Choephori E-Book

Aeschylus

• Herausgeber: Phoemixx Classics Ebooks
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 50

Beschreibung

Choephori Aeschylus - Also known as 'The Libation Bearers' this is the second play of Aeschylus' Oresteia trilogy. Many years after king Agamemnon's murder at the hands of his wife Clytamnestra and her lover Aigisthos, his son Orestes returns home with Pylades to mourn at his grave. He has been living in exile and has come back to Argos in secret; his mission is to avenge Agamemnon's death.Orestes arrives at the grave of his father, accompanied by his cousin Pylades, the son of the king of Phocis, where he has grown up in exile; he places two locks of his hair on the tomb. Orestes and Pylades hide as Electra, Orestes' sister, arrives at the grave accompanied by a chorus of elderly slave women (the libation bearers of the title) to pour libations on Agamemnon's grave; they have been sent by Clytemnestra in an effort to ward off harm. Just as the ritual ends, Electra spots a lock of hair on the tomb which she recognizes as similar to her own; subsequently she sees two sets of footprints, one of which has proportions similar to hers. At this point Orestes and Pylades emerge from their hiding place and Orestes gradually convinces her of his identity.

Leseprobe

Aeschylus

Choephori

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Choephori

Dramatis PersonaeORESTES, son of AGAMEMNON and CLYTEMNESTRACHORUS OF SLAVE WOMENELECTRA, sister of ORESTESA NURSECLYTEMNESTRAAEGISTHUSAN ATTENDANTSceneBy the tomb of Agamemnon near the palace in Argos. ORESTES and PYLADES enter, dressed as travellers. ORESTES carries two locks of hair in his hand.

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.

PYLADES and ORESTES withdraw; the CHORUS enters bearing vessels for libation; ELECTRA follows them; they pace slowly towards the tomb of Agamemnon.

CHORUS singing

strophe 1Forth 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. antistrophe 1Oracular 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 oath, Chanting aloud In realms below The dead are wroth; Against their slayers yet their ire doth glow. strophe 2Therefore 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. antistrophe 2Rumour 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 strophe 3On 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. antistrophe 3Lo, 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 in vain. epodeAnd upon me-ah me!-the gods have laid The woe that wrapped round Troy, What time they led me 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

Handmaidens, 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-loved wife unto her well-loved 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.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS

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