Thyestes' Monologue

Premiere performance of Thyestes' Monologue composed by Christopher Tew.
In recital October 26, 2021
Thyestes’ Monologue,
from the play Agamemnon by Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Sent from the horror and torment of Tartarus,
Leaving the shadow-clad regions of Dis the Infernal,
I, Thyestes, fleeing the lower world incite the upper to flight,
And doubt which realm I hate the more.
Behold, the house of my father
And the scene of my brother’s crime!
Here is the gateway to the realm of Pelops.
Here is the throne room for the crown of Pelasgia.
Here did the proud hands of mighty lords hold the scepter.
Here did the great men of worthy mind hold their council.
Here did we feast!
Oh, I would to turn back!
Is it not better to dwell among the saddened pools,
To gaze upon the Stygian hound,
His black maned necks bristling in anger.
Better to view the body on the swift-turning wheel;
Better to view the bird tearing flesh from the living;
Better to view the hard, endless rolling of the stone.
Better even to view my ancestor, Tantalus,
Who brought such ruin on our house.
But what part of my offense is he to bear?
Count all of those whom, from the beginning of time,
Minos, the Cretan judge, has condemned:
I, Thyestes, by my crimes and sins have triumphed over them all.
Yet one other has surpassed my efforts;
One other has devised a deed more heinous than all else,
My brother. He who did devise that impious banquet,
Who did conspire that Thyestes should his own son consume!
And this ruin would not suffice for Fortuna,
But adding impiety to impiety,
Did cause me to seek the bed of my own daughter!
I did not fear to fulfill the prophecies, even though they were evil.
And that my vengeance might be passed through my lineage,
My daughter, as the Fates, decreed, bore me one last son,
Worthy of his father.
Nature is turned backwards!
Father and grandfather, husband, and father,
Son and grandson, yes, even day and night,
Have I confused with my cunning.
But at last the delayed fulfillment of this grim prophesy is at hand.
He, that king of kings, that leader of leaders,
He who was followed by a thousand ships in war to the Trojan shores,
He journeys homeward, to put his throat into his queen’s clutches.
Now, now at last will this damned banquet hall
Flow with the blood of Atreus’ son!
The trap is set! Treachery, slaughter, gore!
Feasts will soon be prepared!
The reason for your birth is nigh, Aegisthus.
What causes your grim appearance? Decency?
What causes your hand to tremble? Sympathy?
What causes self-questioning; what causes your indecision?
Look to your mother; it is proper!
What prolongs the summer’s night to winter’s length;
Why do the stars still shine above?
Must we longer delay, Phoebus?
Give back your light to the world