The Oresteia

Nothing forces us to know What we do not want to know Except pain

There is advantage in the wisdom won from pain.

Oh, the torment bred in the race, the grinding scream of death and the stroke that hits the vein, the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief, the curse no man can bear. But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no, not from others but from them, their bloody strife. We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth. Now hear, you blissful powers underground -- answer the call, send help. Bless the children, give them triumph now.

This was always going to happen. She's been dead since the beginning.

ATHENA: You wish to be called righteous rather than act right. [...] I say, wrong must not win by technicalities.

Do I not live? Badly, I know, but I live.

They came back To widows, To fatherless children, To screams, to sobbing. The men came back As little clay jars Full of sharp cinders.

Thus he died, and all the life struggled out of him; and as he died he spattered me with the dark red and violent driven rain of bitter-savored blood to make me glad, as gardens stand among the showers of God in glory at the birthtime of the buds.

Pour everything out for the blood you have shed, you're wasting your time in appeasing the dead.

A great ox stands on my tongue.

CHORUS: Helen! wild mad Helen you murdered so many beneath Troy. Now you’ve crowned yourself one final perfect time, a crown of blood that will not wash away. Strife walks with you everywhere you go. KLYTAIMESTRA: Oh, stop whining. And why get angry at Helen? As if she singlehandedly destroyed those multitudes of men. As if she all alone made this wound in us

We spoil ourselves with scruples long as things go well.

Alas, poor men, their destiny. When all goes well a shadow will overthrow it. If it be unkind one stroke of a wet sponge wipes all the picture out; and that is far the most unhappy thing of all. -Cassandra

But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no, not from others but from them, their bloody strife. We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth.

FURIES: Over the beast doomed to the fire this is the chant, scatter of wits, frenzy and fear, hurting the heart, song of the Furies binding brain and blighting blood in its stringless melody.

Neither the life of anarchy nor the life enslaved by tyrants, no, worship neither. Strike the balance all in all and god will give you power.

You patronize me like some little woman with no mind to call her own. I speak with heart devoid of fear to those with wit to understand, and you can praise me or condemn me as you like, it's all the same to me.

Only when man's life comes to its end in prosperity can one call that man fortunate.

Horror gives place to wonder at your true account; The rest outstrips our comprehension; we give up.

Pain both ways and what is worse?

But to speak ill of people at hand who give no cause for blame, is to assume a right far distinct from justice.

There are times when fear is good. It must keep its watchful place at the heart's controls. There is advantage in the wisdom won from pain.

Zeus, whose will has marked for man The sole way where wisdom lies; Ordered one eternal plan: Man must suffer to be wise. Head-winds heavy with past ill Stray his course and cloud his heart: Sorrow takes the blind soul's part - Man grows wise against his will. For powers who rule from thrones above By ruthlessness commend their love.

I shall select judges of manslaughter, and swear them in, establish a court into all time to come. 485 Litigants, call your witnesses, have ready your proofs as evidence under bond to keep this case secure. I will pick the finest of my citizens, and come back. They shall swear to make no judgment that is not just, and make clear where in this action the truth lies.

I have suffered into truth (...) Time refines all things that age with time

Ill is the very word to speak, for none Can ransom or atone For blood once shed and darkening the plain.

No shame, I think, in the death given this man. And did he not first of all in this house wreak death by treachery? 1525 The flower of this man’s love and mine, Iphigeneia of the many tears— he dealt with her even as he has suffered now.° So let his speech in Death’s house be not loud. With the sword he struck; with the sword he paid for his own act.

But who can recount all 595 the high daring in the will of man, and in the stubborn hearts of women the all-adventurous passions that couple with man’s overthrow.

Right’s anvil stands staunch on the ground and the smith, Destiny, hammers out the sword. Delayed in glory, pensive from 650 the murk, Vengeance brings home at last a child, to wipe out the stain of blood shed long ago.

But Righteousness still shines out in the smoke of mean houses. 775 Her blessing is on the just man. From high halls starred with gold by reeking hands she turns back with eyes that glance away to the simple in heart, spurning the strength of gold 780 stamped false with flattery. And all things she steers to fulfillment.