in the evolution of drama is huge. Before him, tragedy featured just the chorus and one actor; by adding a second actor, he expanded the possible dramatic dialogue and reduced the lyrical sections, effectively creating Greek tragedy as we know it today. Like other writers of his era, he performed in his own plays and trained the chorus in their dances and songs. He also enhanced the performances with his development of stage sets and costumes. Among the four plays here, “Prometheus Bound” stands out in world literature. (In Aeschylus’s view, Prometheus symbolizes humanity’s fight against Zeus’s oppression, and the drama’s themes resonate with the issues presented in the Book of Job.) The Oresteian trilogy about "The House of Atreus" is one of the greatest works in all of literature. It addresses the significant themes of crime and its punishment, as well as the legacy of evil; and once again, parallels can be drawn between Aeschylus’s assertions of God’s justice and those of the Hebrew prophet Ezekiel. Both argue against the common belief that the parents have eaten sour grapes and that the children's teeth are set on edge; both insist that the soul that sins will die. The depth of thought and the grandeur of style with which these ideas are expressed secure this trilogy’s position at the forefront of the literary masterpieces of the ancient world.

A Watchman
A Herald
Chorus
Agamemnon
Aegisthus
Clytemnestra
Cassandra

The scene is the Palace of Atreus at Mycenae. In front of the palace stand statues of the gods and altars set up for sacrifices.

A Guard

I ask the gods to free me from my struggles,
To end the watch I've kept all year long;
Like a guard dog lying awake, never resting,
Propped on one arm on the palace roof
Of Atreus' family, I've watched too long, too well
The starry gathering in the midnight sky,
Too well, the glories of the heavens,
The lords of light, whose royal presence reveals—
When they rise or set in the sky—
The seasons changing, bringing frost or heat.

And now, just like always, I’m ready to watch
For when the signal flame will light up,
The bright bonfire, and share its Trojan story—
Troy is taken: this outcome gives hope
To her who has a man’s heart beating in her chest.

So here I am, lying on my restless couch,
Soaked with the night’s dew, untouched
By dreams—oh, how I wish!—because instead of sleep
Fear stands by me like an old friend, pushing away
The gentle peace that could close my eyelids.
And if sometimes, longing for that lost balm of sleep,
I soothe my soul with a melody
Of trills or songs—soon I’m in tears,
Mourning the sorrow that fills this home,
No longer guided by honor like before.

But now at last, the welcome hour has arrived
That sets me free, whenever the dark night shines
With the guiding light of hope that's finally here.
All hail!

A beacon light is visible, casting a red glow across the distant sky.

Fire of the night, that brings my spirit to life,
Casting light on Argos, with dance and song,
Cheers to fortune, hooray!

Let my loud call echo in the ears
Of Agamemnon’s queen, so she will quickly
Jump from her bed and with a sharp voice shout
A joyful welcome to the beacon's light,
For the fall of Troy; such a fiery signal shines
From that high flame; and I, before everyone else,
Will dance the light-hearted steps of our joy;
For I can say, My master’s luck has turned—
Look! the triple chance, the lucky flame!
Now may I have the chance to embrace, in loyal love,
The hand of him returned, who rules our home:
Home—but I say no more: my tongue
Stumbles over the expression of the saying.
Had it voice,
The home itself could tell its story best;
I, with determination, will speak words the wise can learn,
To others, nothing to remember or understand.

[Exit. The chorus of elderly men from Mycenae enters, each leaning on a staff. While they sing, Clytemnestra appears in the background, lighting the altars. ]

CHORUS
Ten long years have passed,
Since the two powerful rulers,
Gifted by Zeus with high status,
The brave leaders of Atreus' family,
  Set out long ago,
To confront Priam in person,
  Before the court of War!

A thousand ships from Argive land
Set sail to carry the warrior crew,
Who with a stern and strong spirit
Went out to correct the kingdom’s wrongs—
As they sailed, the battle song rang out,
  Wild as the cries of vultures;
When above the nest, soaring high,
In wild, grieving agony,
Around and around, in airy circles,
They wheel with the power of their wings,
But the young birds don’t see,
The ones who once called them home;
But let Apollo from the sky,
Or Pan, or Zeus, hear the cry,
The cry of exiles, the mournful wail,
Of birds torn from their homes—
On those who committed the violence,
Heaven sends the vengeful spirits of hell.

Even so, Zeus, the jealous lord
And protector of home and family,
Sends Atreus’ sons, filled with rage,
Against Paris—he sends them out burning,
To reclaim her, in war and blood,
Whom one married but many wanted!
And many, many will feel, by his command,
The last embrace of enemies,
And many knees will bow in dust,
And broken spears will clash loudly on shields,
  Of Trojan and Greek, before
  That iron wedding feast is over!
  But as he willed, it is all arranged,
  And sorrows, decreed by heaven, must come—
  Unrelieved by tears or spilled wine
  Poured out too late, the divine wrath
  Flares vengeance on the unburned altar.

And we in gray have dishonored the old,
  Weak in body, deemed unfit
  To join the warriors' ranks
  That went forth to battle:
  And here at home we linger, eager
  To support our frail steps,
  Each with his cane—so strength fades,
  And returns to a childlike state.
  For while the energy of youth is fresh,
  And still unformed, surges within,
  The young are as frail as the old,
  And both alike unfit to hold
  The crucial position in war!
  And oh! when flowers and fruits are gone,
    And on life’s tree the leaves are dry,
    Age makes its weary journey,
  As powerless as a child, as light
  And fleeting as a nighttime dream
  Lost in the bright daylight!

But you, O child of Tyndareus,
    Queen Clytemnestra, speak! Tell us,
    What messenger of joy today
  Has caught your attention? What good news,
  That you summon the altar-fires
  Even to the city's edges?
  Every god who protects our city,
  And keeps watch over Argos
    From the heavens above and the earth below—
  The mighty lords who rule the skies,
  The lesser deities of the marketplace,
    To each and all the altars shine,
  Prepared for the sacrifice!
  And here and there, nearby and far away,
  Many a beacon-star rises skyward,
  Conjured, charmed, and lit well
  By the soft and innocent magic of pure oil,
  No longer hidden
  In the palace’s secret store.

O queen, we ask you, whatever it is,
    That you know, please share with us,
  And help ease our worried hearts!
    Our spirits are fading into despair—
  But now, they're rising with a bright sign,
  From the altar, Hope appears—to drive away
  From our broken hearts the vulture of Worry.

Listen! For the power is mine, to sing aloud
  The leaders’ triumph, the strength that fate bestowed!
Listen! Within my soul still flows a melody,
  From timeless realms of power, and strong enough to save!

How brother kings, twin lords of one command,
  Led the youth of Greece at their peak,
Pushed them forward, with vengeful spear and sword,
  By warrior-birds that watched the leaving hour.

Head to Troy, the eagles seemed to shout—
  And the sea-kings followed the orders from the sky-kings,
When they soared to the right across the sky,
  One was black, and the other had a white barred tail.

High above the palace, they were spotted soaring,
  Then landed in view of everyone, and tore apart,
Far from the fields she would roam no longer,
  Heavy with her unborn young, a mother hare.

And then one saw the true soldier-prophet,
  And the two leaders, so different in spirit and intention,
He recognized the two-colored eagles right away,
  And spoke the prophecy aloud, for better or worse.

(Ah, what a disaster! But may the outcome be good!)

Go ahead, he shouted, and Priam’s city will fall.
   But it will take a while; the flocks and herds,
The wealth of the people, that graze in front of the wall.
   Will be cut down when Fate gives the signal.

But oh, be careful! Don't let the anger in Heaven stick around,
   To dull the fiery battle-forge again,
And ruin the strong hold of Trojan pride,
   The steel of revenge, forged as if for war!

For the virgin Artemis has a fierce grudge
   Against the royal family, the eagle pair,
Who tear apart the unborn young, never satisfied—
   Yes, she despises their feast on the trembling hare.

(Ah, what a shame! But I hope the outcome is good!)

For she loves deeply—the gentle and kind goddess—
   The soft, newborn lion cubs,
Too fragile to roam—and well the nursing young
   Of every creature that wanders through the woods and fields.

So she still prays to the Lord of Heaven,
“No, if it’s meant to be, may the omen be real!
Yet the eagles in the vision predict something bad;
The outcome may be good, but it’s mixed with trouble too!”

Healer Apollo! keep her anger in check,
   Nor create the lengthy delay of opposing winds,
To fight against the Greeks and hold back
   From the open sea their eager sails!

She longs, unfortunately, to witness a second life
   Brought forth, a cursed unholy sacrifice—
Between married souls, a creator of conflict,
   And hate that feels no fear, and wicked schemes.

At home, there lurks like a sneaky snake,
   Waiting patiently, with unresolved anger,
   A clever observer, eager to satisfy,
  In blood, the bitterness for a slain child.

Such was the powerful warning from the past—
  Amid good news, so came the word of dread,
When the fateful eagles hovered over
  The kings, and Calchas interpreted the omen clearly.

(In strains like his, once more,
Sing sorrow and oh dear! but let the outcome be good!)

Zeus—if The Unknown
    That name of many names feels right—
  Zeus, I'm calling on you.
    Through every path of thought
  I wandered, but all were in vain,
  Except for the one that calls you Zeus, the Greatest One,
    If only I could shed this burden,
The heavy burden that drags my spirit down.

The one who was a lord in the past,
In full pride of power and bravery,
  Has fallen and is gone, just like an old story!
  And the one who came next,
  Overthrown by a stronger grip
  Has passed on!
And anyone who now calls for the song of victory to rise
  To Zeus, and Zeus alone,
Will truly be seen as wise.
It is Zeus alone who shows the perfect path
  Of knowledge: He has ruled,
Humans will learn wisdom, through hardship taught.

In night’s visions, like falling rain,
  Many painful memories come down
Before the spirit’s view: through tears and sorrow
  Wisdom arrives for the reluctant soul—
  A gift, I know, from all that is divine,
That sits on its sacred throne in strength, up above the sky!

And then the older chief, who ordered
  The fleet of Greece to be staffed,
  Didn’t speak any words of hate to the seer,
  But turned away from the unexpected gust of Fate—

Ah, what a frustrating time it has been! Before they even set sail,
  Every supply and smaller ship failed,
    While all the Achaean army
    Lay anchored at Aulis,
  Looking over to Chalcis and the coast
  Where the ebbing waters swirl, hit the rocks, and sway;
    And filled with bad delays
  From the northern winds of Strymon came the opposing gust—
    The cruel mother of famine,
    That keeps men wandering still
  Far from the harbor where they long to be!—
    And mercilessly did destroy
    Each ship and cable, rotting in the sea,
    And, adding more delay with each exhausting hour,
Anxiety with hope delayed has wilted the Achaeans’ fighting spirit.

But when a fierce storm brought even deadlier relief,
  And heavier troubles weighed down both leaders,
Pleading with the anger of Artemis, the prophet declared,
  The two sons of Atreus struck their scepters on the ground,
  And despite their efforts, could not hold back their tears!
  Then the older king spoke out—
    What a terrible fate is mine, to disobey!
    And how painful it is to hurt my child, my family's love and pride!
    To stain a father's hands with innocent blood, and kill
    My daughter by the altar’s side!
    Between grief and grief I find myself—
  I won’t cowardly run away,
And abandon the fleet, letting down every true ally;
  For rightly they seek, with burning passion,
  The virgin’s blood, spilled to calm the opposing wind—
     God grant that this action turns out well!

Thus on his neck he took
      Fate’s heavy, unforgiving yoke;
Then, in the opposing wind of will hated and cursed,
    To recklessness his changing spirit swayed—
    Alas! that Madness, the first and worst of all troubles,
With wicked cunning, has always provoked men’s souls to sin!

And so he hardened his heart—oh, what a day—
      Helping fight a war for one deceitful woman's sake,
          To kill his child,
    And with her spilled blood create
An offering, to speed the ships on their journey!

Lusting for war, the bloody judges
Closed their hearts and ears, refusing to hear or listen
      To the girl's voice pleading,
  Pity me, Father! nor her prayers,
      Nor her tender, youthful years.

So, when the sacrifice chant ended,
     Her father told the young priests
To lift her, like some helpless kid, above the altar stone,
     From where she lay,
        Completely passed out—
He ordered them, like a bit that quietly calms a horse,
      To keep her pretty lips from speaking,
In case she might curse Atreus’ house and lineage,

So, trailing on the ground her robe dyed in saffron,
    With one last heartbreaking glance from her pleading eyes
       Those who should hurt her, she hurt—
    Beautiful, silent, like a painted figure, but eager
    To ask, Is everything forgotten?
How often those halls of old,
Where my father held grand feasts,
  Rang with the soft, pure melodies,
    When I, a spotless child,
  Sang with innocent lips,
    Sang of my father, and all
His respected life, and how upon him should fall
    Heaven’s greatest gift and reward!
  And then—but I saw not, nor can I tell,
    What further fate occurred:
  But this is certain, that Calchas’ ominous song
    Can never be empty or worthless.
  This payment from Justice’s hand is earned by those who suffer,
    To see the future:
  And yet—goodbye, O mystery of Tomorrow!
    Knowing the future is knowing sorrow.
  Clear with the bright rays of tomorrow’s sun,
    The future pushes forward.
  Now, let the house’s story, however dark it may be,
    Find a good ending!—
  So prays the loyal, solitary group
    That protects the Apian land.

They look at Clytemnestra, who steps away from the altars and comes forward.

O queen, I come to honor your rule—
For, while the king's throne is empty,
The loyal heart bows before his queen.
Now—whether it’s sure and certain good news,
Or the pleasing tidings of a hopeful dream,
That urges you to share the light from shrine to shrine,
I’m eager to hear, but won’t mind if you keep it to yourself.

CLYTEMNESTRA
As the saying goes, From the womb of Night
Spring forth, with promise fair, the young child Light.
Yes—my news is even more amazing than all hope—
Priam's city has been taken by Greek hands!

CHORUS
What do you say? A doubtful heart leads to a treacherous ear.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Listen up again, and clearly—Troy is ours!

CHORUS
A joy that brings tears rushes through my heart.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Yes, through those tears, your eyes show loyalty.

CHORUS
But do you have proof to be certain?

CLYTEMNESTRA
Alright; I have—unless the god has deceived me.

CHORUS
Has some dream in the night convinced you to believe?

CLYTEMNESTRA
Out with all signs of a sleepy soul!

CHORUS
But were you encouraged by the whispers of gossip?

CLYTEMNESTRA
Peace—you scold me like I'm a naive girl.

CHORUS
So, how long ago did the city fall?

CLYTEMNESTRA
Even in this night that's about to give way to dawn.

CHORUS
But who could get the message here so quickly?

CLYTEMNESTRA
From the peak of Ida, Hephaestus, the lord of fire,
Sent out his signal; and on and on,
The flame carried from beacon to beacon.
From Ida to the crag that Hermes loves,
Of Lemnos; then to the lofty heights
Of Athos, Zeus’s throne, the great blaze flared.
From there, raised high to shoot across the sea,
The moving light, reveling in its strength,
Shot from the pine pyre, making its way,
In golden glory, like a strange new sun,
Forward, and reached the heights of Macistus.
There, with no dull delay or careless sleep,
The watcher sent the news on in turn,
Until the guard on Messapius’ peak
Saw the distant flame shine on Euripus’ tide,
And from the high pile of dried furze
Lit the new signal and urged the message on.
Then the strong light, far flown yet still bright,
Shot through the sky above Asopus’ plain,
Bright as the moon, and on Cithaeron’s crag
Awoke another watch of moving fire.
And there the sentinels didn’t hesitate,
But hastily passed on the flame’s command—
Swiftly the light shot above Gorgopis’ bay,
To Aegiplanctus’ mountain, urging the peak
Not to fail the onward command of fire.
And like a long beard streaming in the wind,
Fully fed with fuel, roared and rose the blaze,
And onward flaring, gleamed above the cape,
Beneath which the Saronic bay shimmers,
And from there leapt the light to Arachne’s peak,
The mountain watch that overlooks our town.
From there to the roof of the Atrides—in noble line,
A bright legacy of Ida’s fire.
So it sped from stage to stage, fulfilled in turn,
Flame after flame, along the appointed course,
And look! the last to speed on its way
Sees the end first, and glows toward the goal.
And Troy is taken, and by this sign my lord
Tells me the story, and you have heard my word.

CHORUS
To heaven, O queen, I will raise a new song:
But if you would speak again, I would love to hear
The entire amazing story from beginning to end.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Just think—this very morning—the Greeks are in Troy,
And all around them, the sound of loud wails!
In one cup, pour vinegar and oil,
And look! they remain separate, they clash.
So in the mixed outcome of the conflict
Mingle the victors’ cheers with the captives’ cries.
For all the conquered who survived the sword
Cling, weeping—some to a brother who’s fallen,
Some childlike to the figure of a father,
And mourn for the loved ones lost, while their necks
Are already bowed under the weight of chains.
And see! the victors, now that the battle's done,
Driven by restless hunger, roam far and wide
Through the disheveled city, trying to grab
Whatever food and rest they can find
In the once glorious halls of Troy—
Happy to escape the cold and dew,
Where they used to sleep on the open plain—
Happy to enjoy the gentle night,
Without the watchful sentinel calling them.
Yet they should show respect to the city’s gods,
The lords of Troy, though defeated, and her temples;
So the conquerors won’t be conquered in turn.
Yes, let no desire for forbidden gain
Cause the victors to give in to greed.
For we still need, before the race is done,
To return home safely, to finish the course.
For if the army gets reckless before it gets back,
Then, even if the sudden strike of fate is avoided,
Before the eyes of the gods, it will rise once more

The serious injustice of the murdered, seeking revenge.
Now, listening to this woman speak through me,
The story and its warning, please pray with me,
May luck tip the scales with a steady balance.
For my hopeful dreams have turned into greater joys.

CHORUS
A kind word from your lips, my queen,
Deserves the voice of a wise man;
Now, with full faith in your persuasive story,
I prepare to honor the gods with song,
Who give us joy to balance our suffering.

[Exit Clytemnestra.

Zeus, Lord of the sky! and welcome night
Of victory, that has our strength
  With all the glories crowned!
On the towers of Troy, no longer free,
You have cast the powerful net of war,
  And tightly surrounded them,
So that neither warrior can escape,
Nor young man easily leap
The traps as they tighten, and tighten,
Until with the grip of fate our enemies
  In the chains of slavery are bound!

Zeus, the Lord of hospitality,
In thankful respect, I bow to you—
  It is you who dealt the blow!
  At Alexander, long ago,
  We saw you draw your vengeful bow,
But patiently you held back
The eager arrow, which, if released
Too soon or aimed too high,
Would have soared bloodless through the sky.

Zeus, the supreme God!—whatever remains unclear,
  Our minds can figure out—
The strike that takes down the wrongdoer is from God,
  And as he desires, the punishment

Vengeance hits hard. One said long ago,
  The gods don't bother to settle
A score with someone whose actions crush
  The purity of holiness—
An outrageous statement! because whenever the father
  Spoke out with rebellious anger—
When his household overflowed with joy
  And health and wealth—
His grandchildren saw the consequences clearly,
  In the end, filled with tears and pain.
May good fortune that brings no sorrow come my way,
  And with it, contentment!
Who rejects the shrine of what is right, neither wealth nor power
  Will be a fortress for him,
To protect him from the abyss: that is his fate,
  Where all things are forgotten.
Desire drives him on—wild and desperate desire,
  The child of fate that engineers sin—
And there is no cure; out in the open,
  Sin’s terrible glare ignites.
Like a tarnished coin that reveals its false metal
  With stains and smudges,
So is the sinful person.
  Before him, light and joyful Pleasure hovers, luring him like a child,
  While home and family suffer
Beneath the heavy weight of his wrongdoing;
  Until, at the end of his time,
Cast down from grace, he utters empty prayers
  To powers that will not listen.

And so Paris arrived
  At the home of Agamemnon,
And there, with guilt and shame to repay his welcome,
  He took the wife away—
And she, leaving behind the battle of shields and spears and ships,
Carried destruction to Troy as her dowry,
  And, overconfident in sin,
Left swiftly through the gates at midnight.
  Often from the prophets’ lips
Came the warning and the cries—Oh, sadness!
Sadness for the home, the home! and for the leaders, sadness
  Sadness for the marriage bed, warm
Yet from the beautiful body, the trace of the form
  Of the one who loved her husband, just a while ago!
    And sadness! for the one who stands
Ashamed, silent, and without blame, reaching out
  That cannot find her, and sees but will not acknowledge,
    That she is far away!
And his sorrowful imagination, yearning over the sea,
    Will call and bring back
Her spirit, once again to rule in his hall.
    And heavy with many memories,
The fair cold beauty of each sculpted face—
  And all their grace has turned to ugliness,
Seen blankly by lost and hungry eyes!
  And when the night is deep,
Visions come, sweet and sad, carrying pain
  Of useless hopes—
Empty, empty and worthless, for barely does the sleeping mind
  See its old joy,
When through the grasp of love that tries to hold it
  It slips away
On silent wings drifting down the paths of sleep.

Such are the sights, the sorrows that fell,
Around our home—and worse, which I can’t tell.
But, throughout the whole town,
Every household that sent its loved one far away
From Hellas’ shore,
Feels the sharp sting of heartache, the pain of loss, today.
For, to be honest,
The touch of bitter death is everywhere!
Every face was familiar, and dear as life,
That went off to war,
But from the place a warrior went long ago,
Nothing returns—
Only a spear and sword, and ashes in an urn!
For Ares, the god of war,
Who holds the balancing scales of battle,
War’s money-changer, trading dust for gold,
Sends back, to hearts that cherished them,
Little remains of warriors, wept over with many tears,
Light to the hand, but heavy to the soul;
Yes, fills the light urn full
With what survived the flame—
Death’s dusty measure of a hero’s remains!

Oh no! one cries, and again oh no!
Our leader is gone, the hero of the spear,
  And has not left anyone like him!
Ah, what a tragedy! another mourns—my partner is dead,
  The death of honor, covered in dust and blood,
Killed for a woman’s sin, a deceitful wife’s shame!
  Such bitter words of anger
Rise against those who went out to reclaim;
  Yeah, jealous rage creeps up against the Atrides’ name.

And others, far below the Ilian wall,
    Rest in eternal sleep—the noble leaders and strong,
  Lying in enemy territory, where they breathed their last,
And the lords of Troy, each in his own Trojan grave.

So for everyone in the city,   There's a heavy, suppressed anger, As deep and deadly as a loud curse   Shouted by the crowd; And, deeply absorbed in thought, my soul waits   For news of what’s to come, Still buried in the womb of darkness. For the high gods haven’t forgotten their judgment   Against the sons of violence: it feels like too long The unjust continue to thrive and be strong,   Until the dark Furies arrive, And strike with harsh consequence at his home,   Into gloomy oblivion—he's gone, And there’s no help or hope among the lost!

Over him who boasts of great fame,
  A fitting doom hangs over him;
The vengeful strike sets fire to his eyes,
  Launched from the hand of the divine.
This happiness be mine, granted by God, to feel—
  To not trample a city into dust,
  Nor see my own life forced
Down to the status of a slave beneath another’s heel!

Look, all around the city
The quick feet of Rumor have run,
  Awakened by the joyful flame:
But is the news they spread true?
Or are they possibly giving as fact
  Some deception that heaven creates?
  It would be childlike and foolish
  For anyone to let their heart be filled with joy,
To see the beacon fires light up,
  And then, under some contradictory word,
  Quickly become sick with hope delayed.
  A woman's insight always
  Divides good news from the true;
Light rumors leap within the boundaries
That surround a woman's belief,
But, born lightly, just as lightly fades
The story that comes from her guessing.

Soon we’ll see what the signal fires are telling,
The beacons lit with a passed-down flame;
Whether, as I believe, their story is true.
Or if, like some deceptive dream,
The welcome fire is just to mislead us.
For look! I see a messenger from the shore
Coming here, crowned with an olive wreath—
And the dry dust, a brother of the earth,
Speaks clearly of long journeys and honest news—
Not just vague guesses, nor a fiery tongue in smoke,
Flickering from the mountain fire;
But clearly his voice will say, All is well,
Or—but away, bad omens, now,

And a good promise brings a good outcome!
And anyone who wishes the state harm,
Will harvest the consequences of their bad wishes!

Enter HERALD
Oh land of Argos, my homeland!
Finally, after ten long years,
I return to you; the ship of my journey,
Though one by one hope’s anchors broke loose,
Is held by the last, and now safely lands here.
For a long time my soul despaired of finding, in death,
The longed-for rest in our Argive land:
And now all hail, oh earth, and hail to you,
New-risen sun! And hail our country’s God,
High-ruling Zeus, and you, the Pythian lord,
Whose arrows once struck us—do not strike again!
Was not your anger fully unleashed upon us,
Oh king Apollo, by the Scamander’s banks?
Turn now, be turned, be our savior, our healer!
And hail, all gods who rule the streets and marketplaces,
And Hermes hail! my patron and my pride,
Herald of heaven, and lord of heralds here!
And Heroes, you who sent us on our journey—
To each and every one I cry, Welcome back
With grace those Argives who the spear has spared.

Ah, home of royalty, cherished halls,
And solemn shrines, and gods that greet the morning!
Still as ever, with sunlit faces welcome
The king returning after many days.
For just as daylight breaks from the night,
So from darkness arises a light, a king,
Upon you, upon Argos—Agamemnon arrives.
So let’s cheer and welcome him! Such praise is due
To him whose strong hand brought down the towers of Troy
With the mighty axe of Zeus who sets things right—
And flattened the land, reducing to nothingness
Each altar, every shrine; and far and wide
The beauty of the land fades from its face.

Such a heavy burden of fate he placed on Troy—
Our lord and king, Atreus’ eldest son,
And finally returns home with joyful honor;
The highest of all who walk the earth today—
Not Paris nor the city itself that paid
The price of sin with him can claim, No matter what happens,
The reward we’ve gained outweighs it all.
But at Fate's judgment seat, the thief stands
Condemned for his theft, and his prize is torn
From his grasp, and from his actions comes
A bloody harvest from his home and land
That has fallen to ruin, and for his guilt and desire,
His father's lineage pays twice over in the dust.

CHORUS
Hail, messenger of the Greeks, just returned from battle.

HERALD
All hail! Nothing even death can scare me now.

CHORUS
Was your heart filled with longing for your homeland?

HERALD
This joy fills my eyes with tears.

CHORUS
You too felt this sweet distress—

HERALD
What do you say? Make me the master of your word.

CHORUS
You missed us just like we missed you again.

HERALD
Did we who desired the land crave it, love for love?

CHORUS
Yeah, until my troubled heart cried out in pain.

HERALD
Where does your despair come from that ruins the army's joy?

CHORUS
The only remedy for wrong is silence, says the saying.

HERALD
Your kings far away, could you fear anyone else?

CHORUS
Death was sweet, as you said, but not anymore.

HERALD
It's true; Fate finally smiles. Throughout our struggles,
All these years, some opportunities came our way,
And some, I know, were mixed with a curse.
But who on earth has achieved the joys of heaven,
Through all of time, without a single trouble?
I could tell a story of hard work and rowing,
Little rest, few safe landings on a rocky shore,
All the pain, all the sorrows, for our daily fate.
And our sufferings on land were worse and more hated;
For where we slept, close to the enemy's wall,
The river plain was always damp with dew,
Dropped from the sky, exuded from the earth,
A curse that clung to our soaked clothes,
And hair as wild as a beast’s fur.
Why recount the suffering of winter, when the birds
Lay frozen and stiff, the snow on Ida so harsh?
Or summer’s heat, when the still wave
Sank into its slumber beneath the midday sun?
Why dwell on old troubles? Their pain has faded;
And for those who fell, all worries have vanished,
Forever gone, to rise and live again.

Why count our deaths and give thanks
For life by complaining about bad luck?
Goodbye, a long goodbye to all our troubles!
For us, the survivors of the Greek army,
Comes good fortune that outweighs all our pain;
So we can proudly boast to the sun,
Like it, having traveled far over sea and land.
The Argive army succeeded in conquering Troy,
And in the temples of the gods of Greece
Displayed these spoils, a shining symbol for the ages.
Let those who hear this story properly honor
The city and its leaders, and repay
The gratitude due to Zeus who desired
And accomplished this deed. Thus the tale is complete.

CHORUS
Your words eliminate my doubt: for good news,
The ears of the old always have enough youth:
But those inside and Clytemnestra herself
Are eager to hear everything; please satisfy their ears and mine.

Re-enter CLYTEMNESTRA
Last night, when the messenger arrived,
Bringing news that Troy has been taken and destroyed,
I let out such a wild cry of joy,
That I was scolded—Did the signal fire
Confirm to you the fall of Troy?
You’re just like any woman, whose heart jumps with delight
At wild rumors!—and with words like these
They showed me how I had been led astray by hope.
Still, at each altar I made my offering,
And, in the way they deemed fitting for women,
Heralds moved through the city, back and forth,
With loud voices proclaiming joy;
And in each temple, they lit and then extinguished with wine
The fragrant perfumes as they disappeared in the flames.
Everything is complete: I won't tell you more—
The king himself will soon share everything with me.

Remains to think what honor will best greet
My lord, the majesty of Argos, home.
What day shines brighter in a woman’s eyes
Than this, when she throws the door wide,
To welcome her lord, heaven-protected, back from war?
This is for my husband, that he doesn’t delay,
But turns the city’s longing into joy!
Yes, let him come, and when he arrives may he find
A wife just as he left her, true
And faithful like a watch-dog to his home,
His enemies’ enemy, devoted in all her duties,
Trustworthy to keep for ten long years untouched
The treasure he sealed with his master’s mark.
Be fully prepared, before you expect
Bad joy, bad fame, from anyone else in me!

HERALD
It’s rightly said: this is what a noble lady speaks,
And she’s not wrong when truth supports her claim.

[Exit Clytemnestra.

CHORUS
So she's spoken—it's up to you to understand
What her flattering words really mean.
Come to me, messenger—let me know if soon
The second beloved lord of Argos arrives?
Has Menelaus traveled safely with you?

HERALD
Unfortunately, it would be a short blessing for my friends,
To praise them with pretty lies instead of the truth!

CHORUS
Speak happiness, if truth is happiness, but truth, at its worst—
Clearly, truth and happiness are separated here.

HERALD
The hero and his ship were taken away
Far from the Greek fleet? It’s the truth I say.

CHORUS
Was it visible to everyone when carried from Troy,
Or was it taken from the ship due to harsh weather?

HERALD
Straight to the point, your words hit the target,
And a single brief word has captured deep sorrows perfectly.

CHORUS
But tell me, what is each friend saying about him?
What are their worries about his life or death?

HERALD
Don't ask me anymore: the truth is known by no one,
Except for the earth-nurturing, all-seeing Sun,

CHORUS
Tell me, what fate caused the Greek fleet to be tossed around?
How did the storm arise and fall, the anger of the skies?

HERALD
No, it wouldn't be right to spoil this day of joyful news
With tales of sorrow. The gods expect
Thanksgiving without worry.
If someone came as a herald with a sorrowful face
To say, The curse has struck, and the army
Has fallen to death; a deep wound has reached
The heart of the city, and from many homes
Many are lost, destined for death,
Under the double threat that Ares loves,
The bloody pair, the fire and sword of doom—
If such a heavy weight bore down on my tongue,
It would be right to speak words that cheer fiends.
But—coming as he does who brings news
Of safe return from work, and good outcomes,
To men celebrating a restored fortune—
Do I dare to ruin good words with bad, and say
How the gods’ anger struck the Greeks in turmoil?
For fire and sea, which once had a bitter feud,
Now conspired together and pledged their loyalty,
Wasting the Argives exhausted from toil and war.
Night and the great terror of the rising wave
Overcame us, and the winds that blow from Thrace
Crashed ship against ship, and some with plunging prow
Through rushing sprays and raging storms
Vanished, like strays lost by a careless shepherd.
And when finally the sun rose bright, we saw
The Aegean sea covered with flowers of death,
Corpses of Greek men and broken ships.
For us indeed, some god, as I truly believe,
No human power, took hold of our helm,
Snatched us or guided us from the powers of the air,
And brought our ship through all, unharmed in hull:
And saving Fortune sat and steered us well,
So that no wave would swallow us deep in salt,
Nor grind our keel upon a rocky shore.

So we escaped the death that lurks beneath the sea,
But under the day’s bright light, we were all suspicious
Of fortune’s smile, sitting and deep in thought,
Lost shepherds of ideas that roamed freely,
Over this new misery; for our leader was struck down,
And lost like ashes scattered from the pyre.
If any of them draws breath still,
Rest assured, he thinks of us as good as dead,
Just as we think of him with no other fate in mind.
But heaven save us! If Menelaus is alive,
He won’t waste time, he will surely come:
So if the high sun’s rays
Spot him on land, protected by Zeus,
Who doesn’t want to wipe out his lineage,
There’s still hope that he may find his way home.
Enough— you have the truth to the end.

CHORUS
  So, from whose lips did the prophecy come?
  Who foresaw the future so clearly,
    And named her, at her birth,
    Helen, the bride with war as her gift?
  It was one of the unseen forces,
    Leading his words with foresight.
  On swift ships, and armies, and strongholds,
    War, born from her, cast a shadow of death,
  When from the bridal bed’s delicate veil
  She set her sails to the breeze.

The strong wind blew as the waves rushed over   The split path of the ship and oar,     But while she escaped, a huge crowd followed,     Quickly in her wake, a powerful horde—   Thirsty for blood, eager for war,     They surged forward in fierce pursuit,   Then jumped onto the bank of Simois,     Among the leafy groves—   They were not guardians of the woods and fields,   But hunters wielding sword and shield.

Heaven's jealousy, which fulfills its will,
  Quickly brought on Troy its destined doom,
    Rightly named, at once, the Bride and Bane;
    And loud played the wedding song;
  But those who heard that tune
    Soon turned back to tears again;
  Zeus may wait, but still seeks revenge
    For the husband's wrong, the family's shame!
  He, the master of the home, cannot bear
  To witness its violated hospitality.

Even now, and in a very different tone,
  Troy sings her sad song of great sorrow,
    Woe to Paris, woe and hatred!
    Who won his country's destruction for love—
This is the core of the lament,
  With which she cries out in despair
The blood, so many of her own
  Have spilled in vain, to protect her fate;
Troy! you have raised and allowed to roam
A lion-cub within your home!

A nursing baby, just taken
From its mother’s breast, still eager
  For care; and often cuddled,
  In arms, on the chest,
Like a little one, it has rested;
  Or fawns and licks, driven by hunger,
The hand that will ease its suffering;
  In life’s early days, a cherished visitor,
A playmate for the kids,
A joy for the old and gray.

But as time goes by and things grow,
The lion's hunger reveals itself,
And, for the care of the household,
It shows up uninvited, celebrating there,
And pays back with bloody vengeance—
Ripping flesh with its claws:
A powerful beast that keeps killing,
And stains the home with blood,
An unstoppable curse sent by the gods,
A servant of fate and hell.

Even so, a spirit quietly arrived at the city of Ilion,
    Like a breeze over calm seas and skies,
  A delicate phantom of joy and abundance,
    With love’s gentle arrows flying from its eyes—
Love’s rose, whose thorn subtly pierces the soul.

Ah, what a day! The painful wedding bed,
  When the beautiful trouble lay next to Paris!
What curse swept through the palace and the people
    With her, the Fury sent to Priam’s pride,
By an angry Zeus! What tears from so many widowed brides!

Long, long ago, this was told to humans,
    How sweet security and a blissful life
  Have curses as their offspring—so people believe—
    And for the person with an overly fortunate fate
Springs from a bitter seed some endless woe.

Alone, alone, I think very differently;
    It's not happiness or riches, but a wicked act,
  That brings about that evil aftermath!
    Sorrow comes from wrongdoing, the result is like the cause—
While Justice, in the home of honor, grows its own kind.

Some past disrespect, some ancient wrongdoing,
    Creates a new curse that plays in our misfortunes,
  Sooner or later, when the right time comes—
    And from the light brings forth a lingering darkness,
A master of evil, an invisible, unbeatable enemy;

A cursed pride that lingers over the people
And home where dark Fate rules—
The offspring of Sin and Sorrow, which bears its parents’ marks;
While Justice in shadowy places shines bright as day,
And adorns with goodness his life, who chooses the right path.

From gold-plated halls, that tainted hands create,
    Right turns away with its proud, averted gaze,
  And of the wealth that people mistakenly admire,
    Oblivious, heads to poorer, sacred places,
And to Fate’s destination leads all, in its destined way.

Hail to you, leader of Atreus’ line,
Returning proudly from the conquered Troy!
How should I greet your victorious face?
How can I avoid over-the-top praise,
Or hold back the gratitude you deserve?
For when humans face hardship,
They pay little attention to the raw truth,
But still look for something that resembles it:
Everyone shows sympathy and tears
For those who are on hard times,
But the sorrow in their eyes
Doesn't truly reach the heart.
And with those who are happy, they disguise
Their lips with a fake smile,
And pretend to feel joy that isn’t there;
But someone wise, like a shepherd knows
His flock, can never misinterpret
Truth hidden behind false tears,
Who masks under a friendly facade
A lukewarm affection in actions.
And you, our leader—back then
When you sent Greece to war
For Helen’s sake—I admit
That I didn’t see you the way I do now;
Back then, you seemed to me
Drenched in the colors of disgrace.
I thought you were a poor navigator,
Reckless in your own decisions,
Leading others, who were doomed to die,
With empty and forced bravery!
Now from my heart, without resentment,
To those who worked hard, let this be said—
Your efforts have truly paid off—
Let time and investigation, O king, reveal
Which men within your city’s walls
Were loyal to the kingdom’s well-being,
And who were found to be unfaithful.

[Agamemnon enters in a chariot, with Cassandra by his side. He speaks without getting down.]

AGAMEMNON
First, as is fitting, let a king's greeting be said
To Argos, and the gods who protect our land—
Gods who helped us return home,
Who aided me in getting justice from Priam’s city.
In the court of heaven,
The gods gathered together and decided the case,
Not based on a lawyer's argument, and in the end,
Unanimously they placed in the urn of fate
This judgment: On Ilion and her people,
Death: and where hope almost reached the chance for mercy,
No one was there to cast a vote for it.
And still the smoke from fallen Ilion
Rises for all to see, and the flame
Of Atè’s sacrifice is still burning,
And where the towers have sunk into dusty ashes,
The rich fumes of wealth consumed rise.
For this, all people must repay the gods
With heartfelt gratitude:
For by our hands, the traps of revenge
Closed in on the target, and for the sake of one woman,
Troy lies defeated by the Argive beast—
The foal, the shielded group that jumped the wall,
When the Pleiades sank in the autumn sky.
Yes, over the fence a lion leaped,
Ravenous, and drank his fill of kings' blood.

Such a prelude spoken to the gods in full,
I turn to you and to the hidden truth
That you just mentioned: in that thought
I am like you, and what you say, I say.
For few have such natural grace,
To look up with love, without envy,
When someone else stands at the peak of success.
Deep in his heart, where jealousy takes hold,
Her poison hides and adds to his burden;
For now he struggles beneath his own troubles,
And sighs to see another's success.
I don't speak lightly, but from certain knowledge—
There are those who boast of complete loyalty,
Which is just the ghost of a dead friendship,
A shadow in a mirror, of faith that's gone.
One only—he who reluctantly left
Across the seas with me—Odysseus—he
Was loyal to me with strength and determination,
A trusted horse tied to my chariot.
Thus—whether he still walks the earth,
Or is dead, as I sadly fear—I sing his praises.

Lastly, no matter what is owed to people or gods,
Together in discussion, during the public meeting,
We'll make our decision and carefully plan
To ensure that all which is good stays that way:
For what might need the healer’s touch,
We will treat, knowing well
If cauterization or surgery is appropriate.

Now, to my palace and the shrines of home,
I will enter and greet you first and well,
You gods, who sent me out and brought me back—
And may Victory stay with me for a long time!

Enter Clytemnestra, followed by maidens carrying purple robes.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Elder men of Argos, loyal subjects of our kingdom,
I won’t hide my feelings just because you might see
The love I have for my husband. That kind of shameful fear
Eventually fades from the hearts of people.
From my own heart and not from anyone else’s words,
I know and will share the life I’ve lived,
Unwillingly, through all those long years,
While my husband was under siege at the walls of Troy.

First, that a wife sat apart from her husband,
In lonely widowhood, was pure misery—
And misery, to hear how rumor’s countless voices
  All predicted disaster—misery, when those who came
  And those who followed spoke of more bad news,
  Wailing Lost, lost, all lost! through hall and chamber.
  If my husband had suffered as many wounds,
  As rumor told through a thousand channels,
  No net was ever so full of holes as he.
  If he had been killed every time word came
  That he was dead, he could now boast
  Of being a second Geryon of triple form,
  With a triple earth covering him above—
  For what lies below doesn’t matter—triply dead,
  Dead by one death for every shape he wore.
  And thus driven mad by news of anger and sorrow,
  Often for my own death had I tied the noose,
  But others pulled it away from my neck.
  This is why Orestes, ours and yours,
  The pledge and symbol of our married bond,
  Is not here with us now, as he should be.
  And don’t be surprised at this: he’s with someone
  Who takes care of him faithfully; it’s the king of Phocis,
  Strophius, who warned me before, Think well, queen,
  What uncertain troubles may arise!
  Your husband in constant danger at Troy,
  While here an uncontrolled crowd may shout
  “Down with the council, down!” remember too,
  It’s the way of the world to stomp harder on
  Fallen power.
                     For your child’s absence then
  Such is my excuse, no crafty afterthought.
  For me, long ago the wellspring of tears
  Is dried up; no drop is left to shed.
  Dim are the eyes that always watched until dawn,
  Crying, the beacon fires, piled for your return,
  Night after night unlit. If I slept,
  Each sound—the tiny buzz of a gnat,
  Woke me again, again, from restless dreams
  Where I felt you wounded, saw you killed,
  Three times for each moment of my hour of sleep.

I endured all this, and now, free from sorrow,
I welcome my lord as the protector of a flock,
As a lifeline for a ship tossed by storms,
As a sturdy column that supports the roof,
As the only child to a grieving father,
As land seen, against all odds, by lost sailors,
As sunlight after the storm has passed,
As a refreshing spring to a thirsty traveler.
It’s so sweet to escape the burden of pain.
With this greeting, I say welcome to my husband!
And may heaven not be angry with this! For I
Endured its wrath for a long time.
                        Dear lord, come forth,
Step down from your chariot, please—no, do not
Let the proud foot, O king who conquered Troy, touch the ground!
Women! Why do you delay, when it’s your duty
To cover your king’s path with tapestries?
Quickly, quickly, scatter purple to honor his journey,
So that justice finally brings him home,
A home he hardly expected to see.
                           As for what’s left,
My unyielding zeal will guide my hand
To act as righteousness and the gods decreed.

AGAMEMNON
Daughter of Leda, guardian of my home,
Your welcome is fitting after my long absence,
For it has just now come to an end.
Understand that the praise we seek from honor
Should come from others, not from ourselves:
Also, don't make a warrior's path seem dainty;
Don’t bow to the ground in loud tribute, like some Eastern lord.
Don't scatter this purple that turns every step
Into arrogance; such extravagance is for the gods,
Not for me. A mortal man to step
On these rich colors? I find such pride daunting,
So I ask you to honor me as a man, not a god.

Don't be afraid—put aside all those fancy things,
  My name is shouted loud by the trump of Fame;
  The greatest gift from heaven during glorious times
  Is to reflect on it calmly: and you—
  Remember the saying, Don’t call anyone blessed
  Until peaceful death has crowned a life of happiness.
  It's said: I would gladly go untroubled by fear.

CLYTEMNESTRA
  No, take that back—don't go against my wishes!

AGAMEMNON
  I promise you, I’ve said it, and I won’t take it back.

CLYTEMNESTRA
  Was it fear that caused this submission to the gods?

AGAMEMNON
  If there is a reason, then it's mine for this decision.

CLYTEMNESTRA
  What do you think Priam would have done in your position?

AGAMEMNON
  He definitely would have walked on embroidered robes.

CLYTEMNESTRA
  Then don't be afraid of what people will say.

AGAMEMNON
  Yet the sound of a crowd is powerful.

CLYTEMNESTRA
  Don't shy away from envy, a companion of happiness.

AGAMEMNON
  War isn't meant for women, nor is the battle of words.

CLYTEMNESTRA
But even happy winners can find defeat in that.

AGAMEMNON
Do you really want victory in this small conflict?

CLYTEMNESTRA
Please, allow me to succeed with your kindness!

AGAMEMNON
Then, if you want, let someone bend down to take off
These sandals quickly, servants beneath my feet:
And stepping on the sea's rich color,
I pray, Let none of the gods look down
With jealous eyes on me—all unwilling,
To tread on and ruin something precious,
Wasting the fortune of garments worth silver.
That's enough about that: and for the foreign girl,
Lead her inside, but gently: God above
Looks kindly on those whom the hour of victory
Has not made cruel. No one willingly
Bears the yoke of a slave—and she, the prize and beauty
Of all we have gained, comes here in my company,
Gift from the army to its leader and lord.
—Now, since my will is bowing to yours,
I will enter my home adorned in purple.

CLYTEMNESTRA
There’s a sea—and who can control its sources?
And deep within it, there’s a huge supply,
As precious as silver, of the purple dye,
That renews the color of the dipped robe.
There’s plenty of that, O king, in your halls,
A stock that can’t run out; but I—
I would have gladly made a vow to the gods
For the cost of a thousand garments worn this way,
(If the oracle had ever required such a thing)
Trying to secure a ransom for your life.
  For as long as the roots are strong, the leaves grow,
  Providing shade when the dog-star shines;
  And you, returning home,
  Are like warmth in the winter,
  Or like a coolness when the sun
  Sweetens the juice in the bitter grape.
  Such blessings and more come into a home
  From the presence of its rightful lord.
  Zeus, Zeus, lord of fulfillment! Grant my vows,
  And whatever it is, bring it to pass!

[Everyone leaves except Cassandra and the Chorus.]

CHORUS
  So forever on the wings of fear
    Floats a bleak vision
  Before my anxious heart? A melody,
  Uninvited and unwanted, fills my ears,
    Prophesying pain.
  Not like before does Confidence now sit
    On my chest, dismissing
    These fears, like dreams we can’t quite understand.
  Old, old and gray, the time has passed
    When the linked cables secured
  The fleet, when it first arrived on Ilion’s sandy shore;
    And now my eyes, not anyone else’s, see
      Their safe return.

Yet still within me
  The inner spirit sings a foreboding song,
    Self-inspired, it sings the Furies’ tune—
      And searches, and searches in vain,
      To hope and to be strong!

Ah! For some unknown purpose of Fate,
    Are these wild beats of my heart and chest—
      Yes, they speak of some destiny—
        Each heartbeat, a warning.
    I would gladly wish for all
  To sink into the hidden realm of unfulfilled dreams.

Too far, too far our human spirits reach,
Grasping for complete happiness, never satisfied—
Until that terrible curse, lurking close by,
Breaks down the dividing wall. The winds blow too favorably,
The breezes that carry our ship on Fortune’s waves!
We sail quickly, only to soon be driven
Against the hidden rock, the reef of sorrow.

Then if the hand of caution carefully
      Throws part of the cargo into the sea
    So that everything doesn’t go down,
    It saves the ship from a deep death: just like that,
      Even though it’s doomed, those who are wise in time
      May see their family rise once again.

How often the starving field
Is saved by God’s generous gift, the new year’s harvest!
        But the blood of man once spilled,
    Once at his feet poured out, and darkening the ground,—
      Neither song nor spell can bring it back again.

So Zeus has willed:
Otherwise, he would have spared the healer Asclepius, skilled
    In bringing people back from the dead: the divine hand
Struck itself with death—a warning and a sign.

Ah, if fate, determined long ago,
Wasn't bound by the will of the gods,
      Powerless towards us, and separate—
      Faster than words my heart
Would have shared its foreboding!
Now, restless and anxious in the darkness of doubt,
    It’s pointless to reveal
Truth, from fear’s complicated web; and, eager to express
    Its idea, my soul is both prophecy and fire.

Re-enter CLYTEMNESTRA
You should go inside too, Cassandra, come on!
For Zeus, in his kindness, grants you
The chance to share the sacred water,
Next to the altar of his protection,
A slave among many slaves. What, still so proud?
Get down from the chariot; they say,
Alcmena’s son was sold against his will and bore the yoke of old.
Yes, it’s tough, but if that's your fate,
It’s a good opportunity to serve in a home
Of ancient wealth and power. A new lord,
Who came into wealth beyond his dreams,
Is like a lion to his slaves, always
Fierce and uncontrolled in his power.
Go in: you hear how we will proceed.

CHORUS
It's clear to you, oh girl, what she wants,
But you—you're caught in the traps of Fate—
If that's what you want, I encourage you to follow;
But I doubt that you see or care.

CLYTEMNESTRA
I know—unless she’s using some strange foreign language like swallows do—
My words must persuade her heart.

CHORUS
Listen: there's no kinder way than this.
Get out of the car and follow her.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Enough of this pointless waiting out here!
I won’t stay: by the main altar
The sacrifices are ready for knife and flame—
Gifts from hearts that are beyond any hope of joy.
You—if you care at all about what I say,
It would be wise to act quickly: but if you’re not listening
To my words, let your savage hand
Make up for what you can’t say.

CHORUS
She’s not a local, so reading your words
On her own: like a wild creature of the forest,
Recently caught, look! she cowers and stares at you.

CLYTEMNESTRA
It’s madness and the mind being out of control,
Since she saw her city burn to the ground,
And she comes here, refusing to be held back, until
Her fury is drained away in foam and blood.
Pay attention to her; it’s unqueenly for me,
To throw away my words like this, unheard.

[Exit Clytemnestra.

CHORUS
But for me, pity takes the place of anger.
Poor girl, get out of the chariot; there's no other way
But this—accept your role as a servant.

CASSANDRA
Oh no, oh no, how tragic! Earth, dear Mother Earth! and you
Apollo, Apollo!

CHORUS
Calm down! Don't shout at the shining prophetic god,
Who won't tolerate the plea of sorrow.

CASSANDRA
Oh no, oh no, how terrible! Earth, Mother Earth! and you
Apollo, Apollo!

CHORUS
Listen, with a wild curse she calls out again to him,
Who stands far away and hates the sound of her cries.

CASSANDRA
Apollo, Apollo!
God of all paths, but only Death leads me,
Again and again, O you, the Destroyer,
You have ruined me, you, my long-lost love!

CHORUS
She senses her future troubles,
Even as a slave, her instincts tell her what’s coming.

CASSANDRA
Apollo, Apollo!
God of all paths, but only to Death for me,
Oh Apollo, you Destroyer named!
What path have you taken me down, to what wicked place?

CHORUS
Don't you know? The home of Atreus' family:
Take my words as truth and don't ask anything more.

CASSANDRA
Home cursed by God! Witness this,
  You imagined sorrows inside—
The blood-stained hands of those who hurt their own—
The strangling noose, and, splattered with
Human blood, the stinking floor!

CHORUS
How like a bloodhound tracking its prey,
She rushes forward, sharp senses tuned to blood and death!

CASSANDRA
Ah! Can the ghostly guidance fail,
That leads my prophetic soul forward?
Look! For their flesh, the ghostly children cry,
Their soaked limbs that their father nourished!

CHORUS
We've known of your prophetic reputation for a long time,—
But for those actions, we don't need a prophet to tell us.

CASSANDRA
God! It's another crime—
Worse than the legendary tragedies of the past,
Unforgivable, hated, that one is planning here—
A dishonorable death, for those who should be dear!
  Alas! and far away, in a foreign land,
  He who should help is standing by!

CHORUS
I knew the old stories, the city echoes them all—
But now your words are confusing, beyond my understanding.

CASSANDRA
Oh wretch, oh terrible purpose!
You have poured the cleansing wave
For your wedded lord—
What a deceitful welcome!
                       How will the aftermath unfold?
It will come too soon, too soon, for now, even now,
She strikes him, blow after blow!

CHORUS
Riddles beyond my understanding—I look in vain
Through the blurry layers that hide the prophecy.

CASSANDRA
God! Look at this new sight! A net, a trap from hell,
Set by her hand—she’s an even deadlier trap herself!
  As a married woman, she kills her husband,
With the help of another!
                       You powers, whose hatred
  For Atreus’ house can never be satisfied by blood,
Raise the wild cry above this hated sacrifice!

CHORUS
Why do you command some unknown spirit
To scream over the house? You have no comforting words.
  I feel my heart freeze in fear as
  My fading life-blood flows—
  The blood that surrounds the hurting steel
  Drains slowly, like the setting sun of life—
Quickly, quickly and surely, some sorrow is approaching!

CASSANDRA
  Get away—keep him away—
  The leader of the herd, the pride of the pasture,
  Far from his partner! In deceitful anger,
  Covering his dark horns, with hidden harm
    She gorges his defenseless side!
  Listen! in the overflowing bath,
  The loud splash—the dying scream—
Listen—in the water—listen, he falls by betrayal!

CHORUS
  I misinterpret dark messages like yours,
  But something tells me they speak of trouble.
    Oh, dark prophetic words,
    You bring bad news
    Always, to people down here!
    Always some story of fear and sorrow
    Through all your complicated twists
    We try to decode and understand!

CASSANDRA
  Oh, what a day! The cup of suffering,
  That I sing about, overflows with a drink for me.
  Oh lord, oh leader, you brought me here—
  Was it just to die alongside you whose fate is close?

CHORUS
  You are upset, deeply moved,
  And you mourn for yourself with a song without tune,
  As pitiful as the endless story
  That the brown, singing bird
  Always cries Itys! Itys! in lament,
Trapped in sorrow, throughout its whole life!

CASSANDRA
  Oh, for your fate, O loud nightingale!
  Heaven gave you some comfort for your troubles,
  Dressed you in soft brown feathers, and a life without sorrow—
  But my death is marked by a sharp, double-edged sword!

CHORUS
  What are these struggles, this pointless pain,
    Sent to you from above?
  You sing the frantic tune of fear,
  Yet in a sharp, controlled melody.
  How can you move so accurately along
  The prophet’s path of ominous song?

CASSANDRA
  Oh, Paris, how unfortunate you are! Your wedding happiness
  Brought destruction and fire to your family and Troy!
    And how sad for you, Scamander’s river!
    By your beautiful banks, O river,
    I was raised with gentle care
    From childhood to womanhood!
  Now not by you, but by the Cocytus stream
  And Acheron’s shores will echo my ominous scream.

CHORUS
  Everything's just too simple, too simple!
A child could easily understand your tragic melody.
  Deep in my heart, their sharp bite
  Set terror and sorrow in me as I listened
  To that pitiful, soft, gentle word,
Yet to my ear and heart, it brought a heavy pain.

CASSANDRA
  Oh, how tragic for my city, oh, how sad for the fall of Troy!
    Father, how often the blood of slaughtered animals
  Flowed on your altar stone
    So that the heavens would protect our walls!
    But all of that was for nothing.
  The shattered towers lie low where they fell,
  And I—oh, my aching heart!—will soon lie low as well.

CHORUS
  Your song is filled with sorrow, still sorrow!
    Oh, what burdensome force
  Weighs down your heart and makes you share
  In tears of deep lament your tragic story?
Some sadness—I can’t say what—must end your heartbreaking cry.

CASSANDRA
  Listen! For no longer will the predictions of my soul,
  Like a bride, hide behind its veiled cover;
  Just as the morning wind clears the east,
  The wind of prophecy will blow even brighter,
  And as the rolling wave rises higher against the bright line of dawn,
  So in the clear skies of foresight
  Emerges within my soul a deeper, more deadly sorrow,
  And I will speak, but no longer in dark language.
  Bear witness, you who follow beside me—
  I sense the trail of blood, spilled long ago.
  Inside this house, a choir eternally
  Sings in harsh unison the song of misfortune;
  Yes, they drink, for a more hardened joy,
  Man's blood for wine, and revel in the halls,
  Never leaving, Furies of the home.
  They sit inside, chanting the primal curse,
  Each spitting hatred on that old crime,
  The brother's bed, the incestuous love
  That birthed hatred towards the ravisher.
  Tell me, is my speech wild and erratic now,
  Or does its arrow truly hit the mark?
  They once called me, The prophetess of lies,
  The wandering hag, the pest of every door—
  But now, attest that She knows the house’s curse,
  The storied infamy for real.

CHORUS
But how could an oath—even if I swear it loyally—
help you at all? Truly,
I'm astonished by your claim: I’m amazed
that you, a girl born across the ocean,
know and accurately tell stories
about a city with a foreign language.

CASSANDRA
That's my gift—a blessing from Apollo.

CHORUS
God as he was, longing for a human woman?

CASSANDRA
Oh! What used to be considered shame is no longer shameful.

CHORUS
Such heightened awareness does not go hand in hand with slavery.

CASSANDRA
He worked hard to win me over, eager for my affection.

CHORUS
Did you come together for wedding happiness?

CASSANDRA
No—because I made a promise, then betrayed the god.

CHORUS
Were you already gifted with foresight?

CASSANDRA
Yeah—prophetess to Troy of all its fate.

CHORUS
How did you escape Apollo’s anger unharmed?

CASSANDRA
I, unfaithful to him, appeared to be a false prophet to everyone.

CHORUS
Not really—to us, at least, your words seem true.

CASSANDRA
Oh, woe is me, woe! The pain returns—
A terrible suffering that knows the future all too well
With gruesome forewarnings that twist and torment my soul.
Look—over there on the palace roof
The ghostly children are sitting—see, what a sight
Like dreams gone wrong, phantoms of infants,
Horrifying shadows, marked by a family member’s hand
With murder, and their arms are heavy—
A sad burden—look, they hold it up,
The insides that their father fed on!

For this, for this, I say there are plots for revenge
A cowardly lion, hiding in its den—
Holding the gate against my master’s approach—
My master—my own—I now wear the slave’s yoke,
And he, the lord of ships, who crushed Troy,
Doesn’t recognize the deceitful treachery of words
From this false, dog-like thing—how her speech
Covers and smooths her intentions, until she gets
By ill fate’s favor the chance she desires,
Moving like Atè to a secret goal.
O fearless soul! the woman kills her lord—
Woman? what disgusting monster of the earth
Could be a fitting comparison? The double snake—
Or Scylla, where she lives, the sailor’s curse,
Surrounded by rocks? some witch of hell,
Raving a relentless curse upon her kin?
Listen—even now she cries out joyfully
The vengeful shout that announces a changed battle—
How eager, of course, to welcome her chief restored!
No, then, don’t believe me: what does belief
Or disbelief matter? Fate does what it wants—and you
Will see and say in sorrow, Her story was true.

CHORUS
Ah—it's Thyestes' feast on family flesh—
I understand her meaning and feel a chill of horror,
Hearing no veiled hint of the painfully true story,
But its complete ugliness: yet, for the rest,
I wander far from the path and know no more.

CASSANDRA
You will see Agamemnon's destiny.

CHORUS
Calm down, unfortunate woman, with your gloomy words!

CASSANDRA
Far from my words stands the one who blesses and saves.

CHORUS
Oh—if such a disaster were looming—God forbid!

CASSANDRA
You pray for nothing—these are quick to kill.

CHORUS
What person set out to do something so cruel?

CASSANDRA
Fool! This is how you misinterpret my prophecies.

CHORUS
I find the creator and the creation confusing.

CASSANDRA
It's dark! I know the Greek language all too well.

CHORUS
Yeah—but in yours, just like in Apollo’s songs,
The language is familiar, but the meaning is deep.

CASSANDRA
Ah ah the fire! It's growing, coming closer to me now—
Woe, woe for me, Apollo of the dawn!

Look at how the woman, the lioness
Lies with the wolf—her noble mate far away—
Will kill me, poor lost slave! Yes, like some witch,
She poisons the cup of wrath that kills her lord
With double death—his punishment for me!
It’s for me, the prey he brought from Troy,
That she has sworn to kill him and sharpened the blade!
You wands, you wreaths that cling around my neck,
You showed me a prophetess who is scorned by all—
I will stamp you into death before I die—
Down, into destruction!
                      Thus I stand avenged—
Go, crown someone else with a prophet’s misery.
Look! It is he, it is Apollo himself
Tearing from me the prophet's robe he gave.
God! While I wore it, you saw me mocked
At home by every spiteful tongue—
To everyone, I faced the same scorn.
The name and fate of witch and fraud—
Woe, poverty, and famine—all I endured;
And at this end, the god has brought me here
Into death’s traps, and what his love created,
His hate now destroys: and I will stand
Not before the altar of my home,
But a slaughterhouse, a bloody block
Will witness my downfall, a stinking sacrifice.
Yet the gods will pay attention to me as I die,
For by their will, one will avenge my doom.
He, to pay back his father's spilled blood,
Will strike and kill with a mother’s killing hand.
Yes, he will come—even though he roams far away,
A banished wanderer in a foreign land—
To fulfill his family’s legacy of evil,
Called home to vengeance by his father’s death:
Thus have the high gods sworn, and they will fulfill it.

And now, why should I grieve, staying on Earth,
Since my own Troy has met its end
And I saw those who conquered the city
Face the outcome that the gods have decided?
I too will go and, like them, dare to die!

[Turns and looks at the palace door.]

Portal of Hades, I greet you!
Grant me one favor—a quick and final blow,
So that without pain, with my fading blood
I can pass away quietly and close my eyes.

CHORUS
Girl of secret sorrows, secret stories,
Your prophecy has lasted a long time: but if you truly
Understand your fate, how is it that, unafraid,
You come to the altar of your destiny,
Like a victim facing the knife, guided by heaven?

CASSANDRA
Friends, there's no escaping the inevitable with delay.

CHORUS
But the one who waits the longest, wins in the end.

CASSANDRA
The day has come—running away would be of no benefit to me!

CHORUS
Oh, the incredible strength of a determined soul!

CASSANDRA
That would be bad praise for those with a happier fate.

CHORUS
All fame is joyful, even a celebrated death.

CASSANDRA
Oh sir, oh brothers, you were once so famous!

She moves to enter the house, then hesitates.

CHORUS
What fear is keeping you from the house?

Pfft!

CHORUS
What is this shout? Some deep sadness of the soul?

CASSANDRA
Ugh! The house reeks of odor and blood.

CHORUS
How? It's the scent of home-cooked meals.

CASSANDRA
It’s as disgusting as the smell from open graves.

CHORUS
You can't be talking about this fragrant Syrian nard?

CASSANDRA
No, let me go inside to shout out
The fate of the king and mine—I've had enough of life.
Oh, friends!
Be my witnesses, since I face death,
That I don’t moan in pointless fear like birds that avoid the bush and scream.
This is what you should testify
When, in revenge for my death, another dies,
A woman for a woman, and a man
Falls, for a man poorly matched with his fate.
Grant me this favor—the last one before I die.

CHORUS
Courageous until the end! I grieve for the fate you predicted.

CASSANDRA
One more statement, but not a cry of sorrow,
Even though it’s about my death—and then I won’t speak again.

Sun! you whose light I will never see again,
I call out to you, Let those who seek revenge
To kill their kin's killers, spare me
From the death of me, the slave, the defenseless prey.

Ah, the state of humanity! In times of happiness,
A line, a shadow! And if bad luck strikes,
A single wet wipe erases all evidence of our existence—
And I think this is less tragic, of the two situations.

Exit to the palace.

CHORUS
It's absolutely true! Our human condition
Is never satisfied with joy,
And no one, before the grand
And impressive palace of success,
Calls out to us in a voice of dread,
Get away! It’s dangerous to enter here!

Look! Our lord has conquered,
Thanks to heaven's grace, the ancient city of Priam,
  And he stands praised like a god once again
  On the shores of Argos!
But now—if the blood shed long ago
Calls for more blood to be shed—
His own blood, to pay once more
The harsh price for the slain—
Silence to that arrogant braggart,
Who, having heard the leader's story,
Still boasts of happiness free from suffering!

A loud scream from inside.

VOICE OF AGAMEMNON
Oh, I’m done for—a serious, fatal wound.

CHORUS
Listen, listen! Who is crying out in pain?

VOICE OF AGAMEMNON
Oh! Oh! Not again, another hit!

CHORUS
The bloody deed is done—I’ve heard the king’s shout—
Let’s quickly discuss what to do, or we might be next to go out.

ONE OF THE CHORUS
I think it's best to call for help out loud,
“Hey! Loyal Argives! Everyone to the palace!”

ANOTHER
I think it's better for us to handle the help,
And bring the action to light while the blade drips.

ANOTHER
That’s my will, and what you say, I agree:
We must act quickly! There's no time to waste.

ANOTHER
Yeah, because it's obvious, this intro to their song
Predicts that it will end in oppression and injustice.

ANOTHER
Look, we're waiting—but your name, Delay,
They reject, and push relentlessly to kill.

ANOTHER
I don't know what would be best to advise right now—
Whoever wants to take action can decide how to go about it.

ANOTHER
Your doubt is my doubt: because when a man is killed,
I have no words to bring him back to life.

ANOTHER
What? Even for the sake of life, do we have to bow down to obey
These home-destroyers and their cruel control?

ANOTHER
Unmanly fate! It would be much better to die—
Death is a kinder master than oppression.

ANOTHER
Think carefully—should we cry or show signs of sorrow or pain
To determine that the leader is dead?

ANOTHER
Such talk suits us when we observe the action—
Guessing stays distant from reality.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS
I read one will from many different words,
To understand correctly, how things are with our lord!

The scene opens, revealing Clytemnestra, who steps forward. The body of Agamemnon is laid out, wrapped in a long robe, in a silver basin; Cassandra's corpse is placed next to him.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Hey, you who heard me speak so much and so often
The flattering words that led me to my desires—
Listen to how I don’t hesitate to take it all back!
How else should someone who wants to repay
Evil for evil to an enemy
Disguised as a friend, tightly weave the trap around him,
A net of doom that can’t be escaped?
This is the culmination of old conflicts,
Thought through deeply and finally accomplished.
Everything is revealed, and as I struck I stand
With my foot firmly planted on a completed act!
I do not turn to denial: this is how I did it
So that he could neither escape nor defend against his fate,
Just as the trap surrounds the scaly shoal,
I caught him in a web that he couldn’t untangle,
The ill-fated abundance of a confusing robe;
Then I struck him, once, then again—and with each blow
He cried out, then as he died relaxed
Every limb and sank to the ground; and as he lay,
I struck him once more, with the final third blow,
Devoted to Hades, the savior of the dead.
And thus he fell, and as he passed away,
Spirit with body struggling; each dying breath
Bursting from his chest like quick jets of blood,
And the dark splatter of the rain of blood
Fell upon me; and I couldn't help but feel
That dew—not sweeter is the rain from heaven
To farmland, when the green sheath fills with grain,

Elders of Argos—since things are as they are,
I ask you to celebrate, if that's what you want:
Celebrate or not, I boast and commend the action,
And I truly believe, if it were fitting,
It wouldn’t be wrong to pour out offerings here,
Rightfully—yes, more than rightfully—on his body
Who filled his home with curses as if with wine,
And thus returned to drink from the cup he filled.

CHORUS
I’m amazed at your tongue's boldness,
To boast so loudly about a husband killed.

CLYTEMNESTRA
You see me as a woman, weak and easily led,
And try to influence me: but my heart is strong,
And I'm not afraid to speak my mind to you,
Even though you already know what I mean. Praise or blame,
Say what you want—I don’t care about your words.
Look! At my feet lies Agamemnon, dead,
My husband once—and it was this hand of mine,
A clever planner, that brought about his death.
See the act!

CHORUS
  Woman, what deadly birth,
What poisonous essence of the earth
Or dark brew from the sea,
  Gave you such passion,
Strengthening your hand
To place upon your head this burning crown,
  The curses of your land?
Our king, killed by you, brought down!
  Go forth—they shout—cursed and abandoned,
    To be hated and scorned!

CLYTEMNESTRA
O you just men, who are judging me now,
The city's anger, the rejection of my entire realm!
You didn't speak up before to cast such a sentence
On him, my husband, when he treated my daughter’s life
As if it were just another sheep or goat,
One victim from the flock!
Yes, he sacrificed his child and mine,
The beloved result of my pain,
To calm the storms that blew from Thrace.
That act of his, I say, that stain and disgrace,
Should have been paid for with his exile;
But you, who were silent then, are quick to judge
This act of mine that offends your ears.
Go ahead and throw your threats, but know this is true:
I am ready, if your power wins
Like mine does now, to submit to your control:
If God says no, you will learn
Through punishment a late humility.

CHORUS
Your skill is fearless, and your pride
Is bold and full of boast;
Your soul, that picked a killer's path,
Is all pumped up with blood—
Driven crazy to know
The blood that hasn’t been avenged, the cursed mark
Red upon your forehead.
But Fate has your future set—
Struck down as you struck, with no one to stand by,
To face your end!

CLYTEMNESTRA
Listen to the promise behind the oath I swear—
By the fierce revenge for my murdered child,
By Atè, by the Fury to whom
This man is sacrificed by my own hand,
I refuse to walk the halls of Fear,
While in this home of mine there burns
The light of love—Aegisthus—just like before
Faithful, a strong shield of trust—
As loyal to me as this dead man was deceitful,
Wronging his wife with lovers in Troy,
Fresh from the kiss of each Chryseis there!
Look at him dead—look at his captured prize,
Seeress and prostitute—comfort of his bed,
True prophetess, true lover—I know
The shoreline was not closer to the flesh,
Often, of every rower, than she was.
See, they acted badly, and they’re getting their payback now.
You know his death: she sang her last song
Like a dying swan, and lies, just as she did before,
Close to his side, and has left my bed
A sweet new taste of joys that know no fear.

CHORUS
Oh, what a sad time! I wish that Fate—
Not giving me too much pain,
Nor keeping me too long on this painful couch—
Would let my eyelids hold
The endless, unending sleep!
Because life is exhausting, now that my lord is dead,
The kindest of kings!
He faced heavy hardships and many troubles,
And for a woman's sake, on Trojan soil—
Now his life has been cut short, and by a woman’s hand.
    Oh Helen, oh foolish heart,
    You who caused the tides of battle to rise,
    Overwhelming thousands, life after life,
    Beneath the walls of Troy!
And now the lord of all lies dead.
  The fruit of your famous sin
  Bears an unatonable stain of blood,
  Oh you who once, in these halls,
  Were a source of conflict for all,
    A husband's curse!

CLYTEMNESTRA
Calm down! Don’t wish for death as if
Your heart is overwhelmed by this pain,
And don’t turn your anger away to curse
The name of Helen, or forget
How she, one cause of many men’s downfall,
Led the Danaan leaders to their deaths,
To lie at Troy in their graves,
And caused the grief that destroyed everything.

CHORUS
O dreadful spirit of our kind! that swiftly descends
  Upon the lineage of Tantalus,
Ruling over me through a woman’s desire,
  Harsh, strong, and commanding—
    A painful control for me!
    I can see your form,
  Like some dark raven, resting on the fallen,
Reveling in the wrongdoing, loudly, in a dissonant tune!

CLYTEMNESTRA
You nailed it with that word—
The dark, vengeful spirit, so deadly!
It’s from him that the thirst for murder,
Devouring, breeds deep within—
Before the old wound can heal,
New blood starts pouring out again.

CHORUS
His anger is intense and weighs down our home,
  That monster your voice has called out,
Unfortunately, a foreboding cry of unfulfilled sorrow,
  A fate that consumes everything!

Ah woe, oh Zeus! From Zeus, everything happens—
  Zeus, the ultimate reason and end of all!—
Master of our human condition, by him all things are desired
  And by him, everything is achieved!

Yet, oh my king, you're no longer my king!
What words can I say, what tears can I shed
  That express my love for you?
The web of betrayal
She spun and wrapped around your life,
  And look! I see you lying there,
And through a cowardly, wicked wound
  You gasp out your life and die!
A death of shame—oh, woe upon woe!
A treacherous hand, a splitting blow!

CLYTEMNESTRA
You keep bringing up my guilt, over and over!
I ask you to no longer think of me
  As Agamemnon’s wife.
The old Avenger, harsh and serious
For Atreus and his blood-soaked feast,
  Has struck down the lord of Atreus’ house,
And in the guise of his wife
  The king has been killed.—
Yes, for the lives of the murdered children,
  A leader’s life has been taken in return.

CHORUS
You guiltless one of this murder, you!
  Who dares to openly admit such a thought?
  Yet perhaps, angry over the parent's actions,
  The evil one has helped you kill the son.
    Dark Ares, god of death, is closing in
    Through streams of blood shed by family,
    Demanding payment for the dead children,
For the spilled blood, for the flesh their father fed on.

Yet, oh my king, no longer my king!
      What can I say, what tears can I shed
        To express my love for you?
      The web of betrayal
      She spun and twisted around your life,
        And here I see you lying,
      And through a cowardly, wicked wound
        You struggle for breath and die!
      A death of disgrace—oh, woe upon woe!
      A treacherous hand, a fatal blow!

CLYTEMNESTRA
     I don’t think the death he faced
       Was overly shameful:
     Because he was the one who caused
       Great wrong to his house and name:
     His daughter, the flower of my womb,
     He handed over to a deadly fate,
     Iphigenia, child of sorrow!
     And just as he acted, so he suffers.
     Let his bragging not be too loud in hell;
     For with a sword, he committed his sins,
     And by the sword, he himself was brought
       To dwell among the dead.

CHORUS
    Oh, where can I run?
Everything is falling apart in the royal hall;
I have no quick plan or change of mind,
    To escape its collapse.
For a little while, the gentle rain has stopped;
I'm standing here, lost—this awful pause,
  Until the roof is pounded by the crashing hail
  Of blood and doom. Right now, fate sharpens the blade
  On whetstones that are newer and deadlier than before,
    The blade that strikes, in Justice’s grasp,
    To deliver another death.
  Oh Earth! I wish I had rested
  And been embraced by you forever,
  Before I saw my leader fall
  Within the silver basin’s walls,
  Lying low on a dishonored coffin!
  And who will give him a burial,
  And who will pour out the tears of sorrow?
  Woman, it’s not your role anymore!
  A thoughtless gift to his spirit
  Such tribute, paid by his murderer!
  Do not try to wrongly make up
  For the wicked act your hand has done.
  Oh, who above the god-like leader
  Will shed the tears of true grief?
  Who will speak above his humble grave
  The last sad praises of the brave?

CLYTEMNESTRA
    Be quiet! This task isn’t yours.
      He fell by my hand, he died by me,
    And now I take charge of his burial rites!
    But from these halls, no mourners’ train
      Will honor his memory;
    Only by the river Acheron’s flowing tide
    Will his child come to his side,
      And in a daughter’s loving way
    Will hold and kiss him once again!

CHORUS
Look! Sin brings more sin and sorrow follows sorrow—
    And who can know the end?
The killer today will die tomorrow—
    The price of wrong is pain.
As long as time exists, while Zeus reigns above,
    His law is harsh and unyielding;
Those who commit wrong will face retribution—
    The waves of fate come back.
The cursed children live within
    These grand halls;
And no one can escape the grip of sin
    From the stronghold of fate.

CLYTEMNESTRA
    Now your words are on point, revealing
    This ancient truth of the oracle;
    But I will sincerely pray
    To him, the power that holds sway
      Over all the Pleisthenes line—
    Even though the deed is dark and the guilt runs deep,
    With this last blood my hands have shed,
      I ask you to let your anger go!
    I ask you to leave us behind
      For some new people in other lands,
    There, if you choose, to wrong and kill
      The lives of men by your kin’s hands.

For me, it’s enough reward,
    Even if little wealth or power was gained,
    As long as I can say, It’s over and done.
    The bloody desire and murder,
    The crazy rage that's in our family,
      Is finished, by my actions!

[Enter Aegisthus.]

AEGISTHUS
Hail to the dawn of rightful vengeance!
I finally dare to say that the gods above
Care about humans and pay attention to earthly wrongs.
I, who stand here and rejoice to see
This man wrapped in the robes woven by the Furies,
Slain as revenge for his father's deeds.
Know the truth: Atreus, this man's father,
The lord and ruler of this ancient land,
Had a bitter feud with my father Thyestes,
Brother against brother, fighting for power,
And drove him from his home into exile.
Later, the lost exile snuck back,
Clinging as a suppliant to the sacred hearth,
And won this immunity for himself—
He would not defile the land that gave him birth
With his own blood. But Atreus, godless father
Of the man who lies dead here, planned this welcome—
With a zeal that was not love, he pretended
To hold a joyful day of celebration,
Invited my father to his table, and placed
Before him the flesh of his own children.
First, sitting alone at the head of the table,
He hid the fingers and the feet, but offered
The rest—and Thyestes took it eagerly,
Not knowing what it really was,
And ate it: look at the curse
That this meal brought upon our family and name!
For when he realized the horrible thing
He had done, with a cry of horror,
He recoiled, spitting out the foul remnants,
And uttered a deadly curse on Pelops’ house—
As much as I reject this cursed food,
So may all the descendants of Pleisthenes perish!
Thus, by that curse fell the man you see here,
And I—who else?—planned and carried out this murder;
For me, still an infant in swaddling clothes,
Of the youngest of three children, Atreus sent
Into exile with my sad father:
But Justice has brought me home again, now grown
To adulthood; and even though I was a stranger,
My right hand has reached for the life of the chief,
Plotting and scheming everything spiteful.
And death itself would now be an honor for me,
Seeing him caught in Justice’s trap.

CHORUS
Aegisthus, for your arrogance
That celebrates wrongdoing, I offer my contempt.
You claim you killed the leader
Through your own clever scheme,
Engineered this tragic end: I'm telling you,
Don’t think you’ll escape when justice wins,
The people’s curse, the stones of death and doom.

AEGISTHUS
This word from you, this word from someone who rows
Low at the oars below, while we are in charge,
We of the upper tier? You’ll realize soon,
It’s tough to be taught again in old age,
By someone so young, to submit at their command.
But the iron of the chain and the pangs of hunger
Can really tame an inflated pride
Remarkably well, yes, even in the old.
Do you have eyes, and yet you don’t see this? Peace—don’t kick
Against the thorns, at the cost of your own pain!

CHORUS
You cowardly man, waiting for the war to end,
A watcher at home and defiler of the bed,
And main planner of the chief’s downfall!

AEGISTHUS
You’re being bold again! But it will only end in tears.
Your words are the opposite of Orpheus’ sweet voice:
He stirred and inspired joy in everything that heard
His beautiful melodies;
But you, like the pointless barking of dogs,
Will draw anger from those around you. Enough!
Or soon, strong control will silence you.

CHORUS
Yeah, you're the kind of person who can control an Argive—
You, good at plotting the king's murder,
But not willing to deal the killing blow yourself!

AEGISTHUS
That deceitful power was always a woman's game,
Not mine, which suspicion has kept me from.
Now, with the help of his treasure,
I'm set on ruling the citizens.
But whoever refuses to follow my lead,
I'll drive him, not as a lightly burdened horse,
But with the heaviest yoke tied to him.
Hunger, the grim companion of the dark dungeon,
Shall see him and will find him submissive.

CHORUS
You worthless soul, was your strength too weak
To commit murder, while a woman’s hand,
Stained and dishonored Argos and its gods,
Was able to kill him? If anywhere
The light of life shines on Orestes’ eyes,
Let him, returning through some protective fate,
Forcefully take down her lover and her!

AEGISTHUS
You'll soon find out how your words and actions will turn out.

CHORUS
Get ready, my friends! The battle is upon us. Quick, grip your swords tightly! Draw your weapons for the fight—

AEGISTHUS
Look! I’m also standing by, hand on my sword, ready for life or death.

CHORUS
It was your word and we take it: let's move forward to the opportunity for battle!

CLYTEMNESTRA
No more, my champion! We won’t kill or fight anymore.
We’ve already harvested enough guilt:
Let’s stop the wrongs and murder; no more blood should be spilled.
Peace, old men! Go back to the homes that fate has set for you,
So that our vengeance doesn’t catch bad courage—this was a necessary action.
But enough with the struggles—let this be the end, if it ever is,
Before your claws, O Avenger, deliver another deadly strike.
This is a woman’s warning, and anyone can choose to listen.

AEGISTHUS
But that they should waste and carelessly spill reckless words,
And risk their future by throwing unjust words at me,

And ignore the rules of the people, and disrespect what their leader says—

CHORUS
Ruler? But it's not right for the Argives to have a cowardly lord like this!

AEGISTHUS
I will come after you to punish you when I take charge.

CHORUS
Not if luck helps Orestes get safely back home.

AEGISTHUS
Ah, I know all too well how exiles cling to the hope of coming back.

CHORUS
Fare and deal with the pollution of the right while it's your turn.

AEGISTHUS
You will definitely pay a steep price for your pride.

CHORUS
Crow and strut, with her watching you, like a rooster with his partner by his side!

CLYTEMNESTRA
Don't think too highly of them—let the dogs bark and howl:
You and I will run the palace and will manage everything just fine.

[Exit.

ORESTES
CHORUS OF CAPTIVE WOMEN
ELECTRA
A NURSE
CLYTEMNESTRA
AEGISTHUS
AN ATTENDANT
PYLADES

The setting is the Tomb of Agamemnon at Mycenae; later, it’s the Palace of Atreus, right next to the Tomb.

Orestes

L ord of the dead and guardian of the land
That my father once ruled, hear my plea,
Hermes, and help me with your guiding hand,
I who stand here, back from exile,
On this my homeland; look, my foot is placed
On this grave, and like a herald, as you,
Once and again, I call on my father to listen.
And these two locks of hair, cut from my head, I bring,
One for Inachus the river-god,
Who nurtured my youth, I dedicate,
And one, as a sign of my unfulfilled mourning,
I lay, though belated, on my father’s grave.
For oh my father, I didn't stand by your body
To grieve your death, nor did I stretch out my hand
To carry you to your burial.

What’s that sight over there? What’s with all these women
coming this way, clearly dressed in mourning clothes?
What’s happened? Is there some new sadness at home?
Or should I assume they’re coming closer
with offerings, like those that calm the anger
of upset spirits, to my father’s grave?
No, that’s exactly it; I see
my sister Electra coming this way,
clearly in deep sorrow. Please, Zeus,
help me avenge my father’s murder—
be my willing ally!
                              Pylades,
let’s step aside until I figure out
why these women are gathered here to petition.

[Pylades and Orestes exit; the Chorus enters carrying containers for the libation; Electra follows them; they walk slowly towards Agamemnon's tomb.

CHORUS
Out from the royal halls at a higher order,
  I'm bringing offerings for the dead.
Rings on my wounded chest from my striking hand,
  And all my cheek is marked and red,
Fresh scratches from my nails, and all my soul
For many days has fed on cries of grief.
  And dragging tattered rags of my robe,
In looped and torn despair, I wear them,
  Hanging ripped around my chest,
Just like me, beaten down by harsh Fate
  Saddened and torn.

Oracular through visions, chillingly clear,
Carrying a wave of anger from the depths,
And making every hair stand on end with fear,
  Came out of dream-land Fear,
  And, loud and terrifying, commanded
The scream to echo at midnight’s magic hour,
  And hovered, grim with sorrow,
Over the inner house, the woman’s space.
And inspired seers swore to interpret the dream,
  Chanting aloud In realms below
    The dead are angry;
Against their killers their wrath still burns.

Therefore, to carry this gift of ungraceful worth—
  O Earth, my nurturing mother!—
The woman cursed by the gods sends me out
  So that one crime doesn’t lead to another.
It’s hard to even say the word, because no one
        Can pay for or make up
For blood that’s been spilled and darkens the land.
    O place of sorrow and suffering,
    O state that lies so low!
Sunless, cursed by people, the shadows hang
  Over the home of murdered royalty.

Rumors of strength, undeniable and unbroken,
Filling the ears and souls of lesser people,
    Are now silent and gone.
    Yet a worse fear remains;
  For happiness and power, no matter how achieved,
Like gods, and even more than gods, dazzle our human understanding.

Justice marks, with scales that quickly tip,
  Some who are still in light;
  Others caught between day and night,
    Until Fate wakes them, stay;
And some are wrapped in darkness, where everything is undone.

On the nurturing ground of Earth
   Blood has spilled;
And now, the seed of revenge stains the land—
  Unfading, unremoved the mark.
And Atè lingers for a while, but eventually
        The wrongdoer's heart is thrown
Into spreading, growing waves of agony.

Look, when a man's strength pushes open
The untouched doors, there's no remedy or hope
  For what is lost,—that's how I see it,
Though all of Earth's rivers flowed into one,
  Washing the hands stained by murder,
      It would be pointless.

And upon me—oh no!—the gods have placed
  The sorrow that surrounded Troy,
When they took me from my home and family
      To become a slave—
    The fate to bow my head
    And witness our master’s desires
      Bring about both good and bad—
To see the reckless power of force and sin,
  And keep my bitter anger in check,
  Mourning the king’s useless fate,
Hiding my face in my robe, longing
For tears, and freezing with the pain I can’t reveal.

ELECTRA
Handmaids, keepers of the palace,
Since you come with me as a humble group,
Companions in this offering, guide me
As is fitting for the moment: for I, who pour
These funeral streams over the grave,
What kind words can I use to call upon my father?
Should I say, Look, I bring these gifts
From a beloved wife to her dear husband,
When it's actually from her, my mother, that they come?
I can't say that: I find myself at a loss
For all the words I need to honor my father
With these sacrificial gifts at his grave.
Or should I say what people usually say—
Give back to those who send these crowns
Full pay for wrongs done?
Or should I pour this libation for the Earth to drink
Without any words or reverence, since my father was killed,
And head home without looking back,
Throwing the bowl away, like someone who tosses
Household waste into the street?
Help me with this doubt, oh friends,
Just as you share in this common anger
That surrounds us: fear no one’s anger,
Nor hide your thoughts within: the day of death
And judgment comes for both the free and the enslaved.
Speak, then, if you know anything that can help us further.

CHORUS
You command; I will share what’s in my heart,
Honoring your father’s grave like a sacred place.

ELECTRA
So speak what you must, as you honor his grave.

CHORUS
Speak meaningful words to those who love, and let it flow.

ELECTRA
And of his family, whom can I call kind?

CHORUS
Yourself; and then, whoever Aegisthus looks down on.

ELECTRA
Then it's just you and me, and I must mention my prayer.

CHORUS
Whoever they are, it's up to you to know and name them.

ELECTRA
Is there anyone else we can call our own?

CHORUS
Think of Orestes, even if he's far away.

ELECTRA
You have indeed taught me well in this respect.

CHORUS
Thoughtfully, next, on those who spill the blood—

ELECTRA
What should I pray for? Explain this, clear up my confusion.

CHORUS
This; Some god or human has come upon them——

ELECTRA
As a judge or as a seeker of revenge? Share your thoughts.

CHORUS
Pray in specific words, Who will the killer take down.

ELECTRA
Is it appropriate to ask such a favor of heaven?

CHORUS
How can one not inflict harm on an enemy?

ELECTRA
O powerful Hermes, guardian of the souls,
Messenger of both the living and the dead,
Deliver my prayer to the gods below
So they may keep a watchful eye on these halls, my father’s from long ago—
And to Earth, the mother of everything,
And nurturing guardian, and the source of life.

Look, I who pour these drinks for the dead,
Call on my father, who still has compassion
For me and my brother Orestes. Father, speak—
How will your children rule your halls again?
We are homeless and sold, and the one who sold
Is the one who gave us life; and the price she took
Is the man who joined her to bring about your death,
Aegisthus, her new husband. Look at me here
Brought down to the status of a slave, and far away
Wanders Orestes, exiled from the wealth
That once was yours, the reward of your care,
While these people indulge in shameless joy.
Father, my prayer is spoken; it’s up to you to listen—
Grant that some good fate brings Orestes home,
And to me grant these—a purer soul
Than my mother’s, a more innocent hand.

These are my prayers for us; for you, O lord,
I plead that someone may come to strike your enemies,
And that those who kill may be killed in turn.
Cursed is their prayer, and so I block its way,
Praying my own, a counter-curse against them.
And you, send us the righteous blessing
For which we pray: may your help be heaven and earth,
And justice lead the right to victory,

[To the Chorus.]

Thus I have prayed, and thus I shed these tears,
And you follow the custom, and just like with flowers,
You crown it with many tears and cry the dirge,
Your voices echo above the dead man's grave.

She pours the drinks.

CHORUS
      Oh, woe, woe, woe!
Let the tears fall, splashing on the ground
      Where our lord lies low:
Fall and wash away the stain of this cursed offering,
      Spilled on this grave,
Where together lie the gifts, whether good or bad,
      From the dead we find.
        Lord of Argos, listen!
Though the mist of death and hell surrounds you,
  Rise and hear our plea of sorrow!
Listen and wake up to our cry of woe!
      Who with the strength of a spear
        Will deliver our home?
      Who like Ares will bend until it trembles,
      Pull back the northern bow?
Who will grip the hilt and charge with a blade,
      Strike and save us all?

ELECTRA
    Look! The earth absorbs them, they go to my father—
    Come, let’s discover this new and strange thing together.

CHORUS
Speak; my heart is racing with fear.

ELECTRA
I see a freshly cut curl on the tomb.

CHORUS
Cut off from which man or which strong woman?

ELECTRA
Anyone can figure that out; the sign is obvious.

CHORUS
Teach me this from you; let the young inspire the old.

ELECTRA
There's no one here but me to take such a gift.

CHORUS
Because those who should be grieving for him actually hate him deeply.

ELECTRA
And look! Honestly, the hair is incredibly like—

CHORUS
What locks are we talking about, and whose are they? Please explain that to me.

ELECTRA
Like the ones my father's children wear.

CHORUS
Is this lock Orestes' secret gift?

ELECTRA
It looks a lot like the curls he had,

CHORUS
But how could he dare to come back home?

ELECTRA
He just sent it, trimmed to grieve for his father.

CHORUS
It is a grief as deep as his death,
That he should be alive but never have the courage to come back.

ELECTRA
Yes, my heart is overflowing with the bitterness of grief,
And I feel pierced by a painful dart;
Like the first drops after a dry spell, my tears
Fall freely, a bitter flood,
As I gaze at this lock of hair; I can't bring myself to believe
That anyone from Argos, except for Orestes,
Has ever owned it; nor do I know for sure,
That she, the murderer, has cut and placed this lock
To mourn the one she killed—my mother,
Who has no mother's heart, but instead, a hateful spirit,
One despised even by the heavens!
Yet, to completely assert,
That this adornment comes from my Orestes, brother of my soul,
I can't fully convince myself, but hope is certainly flattering!
Oh, how I wish this silent hair could speak
To bring joy to my ears, like a messenger,
Telling me to stop wavering between fear and hope,
Clearly ordering, Throw me away,
I was cut from a head you do not love;
Or, I am related to you, and here, like you,
I have come to weep and decorate our father's grave.
Help me, gods! for you well know
How in the storm and uncertainty,
Like a sailor's ship, we drift and wander.
But if the gods will it for our lives, how strong the growth shall be,
From such a tiny seed, the new tree of our home!—
Look, here’s a second sign—these footprints, see,—
Similar to my own, an identical mark;
And look, another footprint—this one is his,
And that’s the footprint of someone who walked with him.
Notice how the heel and the tendons’ prints line up,
Measured exactly, coinciding with mine!
Alas! for doubt and anguish torment my mind.

ORESTES (suddenly approaching)
Please, in thanks for answered prayers, May the rest of what I ask from heaven come true.

ELECTRA
Why should I pray to the gods? What do I gain from it?

ORESTES
This, what your eyes see is what your heart wants.

ELECTRA
Who among humans do you know that I'm calling?

ORESTES
I understand how deeply you long for Orestes.

ELECTRA
So then, what event has fulfilled my wish?

ORESTES
It's me; don't look for anyone more related.

ELECTRA
Are you plotting some deception against me, stranger?

ORESTES
I create this against myself, if I'm going to create it.

ELECTRA
Ah, you want to make fun of me in my grief!

ORESTES
I’m just making fun of myself while I mock you.

ELECTRA
Am I speaking to you as if I were Orestes himself?

ORESTES
You see my face and still don’t recognize me,
Yet just now, when you noticed the lock
Cut off for my father’s grave, and when you were
Eagerly searching for the footprints I left,
I, your brother, just like you in form and size,
Must have stirred your spirit, just by showing up!
Now, place this lock where it was cut, and decide,
And look at this robe, made by your own hands,
The patterns woven in, the designs crafted on it—
Hold back your excitement, don’t lose your sense of caution,
For I know well that our family is not very kind.

ELECTRA
Oh you who are the love, grief, and hope of our father's home,
For you, the tears fell, for you, the son, the savior we need;
Trust in your strength and reclaim your father's house!
Oh sweet presence of love in many forms to me,
To whom my heart, bound by longing, calls out
As it does for my father, and the love I feel
From me towards my mother turns to you,
For she brings me nothing but hatred; to you, too, returns
What my heart gave to her who died
An untimely death upon the altar-stone;
And for myself, I love you—you who were
A loyal brother, my only source of love.
Now may strength and justice be with you, and may Zeus,
The all-powerful savior, stand to support you both!

ORESTES
Zeus, Zeus! look down on our home and us,
The orphaned children of him, our eagle-father,
Whom a terrible serpent brought to his death
By wrapping him in its coils; and we, left without help
And starving, are collapsing from hunger, far too weak
To bring to the nest, as he did,
The prey he hunted. Here we are, I and she,
Electra, standing before you, fatherless,
And both of us cast out and made homeless.

ELECTRA
And if you let die the offspring of the one
Whose altar burned for you, whose respect
Was yours, all yours—where, in the years to come,
Will any hand like his decorate your shrine
With offerings of flesh? The eaglets killed,
You wouldn’t have a messenger to carry
Your once-clear omens to human beings;
So, if this royal lineage is completely withered,
No one at the grand celebrations will protect your shrine.
Will you lower yourself to lift us up! Strong the line will be,
Though it seems small now, and has fallen low.

CHORUS
O children, the hope of your father's home,
Be careful with your words, or someone might hear
And spread them, for the tongue has a tendency to gossip,
To our masters—may God allow me
To see them in the dark smoke of funeral flames!

ORESTES
No, Apollo's oracle is powerful
And won’t fail me, as it told me to go
Through all this danger; the voice rang out clearly
With many warnings, sternly threatening
My passionate heart with a wintry chill of pain,
Unless I sought vengeance on my father's killers:
This is the god’s command—
That I, in anger for my ruined home and wealth,
Should kill the murderers with a trick like theirs:
Otherwise, I would pay for this deed left undone
In many horrific ways
For he declared to everyone
That offerings made to the vengeful power of death
Will return unless their will is fulfilled,
Like a grim disease upon those who made them—
Like leprous sores creeping on the flesh
And with deadly fangs eating away what once
Looked normal; and on the forehead arise
White poisoned hairs, the crown of this sickness.
He also spoke of vengeful spirits
Set to punish me for my father’s blood,
Unleashing their fury on me, while at night
Under closed lids, the spirit’s eye sees clearly.
The arrow that flies in darkness, shot from hell
By the spirits of the murdered dead who call
To their family for vengeance, formless fear,
The night-time visitor, and the curse of madness
Will hunt and torture me; and my tormented body
Will be driven out from society
As if stung by the cruel scorpions of punishment.
For me and people like me, no cleansing bowl
Will be present, no libation of wine poured to God
For me, and the unseen wrath of my dead father
Will drive me from the shrine; no man will dare
To welcome me into his home, nor live with me:
Slowly, friendless, cursed by all will be my end,
And merciless horror will wrap me for the grave,
This is what the god said—dare I disobey?
Yes, even if I dared, the deed must still be done;
For to that end many desires come together,—
The god’s command, deep grief for the one who died,
And finally, the painful emptiness of lost wealth—
All these weigh on me, demanding that the Argive men,
Brave warriors who turned fencèd Troy into ruins,
Not be left slaves to two women!
For he, the man, wears a woman’s heart; if not
Soon he will learn, faced with a real man.

[Orestes, Electra, and the Chorus gather around Agamemnon's tomb for the invocation that follows.

CHORUS
    Powerful Fates, we call on you!
    Let Zeus's will determine
    Strength for those to whom
    Justice offers help and support!
    Severe was the prayer that was made—
    Severe let the answer be!
    Where the great fate is decided,
    Justice demands what she is owed
    Whoever has stained their hands with blood,
    Deep in blood their reward shall come!
    Listen to this ancient truth—
      Whoever takes up the sword
      Shall be destroyed by the sword.

ORESTES
Father, cursed in death, my father!
    What words or actions
Can I send your way from this distant place
    To your humble resting spot,—
Sending you, in the depths of darkness,
    A glimmer of hope’s light?
Still, the loud song of praise brings lasting honor
    To every departed father.

CHORUS
Oh child, the spirit of the dead,
Even though the flames have fed
  On his flesh,
He is not silenced; after many days
The sting of anger will rise his soul,
  A revenge to reclaim!
To the dead, our cry rings loud—
Clear is the betrayal of the living—
Rising, echoing, pushed higher,
  The vengeful song for slain parents,
  Will struggle and will succeed.

ELECTRA
  Listen to me too, O father, please hear!
Not just one child sheds these groans and tears
    At your grave.
  Each of us, where you lie so low,
  Stands as a beggar, left without a home:
    Oh, everything is filled with despair,
  There's no comfort to be found!
  No matter how hard we try and fight,
    Fate still stands unyielding.

CHORUS
  No, if that's what he wants, the god
    Can still turn our tears into joy
  He can make a victory song
    Drown the mournful tune by this urn;
  He can welcome to royal halls
The child returned, the homeward-bound feet.

ORESTES
Oh my father! If only you had died
  Under the walls of Troy,
By a Lycian warrior’s hand,
  You would have left behind in this hall
Honor; you would have achieved for us
Fame and a glorious life.
  If you had died overseas,
Your tomb would have stood tall,
  Piled high with tributes; but, drowned in pride,
Grief would have been lighter for your home.

CHORUS
You were loved and honored as you lay
By the brave souls who fell,
In the underworld once more,
Where the kings of hell reside,
Full of amazing power
You stood at their right hand—
You who were, in the world of the living,
By Fate’s design and law,
King of kings who wear the crown
And the staff, to which in reverence
Mortals bow down.

ELECTRA
  No, Father, I wish
A different fate had come to you.
  It would be terrible if you were
  Just one of the many fallen,
  Lying by the Scamander’s side—
The ones who killed you should be!
Then, free from slavery,
  We would have heard from a distance
About the deaths of those who should have died
  In the randomness of war.

CHORUS
Oh child, hold back! You're asking for things far too high.
    It's easy, but pointless, your cry!
The wish you make is worth more than gold,
    An unreachable fate,
Like the blessed land that's far away,
    Beyond the north wind;
Yet your double prayer echoes a loud warning;
    A double punishment of sighs
Awakens the dead; the avengers rise, even if late;
    Blood stains the guilty pride
Of those cursed who rule the earth, and Fate
    Is on the children's side.

ELECTRA
That has shot through my ear, like an arrow from a bow!
Zeus, Zeus! it is you who sends from below
A fate on the desperate doer—soon enough
A father will pay for the wrong he did to a mother.

CHORUS
Let it be my role to raise through the smoke of the pyre
The song of joy, while the funeral fire
Consumes the body of a man who has died
And a woman who has fallen!
For who tells me to hide it! A relentless force,
Always sends a harsh blast of hate through my soul,
And before me a vision of anger and destruction
Flits and sways back and forth.

ORESTES
Zeus, you alone are our parent now.
    Strike them down with a powerful blow
  Upon their heads, and let the land be healed:
Make right what has been wrong; and listen,
    O Earth, to my prayer—
Yes, hear me, O mother Earth, and ruler of the underworld!

CHORUS
No, the law is unforgiving—
  Blood spilled on the ground
Cries out for more bloodshed;
  The call of death is loud,
Summoning the guilt of the past,
A Fury, adding crime to crime.

ELECTRA
  Where, where are you, avenging powers,
      Mighty Furies of the dead?
    Look at the remnants of the line
    Of Atreus, cast out from power!
  O Zeus, what home do we have now,
      What safe place can we reach?

CHORUS
Wow, your cry makes my heart race, deeply affected;
      Now I'm lost in sadness,
Filled with darkness in my soul, hearing your words of pain.
  Soon to hope, the source of strength, I stand up—
  She, pushing grief aside, lifts my eyes
      To the bright new dawn of happiness.