The Oresteia E-Book

Aeschylus

• Herausgeber: Aeschylus
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Sleep on! awake! what skills your sleep to me-- Me, among all the dead by you dishonoured-- Me from whom never, in the world of death, Dieth this curse, "'Tis she who smote and slew", And shamed and scorned I roam? Awake, and hear My plaint of dead men's hate intolerable. Me, sternly slain by them that should have loved, Me doth no god arouse him to avenge, Hewn down in blood by matricidal hands.

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Table of contents

AGAMEMNON

THE CHOEPHORI

EUMENDIDES

Of the seventy or eighty plays which he is said to have written, only seven survive: "The Persians," dealing with the defeat of Xerxes at Salamis; "The Seven against Thebes," part of a tetralogy on the legend of Thebes; "The Suppliants," on the daughters of Danaüs; "Prometheus Bound," part of a trilogy, of which the first part was probably "Prometheus, the Fire-bringer," and the last, "Prometheus Unbound"; and the "Oresteia," the only example of a complete Greek tragic trilogy which has come down to us, consisting of "Agamemnon," "Choephorae" (The Libation-Bearers), and the "Eumenides" (Furies). The importance of Aeschylus in the development of the drama is immense. Before him tragedy had consisted of the chorus and one actor; and by introducing a second actor, expanding the dramatic dialogue thus made possible, and reducing the lyrical parts, he practically created Greek tragedy as we understand it. Like other writers of his time, he acted in his own plays, and trained the chorus in their dances and songs; and he did much to give impressiveness to the performances by his development of the accessories of scene and costume on the stage. Of the four plays here reproduced, "Prometheus Bound" holds an exceptional place in the literature of the world. (As conceived by Aeschylus, Prometheus is the champion of man against the oppression of Zeus; and the argument of the drama has a certain correspondence to the problem of the Book of Job.) The Oresteian trilogy on "The House of Atreus" is one of the supreme productions of all literature. It deals with the two great themes of the retribution of crime and the inheritance of evil; and here again a parallel may be found between the assertions of the justice of God by Aeschylus and by the Hebrew prophet Ezekiel. Both contend against the popular idea that the fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge; both maintain that the soul that sinneth, it shall die. The nobility of thought and the majesty of style with which these ideas are set forth give this triple drama its place at the head of the literary masterpieces of the antique world.

AGAMEMNON

CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY A WATCHMAN CHORUS OF ARGIVE ELDERS CLYTEMNESTRA, wife of AGAMEMNON A HERALD AGAMEMNON, King of Argos CASSANDRA, daughter of Priam, and slave of AGAMEMNON AEGISTHUS, son of Thyestes, cousin of AGAMEMNON Servants, Attendants, Soldiers (SCENE:-Before the palace of AGAMEMNON in Argos. In front of the palace there are statues of the gods, and altars prepared for sacrifice. It is night. On the roof of the palace can be discerned a WATCHMAN.) A Watchman: I pray the gods to quit me of my toils, To close the watch I keep, this livelong year; For as a watch-dog lying, not at rest, Propped on one arm, upon the palace-roof Of Atreus' race, too long, too well I know The starry conclave of the midnight sky, Too well, the splendours of the firmament, The lords of light, whose kingly aspect shows-- What time they set or climb the sky in turn-- The year's divisions, bringing frost or fire. And now, as ever, am I set to mark When shall stream up the glow of signal-flame, The bale-fire bright, and tell its Trojan tale-- "Troy town is ta'en:" such issue holds in hope She in whose woman's breast beats heart of man. Thus upon mine unrestful couch I lie, Bathed with the dews of night, unvisited By dreams--ah me!--for in the place of sleep Stands Fear as my familiar, and repels The soft repose that would mine eyelids seal. And if at whiles, for the lost balm of sleep, I medicine my soul with melody Of trill or song--anon to tears I turn, Wailing the woe that broods upon this home, Not now by honour guided as of old. But now at last fair fall the welcome hour That sets me free, whene'er the thick night glow With beacon-fire of hope deferred no more. All hail! A beacon-light is seen reddening the distant sky. Fire of the night, that brings my spirit day, Shedding on Argos light, and dance, and song, Greetings to fortune, hail! Let my loud summons ring within the ears Of Agamemnon's queen, that she anon Start from her couch and with a shrill voice cry A joyous welcome to the beacon-blaze, For Ilion's fall; such fiery message gleams From yon high flame; and I, before the rest, Will foot the lightsome measure of our joy; For I can say, "My master's dice fell fair-- Behold! the triple sice, the lucky flame!" Now be my lot to clasp, in loyal love, The hand of him restored, who rules our home: Home--but I say no more: upon my tongue Treads hard the ox o' the adage. Had it voice, The home itself might soothliest tell its tale; I, of set will, speak words the wise may learn, To others, nought remember nor discern. Exit. The chorus of old men of Mycenae enter, each leaning on a staff. During their song Clytemnestra appears in the background, kindling the altars. Chorus: Ten livelong years have rolled away, Since the twin lords of sceptred sway, By Zeus endowed with pride of place, The doughty chiefs of Atreus' race, Went forth of yore, To plead with Priam, face to face, Before the judgment-seat of War! A thousand ships from Argive land Put forth to bear the martial band, That with a spirit stern and strong Went out to right the kingdom's wrong-- Pealed, as they went, the battle-song, Wild as the vultures' cry; When o'er the eyrie, soaring high, In wild bereavèd agony, Around, around, in airy rings, They wheel with oarage of their wings, But not the eyas-brood behold, That called them to the nest of old; But let Apollo from the sky, Or Pan, or Zeus, but hear the cry, The exile cry, the wail forlorn, Of birds from whom their home is torn-- On those who wrought the rapine fell, Heaven sends the vengeful fiends of hell. Even so doth Zeus, the jealous lord And guardian of the hearth and board, Speed Atreus' sons, in vengeful ire, 'Gainst Paris--sends them forth on fire, Her to buy back, in war and blood, Whom one did wed but many woo'd! And many, many, by his will, The last embrace of foes shall feel, And many a knee in dust be bowed, And splintered spears on shields ring loud, Of Trojan and of Greek, before That iron bridal-feast be o'er! But as he willed 'tis ordered all, And woes, by heaven ordained, must fall-- Unsoothed by tears or spilth of wine Poured forth too late, the wrath divine Glares vengeance on the flameless shrine. And we in gray dishonoured eld, Feeble of frame, unfit were held To join the warrior array That then went forth unto the fray: And here at home we tarry, fain Our feeble footsteps to sustain, Each on his staff--so strength doth wane, And turns to childishness again. For while the sap of youth is green, And, yet unripened, leaps within, The young are weakly as the old, And each alike unmeet to hold The vantage post of war! And ah! when flower and fruit are o'er, And on life's tree the leaves are sere, Age wendeth propped its journey drear, As forceless as a child, as light And fleeting as a dream of night Lost in the garish day! But thou, O child of Tyndareus, Queen Clytemnestra, speak! and say What messenger of joy to-day Hath won thine ear? what welcome news, That thus in sacrificial wise E'en to the city's boundaries Thou biddest altar-fires arise? Each god who doth our city guard, And keeps o'er Argos watch and ward From heaven above, from earth below-- The mighty lords who rule the skies, The market's lesser deities, To each and all the altars glow, Piled for the sacrifice! And here and there, anear, afar, Streams skyward many a beacon-star, Conjur'd and charm'd and kindled well By pure oil's soft and guileless spell, Hid now no more Within the palace' secret store. O queen, we pray thee, whatsoe'er, Known unto thee, were well revealed, That thou wilt trust it to our ear, And bid our anxious heart be healed! That waneth now unto despair-- Now, waxing to a presage fair, Dawns, from the altar, Hope--to scare From our rent hearts the vulture Care. List! for the power is mine, to chant on high The chiefs' emprise, the strength that omens gave! List! on my soul breathes yet a harmony, From realms of ageless powers, and strong to save! How brother kings, twin lords of one command, Led forth the youth of Hellas in their flower, Urged on their way, with vengeful spear and brand, By warrior-birds, that watched the parting hour. "Go forth to Troy", the eagles seemed to cry-- And the sea-kings obeyed the sky-kings' word, When on the right they soared across the sky, And one was black, one bore a white tail barred. High o'er the palace were they seen to soar, Then lit in sight of all, and rent and tare, Far from the fields that she should range no more, Big with her unborn brood, a mother-hare. And one beheld, the soldier-prophet true, And the two chiefs, unlike of soul and will, In the twy-coloured eagles straight he knew, And spake the omen forth, for good and ill. (Ah woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair!) "Go forth," he cried, "and Priam's town shall fall. Yet long the time shall be; and flock and herd, The people's wealth, that roam before the wall. Shall force hew down, when Fate shall give the word. But O beware! lest wrath in Heaven abide, To dim the glowing battle-forge once more, And mar the mighty curb of Trojan pride, The steel of vengeance, welded as for war! For virgin Artemis bears jealous hate Against the royal house, the eagle-pair, Who rend the unborn brood, insatiate-- Yea, loathes their banquet on the quivering hare." (Ah woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair!) "For well she loves--the goddess kind and mild-- The tender new-born cubs of lions bold, Too weak to range--and well the sucking child Of every beast that roams by wood and wold. So to the Lord of Heaven she prayeth still, "Nay. if it must be, be the omen true! Yet do the visioned eagles presage ill; The end be well, but crossed with evil too!" Healer Apollo! be her wrath controll'd, Nor weave the long delay of thwarting gales, To war against the Danaans and withhold From the free ocean-waves their eager sails! She craves, alas! to see a second life Shed forth, a curst unhallowed sacrifice-- 'Twixt wedded souls, artificer of strife, And hate that knows not fear, and fell device. At home there tarries like a lurking snake, Biding its time, a wrath unreconciled," "A wily watcher, passionate to slake, In blood, resentment for a murdered child." Such was the mighty warning, pealed of yore-- Amid good tidings, such the word of fear, What time the fateful eagles hovered o'er The kings, and Calchas read the omen clear. (In strains like his, once more, Sing woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair!) Zeus--if to The Unknown That name of many names seem good-- Zeus, upon Thee I call. Thro' the mind's every road I passed, but vain are all, Save that which names thee Zeus, the Highest One, Were it but mine to cast away the load, The weary load, that weighs my spirit down. He that was Lord of old, In full-blown pride of place and valour bold, Hath fallen and is gone, even as an old tale told! And he that next held sway, By stronger grasp o'erthrown Hath pass'd away! And whoso now shall bid the triumph-chant arise To Zeus, and Zeus alone, He shall be found the truly wise. 'Tis Zeus alone who shows the perfect way Of knowledge: He hath ruled, Men shall learn wisdom, by affliction schooled. In visions of the night, like dropping rain, Descend the many memories of pain Before the spirit's sight: through tears and dole Comes wisdom o'er the unwilling soul-- A boon, I wot, of all Divinity, That holds its sacred throne in strength, above the sky! And then the elder chief, at whose command The fleet of Greece was manned, Cast on the seer no word of hate, But veered before the sudden breath of Fate-- Ah, weary while! for, ere they put forth sail, Did every store, each minish'd vessel, fail, While all the Achaean host At Aulis anchored lay, Looking across to Chalics and the coast Where refluent waters welter, rock, and sway; And rife with ill delay From northern Strymon blew the thwarting blast-- Mother of famine fell, That holds men wand'ring still Far from the haven where they fain would be!-- And pitiless did waste Each ship and cable, rotting on the sea, And, doubling with delay each weary hour, Withered with hope deferred th' Achaeans' warlike flower. But when, for bitter storm, a deadlier relief, And heavier with ill to either chief, Pleading the ire of Artemis, the seer avowed, The two Atridae smote their sceptres on the plain, And, striving hard, could not their tears restrain! And then the elder monarch spake aloud-- "Ill lot were mine, to disobey! And ill, to smite my child, my household's love and pride! To stain with virgin Hood a father's hands, and slay My daughter, by the altar's side! Twixt woe and woe I dwell-- I dare not like a recreant fly, And leave the league of ships, and fail each true ally; For rightfully they crave, with eager fiery mind, The virgin's blood, shed forth to lull the adverse wind-- God send the deed be well!" Thus on his neck he took Fate's hard compelling yoke; Then, in the counter-gale of will abhorr'd, accursed, To recklessness his shifting spirit veered-- Alas! that Frenzy, first of ills and worst, With evil craft men's souls to sin hath ever stirred! And so he steeled his heart--ah, well-a-day-- Aiding a war for one false woman's sake, His child to slay, And with her spilt blood make An offering, to speed the ships upon their way! Lusting for war, the bloody arbiters Closed heart and ears, and would nor hear nor heed The girl-voice plead, "Pity me, Father!" nor her prayers, Nor tender, virgin years. So, when the chant of sacrifice was done, Her father bade the youthful priestly train Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone, From where amid her robes she lay Sunk all in swoon away-- Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed, Her fair lips' speech refrain, Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus' home and seed, So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye, With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye Those that should smite she smote-- Fair, silent, as a pictur'd form, but fain To plead, "Is all forgot? How oft those halls of old, Wherein my sire high feast did hold," "Rang to the virginal soft strain, When I, a stainless child, Sang from pure lips and undefiled, Sang of my sire, and all His honoured life, and how on him should fall Heaven's highest gift and gain!" And then--but I beheld not, nor can tell, What further fate befel: But this is sure, that Calchas' boding strain Can ne'er be void or vain. This wage from Justice' hand do sufferers earn, The future to discern: And yet--farewell, O secret of To-morrow! Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow. Clear with the clear beams of the morrow's sun, The future presseth on. Now, let the house's tale, how dark soe'er, Find yet an issue fair!-- So prays the loyal, solitary band That guards the Apian land. They turn to Clytemnestra, who leaves the altars and comes forward. O queen, I come in reverence of thy sway-- For, while the ruler's kingly seat is void, The loyal heart before his consort bends. Now--be it sure and certain news of good, Or the fair tidings of a flatt'ring hope, That bids thee spread the light from shrine to shrine, I, fain to hear, yet grudge not if thou hide. Clytemnestra: As saith the adage, "From the womb of Night Spring forth, with promise fair, the young child Light." Ay--fairer even than all hope my news-- By Grecian hands is Priam's city ta'en! Chorus: What say'st thou? doubtful heart makes treach'rous ear. Clytemnestra: Hear then again, and plainly--Troy is ours! Chorus: Thrills thro' my heart such joy as wakens tears. Clytemnestra: Ay, thro' those tears thine eye looks loyalty. Chorus: But hast thou proof, to make assurance sure? Clytemnestra: Go to; I have--unless the god has lied. Chorus: Hath some night-vision won thee to belief? Clytemnestra: Out on all presage of a slumb'rous soul! Chorus: But wert thou cheered by Rumour's wingless word? Clytemnestra: Peace--thou dost chide me as a credulous girl. Chorus: Say then, how long ago the city fell? Clytemnestra: Even in this night that now brings forth the dawn. Chorus: Yet who so swift could speed the message here? Clytemnestra: From Ida's top Hephaestus, lord of fire, Sent forth his sign; and on, and ever on, Beacon to beacon sped the courier-flame. From Ida to the crag, that Hermes loves, Of Lemnos; thence unto the steep sublime Of Athos, throne of Zeus, the broad blaze flared. Thence, raised aloft to shoot across the sea, The moving light, rejoicing in its strength, Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way, In golden glory, like some strange new sun, Onward, and reached Macistus' watching heights. There, with no dull delay nor heedless sleep, The watcher sped the tidings on in turn, Until the guard upon Messapius' peak Saw the far flame gleam on Euripus' tide, And from the high-piled heap of withered furze Lit the new sign and bade the message on. Then the strong light, far flown and yet undimmed, Shot thro' the sky above Asopus' plain, Bright as the moon, and on Cithaeron's crag Aroused another watch of flying fire. And there the sentinels no whit disowned, But sent redoubled on, the hest of flame-- Swift shot the light, above Gorgopis' bay, To Aegiplanctus' mount, and bade the peak Fail not the onward ordinance of fire. And like a long beard streaming in the wind, Full-fed with fuel, roared and rose the blaze, And onward flaring, gleamed above the cape, Beneath which shimmers the Saronic bay, And thence leapt light unto Arachne's peak, The mountain watch that looks upon our town. Thence to th' Atrides' roof--in lineage fair, A bright posterity of Ida's fire. So sped from stage to stage, fulfilled in turn, Flame after flame, along the course ordained, And lo! the last to speed upon its way Sights the end first, and glows unto the goal. And Troy is ta'en, and by this sign my lord Tells me the tale, and ye have learned my word. Chorus: To heaven, O queen, will I upraise new song: But, wouldst thou speak once more, I fain would hear From first to last the marvel of the tale. Clytemnestra: Think you--this very morn--the Greeks in Troy, And loud therein the voice of utter wail! Within one cup pour vinegar and oil, And look! unblent, unreconciled, they war. So in the twofold issue of the strife Mingle the victor's shout, the captives' moan. For all the conquered whom the sword has spared Cling weeping--some unto a brother slain, Some childlike to a nursing father's form, And wail the loved and lost, the while their neck Bows down already 'neath the captive's chain. And lo! the victors, now the fight is done, Goaded by restless hunger, far and wide Range all disordered thro' the town, to snatch Such victual and such rest as chance may give Within the captive halls that once were Troy-- Joyful to rid them of the frost and dew, Wherein they couched upon the plain of old-- Joyful to sleep the gracious night all through, Unsummoned of the watching sentinel. [...]