Aeschylus Agamemnon 1080

KASSANDRA.

Otototoi, Gods, Earth, —

Apollon, Apollon!

CHOROS.

Why didst thou ototoi concerning Loxias?

Since he is none such as to suit a mourner.

1075

KASSANDRA.

Otototoi, Gods, Earth, —

Apollon, Apollon!

CHOROS.

Ill-boding here again the god invokes she

— Nowise empowered in woes to stand by helpful.

KASSANDRA.

Apollon, Apollon,

1080

Guard of the ways, my destroyer!

For thou hast quite, this second time, destroyed me.

CHOROS.

To prophesy she seems of her own evils:

Remains the god-gift to the slave-soul present.

KASSANDRA.

Apollon, Apollon,

1085

Guard of the ways, my destroyer!

Ha, whither hast thou led me? to what roof now?

CHOROS.

To the Atreidai’s roof: if this thou know’st not,

I tell it thee, nor this wilt thou call falsehood.

KASSANDRA.

How! How!

1090

God-hated, then! Of many a crime it knew —

Self-slaying evils, halters too:

Man’s-shambles, blood-besprinkler of the ground!

CHOROS.

She seems to be good-nosed, the stranger: dog-like,

She snuffs indeed the victims she will find there.

KASSANDRA.

How! How!

By the witnesses here I am certain now!

1095

These children bewailing their slaughters — flesh dressed in the fire

And devoured by their sire!

CHOROS.

Ay, we have heard of thy soothsaying glory,

Doubtless: but prophets none are we in scent of!

KASSANDRA.

Ah, gods, what ever does she meditate?

1100

What this new anguish great?

Great in the house here she meditates ill

Such as friends cannot bear, cannot cure it: and still

Off stands all Resistance

Afar in the distance!

CHOROS.

Of these I witless am — these prophesyings.

1105

But those I knew: for the whole city bruits them.

KASSANDRA.

Ah, unhappy one, this thou consummatest?

Thy husband, thy bed’s common guest,

In the bath having brightened. .. How shall I declare

Consummation? It soon will be there:

For hand after hand she outstretches,

1110

At life as she reaches!

CHOROS.

Nor yet I’ve gone with thee! for — after riddles —

Now, in blind oracles, I feel resourceless.

KASSANDRA.

Eh, eh, papai, papai,

What this, I espy?

Some net of Haides undoubtedly

1115

Nay, rather, the snare

Is she who has share

In his bed, who takes part in the murder there!

But may a revolt —

Unceasing assault —

On the Race, raise a shout

Sacrificial, about

A victim — by stoning —

For murder atoning!

CHOROS.

What this Erinus which i’ the house thou callest

To raise her cry? Not me thy word enlightens!

1120

To my heart has run

A drop of the crocus-dye:

Which makes for those

On earth by the spear that lie,

A common close

With life’s descending sun.

Swift is the curse begun!

KASSANDRA.

How! How!

1125

See — see quick!

Keep the bull from the cow!

In the vesture she catching him, strikes him now

With the black-horned trick,

And he falls in the watery vase!

Of the craft-killing cauldron I tell thee the case!

CHOROS.

I would not boast to be a topping critic

1130

Of oracles: but to some sort of evil

I liken these. From oracles, what good speech

To mortals, beside, is sent?

It comes of their evils: these arts word-abounding that sing the event

Bring the fear’t is their office to teach.

1135

KASSANDRA.

Ah me, ah me —

Of me unhappy, evil-destined fortunes!

For I bewail my proper woe

As, mine with his, all into one I throw.

Why hast thou hither me unhappy brought?

— Unless that I should die with him — for nought!

What else was sought?

CHOROS.

Thou art some mind-mazed creature, god-possessed:

1140

And all about thyself dost wail

A lay — no lay!

Like some brown nightingale

Insatiable of noise, who — well-away! —

From her unhappy breast

Keeps moaning Itus, Itus, and his life

With evils, flourishing on each side, rife.

1145

KASSANDRA.

Ah me, ah me,

The fate o’ the nightingale, the clear resounder!

For a body wing-borne have the gods cast round her,

And sweet existence, from misfortunes free:

But for myself remains a sundering

With spear, the two-edged thing!

CHOROS.

Whence hast thou this on-rushing god-involving pain

1150

And spasms in vain?

For, things that terrify,

With changing unintelligible cry

Thou strikest up in tune, yet all the while

After that Orthian style!

Whence hast thou limits to the oracular road,

That evils bode?

1155

KASSANDRA.

Ah me, the nuptials, the nuptials of Paris, the deadly to friends!

Ah me, of Skamandros the draught

Paternal! There once, to these ends,

On thy banks was I brought,

The unhappy! And now, by Kokutos and Acheron’s shore

1160

I shall soon be, it seems, these my oracles singing once more!

CHOROS.

Why this word, plain too much,

Hast thou uttered? A babe might learn of such!

I am struck with a bloody bite — here under —

At the fate woe-wreaking

1165

Of thee shrill shrieking:

To me who hear — a wonder!

KASSANDRA.

Ah me, the toils — the toils of the city

The wholly destroyed: ah, pity,

Of the sacrificings my father made

In the ramparts’ aid —

Much slaughter of grass-fed flocks — that afforded no cure

That the city should not, as it does now, the burthen endure!

1170

But I, with the soul on fire,

Soon to the earth shall cast me and expire.

CHOROS.

To things, on the former consequent,

Again hast thou given vent:

And ’t is some evil-meaning fiend doth move thee,

1175

Heavily falling from above thee,

To melodize thy sorrows — else, in singing,

Calamitous, death-bringing!

And of all this the end

I am without resource to apprehend

CHORUS

She seems to be upon the point of divining, touching her own ills. Divination remains even in the mind of a slave.

CASSANDRA

LE CORYPHÉE

Voudrait-elle prédire sa propre destinée ? Le souffle du dieu vit dans son âme d'esclave.

CASSANDRE

CHORUS.

She ſeems prophetic of her own misfortunes,

Retaining, tho' a slave, the divine ſpirit h

.

1220

CASSANDRA.

CORIFEO

Sue sciagure predir sembra: fra i lacci

di servitú, vive il fatidico estro.

1260

2

CASSANDRA

Cho.

Flere uidetur pro fuis malis.

Expectat numen unum apud mentem feruilem.

Ca.

Chorus.

She grows presageful of her woes to come,

1240

Slave tho' she be, instinct with prophecy.

Cassandra.

Der Chorführer.

Weissagen will fie, scheint es, wohl ihr eignes Leid.

Im Sklavensinne waltet noch der Gottesgeist.

Kassandra.