The Greek Plays
Page 5
are we to mourn for—men picked out for rule,
whose deaths would leave their office tenantless?
MESSENGER: Lord Xerxes lives and looks upon the light.
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ATOSSA: That word you spoke—a great light to my house.
Bright day bursts forth from out of black-cloaked night.
MESSENGER: But Artembares, head of a host of horsemen,
was battered there along the Silenian shore.*35
And Dadaces, squadron-leader, at a spear’s thrust
performed a graceful leap from his ship’s deck.
And noble Tenagon, of high Bactrian blood,
was pounded on the sea-smashed isle of Ajax.*36
Lilaeus, Arsames, and, third, Argestes,
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mixed up together, butt the stony ground
around the island famed for breeding doves,*37
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as does Pharnouchus, neighbor to the springs
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of the Egyptian Nile, and also Arcteus,
Adeus, Pheresseues, three from one ship.
Matallus of Chrysa, captain of ten thousand,
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in death has dyed his beard, changing its color
by dipping its bushy fullness into red.
And Arab Magus, and Bactrian Artabes,
who led a troop of thirty thousand horse,
has died, a settler in a cruel land.
320
Amistris, and Amphistreus, he who wielded
a busy spear, and noble Ariomardus,
the scourge of Sardis, and Mysian Seisames,
and Tharybis, of five times fifty ships
the master, a Lyrnaean, fair of face,
lies dead and wretched there, an unfair fate.
Syennesis, the first in bravery,
the captain of Cilicians, one single man
who gave his foes much trouble, died with glory.
So much for recollections. Many evils
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took place there. I have mentioned but a few.
ATOSSA: aiai! Your words report the height of sorrows,
shame for the Persians, cause for wails and shrieks.
But take your story back to its beginning,
and tell me, did the Greeks have such great numbers
of ships as to assail the Persian navy,
to dare begin the clash of ramming beaks?
MESSENGER: In numbers, we of Asia*38 far excelled,
enough to win. In fact the whole Greek number
came to three hundred ships, including ten
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that made up a picked squadron, their elite.
Xerxes, as I well know, possessed a thousand,
plus twice a hundred and another seven
that had exceeding speed; such was the tally.
No disadvantage, then, would you not think?
Some god contrived destruction for our army,
tilting the scales with an unequal chance.
The gods protect divine Athena’s city.
ATOSSA: You mean that Athens has not yet been sacked?
MESSENGER: Its people still live on, a sure defense.*39
350
ATOSSA: How did it all begin, the clash of warships?
Who offered battle first—was it the Greeks,
or my son Xerxes, too proud in throngs of ships?
MESSENGER: It was some spirit of vengeance, some evil spirit,
that started this whole woe, my sovereign lady.
A Greek came from the camp of the Athenians*40
and gave this message to your son Xerxes:
“As soon as night with gloomy shadow falls,
the Greeks will not stand fast. They’ll leap upon
the decks of ships and sail now here, now there,
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preserving life by fleeing in the dark.”
He heard these words, but did not understand
the trickery of the Greek, or spite of god.
To all commanders he announces this:
When the sun no longer broils the earth with rays,
when darkness fills the temple of the sky,
they must arrange the navy in three squadrons,
to guard the roaring straits and passageways,
while other ships encircle Ajax’ isle;*41
and if the Greeks escaped the waiting evil,
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finding some hidden path for ships to flee,
the orders were: “All captains lose their heads.”
Such words he spoke, with cheerful disposition,
not understanding what the gods would bring.
The captains took their dinner, in good order,
obedient in mind; their crews meanwhile
fastened their oars to thole-pins, ready for rowing.
The light of day declined, and night arrived.
Onto their ships went rulers of the oar
along with those who governed soldiers’ weapons.
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Squadron to squadron, the crews cheered one another.
Each sailor keeps his place and follows orders.
All night the admirals maintain the fleet
in constant action, sailing here and there.
Night moved along, but still the ships of Greece
made no attempt at a disguised escape.
And when bright day rode in on shining steeds
and everywhere the land was clear to see,
then first a cry rang out resoundingly,
songlike, amid the Greeks, and high and shrill
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an echo answered back from the island’s rocks.
Our side was gripped by fear, for now we knew
we had been tricked. No song of flight
the Greeks were singing there, but a battle hymn
to urge them on to war with zeal and courage;
the trumpet, too, was setting them all aflame.
They beat the salty sea as criers bid them,
striking together with a splash of oars;
then suddenly they all were there, unhidden.
Their right wing came on first, and kept good order,
400
leading formation; next, the entire navy
advanced against us. A great shout could be heard:
“Go forward, all you children of the Greeks!
Free your homeland! Free your wives and children,
the shrines of gods that your forefathers worshipped,
the tombs of ancestors. Now it’s a fight for all.”
An answer came from our side—Persian words,
a babble of voices. Now the time had come.
In an instant, ships were driving metal prows
in other ships. The ramming was begun
410
by a Greek ship that smashed apart the stern
of a Phoenician vessel. Then all took aim at all.
At first the Persian line, a floating wave,
bore up. But when our multitude of ships
got crowded in the straits, could not give help
to allies, struck each other with bronze-beak rams—
they shattered their own oars with their collisions,
and Greek ships, not unmindful of their plight,
began to strike, sailing round them in a circle.
Ships rolled, hulls up. You couldn’t see the water
420
beneath a layer of wrecks and butchered men.
The shores and reefs around were filled with corpses.
Whatever ships were left from our great host
now fled with a disordered pull of oars.
The Greeks kept striking, spearing men like fish,
some tunas they had caught; with splintered oars
they skewered them. A mournful wail arose,
groans of lament that filled the sea, until
an end at last arrived with dark-eyed night.
A host of evil
s—I could not tell them all,
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not even if I spoke for ten days’ time.
Of this be certain: never, in one day,
did men in such great numbers meet their deaths.
ATOSSA: aiai! A sea of evils! Its wave breaks
on Persians and on every Asian nation.
MESSENGER: But the evil has not even reached its midpoint.
Know this: their so great weight of sufferings
will drag the scales of woe down twice as far.
ATOSSA: What fate could have beset them worse than this?
Recount for us what ills befell the army,
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tilting the balance further down toward pain.
MESSENGER: The Persians who were in the peak of strength,
stalwart of spirit, born of noble blood,
foremost in trusted service to their king,
are dead—and by a shameful, ill-famed death.
ATOSSA: Aaahh! My wretched fate undoes me, friends.
In what way do you say that these men died?
MESSENGER: There is an island hard by Salamis,
a small place, lacking harbors;*42 the god Pan,
lover of dances, lurks about its headlands.
450
There Xerxes sent these men. The plan was this:
When shipwrecked foes swam safely to this island,
our men would kill these undefended Greeks,
but also save our allies from the waters.
He was a bad judge of what lay in store.
For when the god gave victory to the Greeks,
on that same day, they donned their metal armor
and leaped out of their ships, drawing a noose
around the entire island. Nowhere to turn
for our men. Many were smashed by pelting stones
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thrown by Greek hands, while elsewhere arrows fell,
launched from the bowstring, killing as they flew.
At last the Greeks rushed forth in one great wave,
striking, butchering, hacking off their limbs,
till they’d snuffed out the life of every man.
Xerxes perceived the depth of ruin, and groaned.
His perch allowed a view of the whole army—
a hilltop high above the briny sea.*43
He tore his robes and let out a shrill wail,
then straightway gave out orders to the land force*44
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and fled pell-mell for home. So there you have
another woe to mourn, beside the first.
ATOSSA: You hateful deity, who stole the sense
from out of Persian minds! Revenge on Athens
has cost my son a bitter price. Too few,
were they, the ones whom Marathon destroyed?
My son set out to gain their recompense
but brought back rather this great host of woes.
But tell about the ships that fled their fate.
Where were they when you left them? Can you say?
480
MESSENGER: The captains of surviving ships took sail,
their flight both hurried and disorderly.
Their crews began to perish in Boeotia,*45
some mad with thirst, in sight of gleaming wells,
others gasping but not getting breath.
We pressed on to the country of the Phocians
and Doric land, the gulf called Malian,
where waters of the Spercheus brought relief.
Next the Achaean plain received our troops,
the towns of Thessaly—but these had little
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for us to eat. Hunger and thirst they offered,
and these killed many of us. We arrived
in Macedonian land and in Magnesia,
the place where river Axius is forded,
the reedy swamp of Bolbe, Mount Pangaeus,
and the land of the Edones. This was the night
the god blew in an early blast of cold
and froze the holy Strymon.*46 Even those
who never revered the gods now offered prayers,
falling on their knees before Earth and Sky.
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After the army showed its piety,
we started to cross the ice-bound waterway.
Whoever set out before the rays of the god
began to spread, came safe to the other side.
For the eye of the sun, ablaze with burning beams,
warmed and dissolved the center of the pathway;
they tumbled on one another, and happiest then
was he who swiftest lost the breath of life.
Those who survived and made their way to safety
struggled through Thrace, their progress slow and labored,
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and now they’re here. A few, not many,
have reached their homes and hearths, the land of Persia
that now can groan for its lost flower of youth.
All that you’ve heard is true. Much else I’ve left
unsaid—the woes god hurled upon the Persians.
CHORUS: God who brings pains! Too heavily you jumped
with trampling feet on all the Persian race.
ATOSSA: Woe upon me, woe for the shattered army.
You—dream that brought me visions in the night—
you showed me clearly all the ills in store,
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(to Chorus) while you interpreted too emptily.
But nonetheless I’ll follow your advice
and first beseech the gods with suppliant prayers;
and next I’ll bring gift-offerings for the dead
and for the Earth—a meal-cake from my larder.
These cannot alter what’s already happened,
but maybe something better yet may come.
As for you: in light of our misfortunes,
you must pool all your trusty plans together.
And if my son should reach this spot before me,
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Give comfort to him, take him to my house,
lest he contrive more woe on top of woes. (Atossa exits.)
CHORUS: Zeus, our king: you have destroyed
the proud and teeming army
of the Persians.
You have plunged our cities in dark grief,
Susa and Ecbatana.
Many the women who’ve torn their veils
with tender hands
while soaking the folds of their robes with tears,
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sharing a common pain.
Persian brides, tender in mourning, long
to see their new-married men;
they’ve lost their soft-fleeced nights in the bed,
the joy of their flourishing youth,
and they grieve with insatiable wailing.
And I, the fate of those who are gone
[…]*47
strophe
Now the whole land of Asia
groans, its populace emptied.
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Xerxes led them—popoi,*48
Xerxes wrecked them—totoi.
Xerxes handled it all foolishly
with his seagoing ships.*49
How is it Darius did so little harm,
when he ruled the city as bow-lord,
the dear overseer of Susa?
antistrophe
Land and sea forces together
sailed in the dark-eyed and flaxen-winged
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warships that brought them there—popoi,
warships that wrecked them there—totoi,
warships with doom-bringing rammings,
steered by Ionian hands.*50
Even the king, we hear, barely escaped
by way of the plains of Thrace,
the roadways that bear hard winters.
strophe
Seized by necessity
pheu
of being the first to die
ēe
along the Cychreian shores.
oā
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Groan and weep,
cry out for the woes
that come from the sky,
oā,
strain the voice of mourning with clamorous calls.
antistrophe
Wracked by the terrible ocean
pheu
they are mangled by the mute offspring*51
ēe
of the great undefiled place, the sea
oā.
The houses, bereft, mourn their masters;
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the parents now childless
lamenting for woes from the gods
oā,
hear the whole tale of pain, and grow old.
strophe
Those living in Asia, long since,
are no longer Persian-controlled,*52
and don’t any longer pay tribute
to lordly necessities;
nor do they fall to the ground
in dread of their rulers.*53 For power,
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the power of our king, has been broken.
antistrophe
Nor are men’s tongues any longer
bound fast in fetters; the people
are free to speak as they wish,
since the yoke of strength has been parted.
The isle of Ajax,*54 its fields
now bloodied, and beaten by waves,
holds Persia’s might in its grasp.
(Atossa enters, on foot, plainly dressed. With her come servants carrying vials of offerings.)
ATOSSA: (to Chorus) All those who have known ills will understand
how when a wave of troubles breaks upon us
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we tend to look on everything with fear,
but when the gods show favor, we believe
the same fair wind of luck will always blow.
Just so for me. There’s terror everywhere;
the gods’ gifts have been utterly reversed;
the roaring in my ears is not a war-cry.
So sharp a blow of evils smites my wits.
Thus have I left my finery behind
and made this journey, without chariot,
bringing libations to pour for my son’s father,
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offerings that propitiate the dead.
First sweet white milk that came from a pure cow,
then shining honey, the flower-reaper’s drops;
next, draughts of water from a virgin stream;
an unmixed liquid, born from a wild mother,
the shining gladness of the ancient grapevine;
and, from a tree that always stays in leaf,
the harvest of the fragrant yellow olive.
Then woven flowers, the sons of fertile earth.
My friends, with these libations to the dead,