The Seven Plays of Aeschylus (eBook)

THE LIBATION-BEARERS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ORESTES

CHORUS OF CAPTIVE WOMEN

ELECTRA

A NURSE

CLYTEMNESTRA

AEGISTHUS

AN ATTENDANT

PYLADES

The Scene is the Tomb of Agamemnon at Mycenae; afterwards, the Palace of Atreus, hard by the Tomb.

Orestes

Lord of the shades and patron of the realm

That erst my father swayed, list now my prayer,

Hermes, and save me with thine aiding arm,

Me who from banishment returning stand

On this my country; lo, my foot is set

On this grave-mound, and herald-like, as thou,

Once and again, I bid my father hear.

And these twin locks, from mine head shorn, I bring,

And one to Inachus the river-god,

My young life's nurturer, I dedicate,

And one in sign of mourning unfulfilled

I lay, though late, on this my father's grave.

For O my father, not beside thy corse

Stood I to wail thy death, nor was my hand

Stretched out to bear thee forth to burial.

What sight is yonder? what this woman-throng

Hitherward coming, by their sable garb

Made manifest as mourners?   What hath chanced?

Doth some new sorrow hap within the home?

Or rightly may I deem that they draw near

Bearing libations, such as soothe the ire

Of dead men angered, to my father's grave?

Nay, such they are indeed; for I descry

Electra mine own sister pacing hither,

In moody grief conspicuous. Grant, O Zeus,

Grant me my father's murder to avenge--

Be thou my willing champion!

                              Pylades,

Pass we aside, till rightly I discern

Wherefore these women throng in suppliance.

[Exeunt Pylades and Orestes; enter the Chorus bearing vessels for

libation; Electra follows them; they pace slowly towards the tomb of

Agamemnon.

CHORUS

Forth from the royal halls by high command

  I bear libations for the dead.

Rings on my smitten breast my smiting hand,

  And all my cheek is rent and red,

Fresh-furrowed by my nails, and all my soul

This many a day doth feed on cries of dole.

  And trailing tatters of my vest,

In looped and windowed raggedness forlorn,

  Hang rent around my breast,

Even as I, by blows of Fate most stern

  Saddened and torn.

  Oracular thro' visions, ghastly clear,

Bearing a blast of wrath from realms below,

And stiffening each rising hair with dread,

  Came out of dream-land Fear,

  And, loud and awful, bade

The shriek ring out at midnight's witching hour,

  And brooded, stern with woe,

Above the inner house, the woman's bower.

And seers inspired did read the dream on oaths,

  Chanting aloud In realms below

    The dead are wroth;

Against their slayers yet their ire doth glow.

Therefore to bear this gift of graceless worth--

  O Earth, my nursing mother!--

The woman god-accurs'd doth send me forth.

  Lest one crime bring another.

Ill is the very word to speak, for none

       Can ransom or atone

For blood once shed and darkening the plain.

    O hearth of woe and bane,

    O state that low doth lie!

Sunless, accursed of men, the shadows brood

  Above the home of murdered majesty.

Rumour of might, unquestioned, unsubdued,

Pervading ears and soul of lesser men,

    Is silent now and dead.

    Yet rules a viler dread;

  For bliss and power, however won,

As gods, and more than gods, dazzle our mortal ken.

Justice doth mark, with scales that swiftly sway,

  Some that are yet in light;

  Others in interspace of day and night,

    Till Fate arouse them, stay;

And some are lapped in night, where all things are undone.

On the life-giving lap of Earth

   Blood hath flowed forth;

And now, the seed of vengeance, clots the plain--

  Unmelting, uneffaced the stain.

And Ate tarries long, but at the last

        The sinner's heart is cast

Into pervading, waxing pangs of pain.

  Lo, when man's force doth ope

The virgin doors, there is nor cure nor hope

  For what is lost,--even so, I deem,

Though in one channel ran Earth's every stream,

  Laving the hand defiled from murder's stain,

      It were vain.

And upon me--ah me!--the gods have laid

  The woe that wrapped round Troy,

What time they led down from home and kin

      Unto a slave's employ--

    The doom to bow the head

    And watch our master's will

      Work deeds of good and ill--

To see the headlong sway of force and sin,

  And hold restrained the spirit's bitter hate,

  Wailing the monarch's fruitless fate,

Hiding my face within my robe, and fain

Of tears, and chilled with frost of hidden pain.

ELECTRA

Hand maidens, orderers of the palace-halls,

Since at my side ye come, a suppliant train,

Companions of this offering, counsel me

As best befits the time: for I, who pour

Upon the grave these streams funereal,

With what fair word can I invoke my sire?

Shall I aver, Behold, I bear these gifts

From well-beloved wife unto her well-beloved lord,

When 'tis from her, my mother, that they come?

I dare not say it: of all words I fail

Wherewith to consecrate unto my sire

These sacrificial honours on his grave.

Or shall I speak this word, as mortals use--

Give back, to those who send these coronals

Full recompense--of ills for acts malign?

Or shall I pour this draught for Earth to drink,

Sans word or reverence, as my sire was slain,

And homeward pass with unreverted eyes,

Casting the bowl away, as one who flings

The household cleansings to the common road?

Be art and part, O friends, in this my doubt,

Even as ye are in that one common hate

Whereby we live attended: fear ye not

The wrath of any man, nor hide your word

Within your breast: the day of death and doom

Awaits alike the freeman and the slave.

Speak, then, if aught thou know'st to aid us more.

CHORUS

Thou biddest; I will speak my soul's thought out,

Revering as a shrine thy father's grave.

ELECTRA

Say then thy say, as thou his tomb reverest.

CHORUS

Speak solemn words to them that love, and pour.

ELECTRA

And of his kin whom dare I name as kind?

CHORUS

Thyself; and next, whoe'er Aegisthus scorns.

ELECTRA

Then 'tis myself and thou, my prayer must name.

CHORUS

Whoe'er they be, 'tis thine to know and name them.

ELECTRA

Is there no other we may claim as ours?

CHORUS

Think of Orestes, though far-off he be.

ELECTRA

Right well in this too hast thou schooled my thought.

CHORUS

Mindfully, next, on those who shed the blood--

ELECTRA

Pray on them what? expound, instruct my doubt.

CHORUS

This; Upon them some god or mortal come----

ELECTRA

As judge or as avenger? speak thy thought.

CHORUS

Pray in set terms, Who shall the slayer slay.

ELECTRA

Beseemeth it to ask such boon of heaven?

CHORUS

How not, to wreak a wrong upon a foe?

ELECTRA

O mighty Hermes, warder of the shades,

Herald of upper and of under world,

Proclaim and usher down my prayer's appeal

Unto the gods below, that they with eyes

Watchful behold these halls, my sire's of old--

And unto Earth, the mother of all things,

And foster-nurse, and womb that takes their seed.

Lo, I that pour these draughts for men now dead,

Call on my father, who yet holds in ruth

Me and mine own Orestes, Father, speak--

How shall thy children rule thine halls again?

Homeless we are and sold; and she who sold

Is she who bore us; and the price she took

Is he who joined with her to work thy death,

Aegisthus, her new lord. Behold me...