Agamemnon (545-630)

Do you mean that our land longed for the longing host?

Longed so, that often from a darkly brooding spirit I have sighed.

Where did this gloom of melancholy upon your spirit come from?

Long since have I found silence an antidote to harm.

How so? Did you fear anyone when our princes were gone?

In such fear that now, in your own words, even death would be great joy.

Yes, all’s well, well ended. Yet, of what occurred in the long years, one might well say that part fell out happily, and part in turn amiss. But who, unless he is a god, is free from suffering all his days?

For were I to recount our hardships and our wretched quarters, the scanty space and the sorry berths——what did we not have to complain of . . . [*]Then again, ashore, there was still worse to loathe; for we had to lie down close to the enemy’s walls,

and the drizzling from the sky and the dews from the meadows distilled upon us, working constant destruction to our clothes and filling our hair with vermin. And if one were to tell of the wintry cold, past all enduring, when Ida’s snow slew the birds;

or of the heat, when upon his waveless noonday couch, windless the sea sank to sleep—but why should we bewail all this? Our labor’s past; past for the dead so that they will never care even to wake to life again.

Why should we count the number of the slain, or why should the living feel pain at their past harsh fortunes? Our misfortunes should, in my opinion, bid us a long farewell. For us, the remnant of the Argive host, the gain has the advantage and the loss does not bear down the scale;

so that, as we speed over land and sea, it is fitting that we on this bright day make this boast:[*]The Argive army, having taken Troy at last, has nailed up these spoils to be a glory for the gods throughout Hellas in their shrines from days of old.

Whoever hears the story of these deeds must extol the city and the leaders of her host; and the grace of Zeus that brought them to accomplishment shall receive its due measure of gratitude. There, you have heard all that I have to say.

Your words have proved me wrong. I do not deny it; for the old have ever enough youth to learn aright.

But these tidings should have most interest for the household and Clytaemestra, and at the same time enrich me.

I raised a shout of triumph in my joy long before this, when the first flaming messenger arrived by night, telling that Ilium was captured and overthrown.

Then there were some who chided me and said: Are you so convinced by beacon-fires as to think that Troy has now been sacked? Truly, it is just like a woman to be elated in heart. By such taunts I was made to seem as if my wits were wandering. Nevertheless I still held on with my sacrifice, and throughout all the quarters of the city, according to their womanly custom,

they raised a shout of happy praise while in the shrines of the gods they lulled to rest the fragrant spice-fed flame. So now why should you rehearse to me the account at length? From the king himself I shall hear the whole tale;

but I should hasten to welcome my honored husband best on his return. For what joy is sweeter in a woman’s eyes than to unbar the gates for her husband when God has spared him to return from war? Give this message to my husband:

let him come with all speed, his country’s fond desire, come to find at home his wife faithful, even as he left her, a watchdog of his house, loyal to him, a foe to those who wish him ill; yes, for the rest, unchanged in every part;

in all this length of time never having broken any seal. Of pleasure from any other man or of scandalous repute I know no more than of dyeing bronze. Exit

A boast like this, loaded full with truth, does not shame the speech of a noble wife.

Thus has she spoken for your schooling, but speciously for those that can interpret right. But, Herald, say—I want to hear of Menelaus. Has he, our land’s dear lord, travelled safe home and has he returned with you?

It would be impossible to report false news so fair that those I love should take pleasure for long.

Oh if only you could tell tidings true yet good! It is not easy to conceal when true and good are split apart.

The prince was swept from the sight of the Achaean host,

himself, and his ship likewise. I speak no lies.

Did he put forth in sight of all from Ilium, or did a storm, distressing all in common, snatch him from the fleet?

Like a master bowman you have hit the mark; a long tale of distress have you told in brief.

Did the general voice of other voyagers bring news of him as alive or dead?