Chapter 9

Give me the boy; he will not be afraid To look upon this bloody slaughter-house, If verily he is his father's son. At once we must in his sire's rugged ways Train the young colt and mould him like to me. Boy, mayst thou be more lucky than thy sire, Else his true son, and thou'lt be not amiss. Already have I cause to envy thee, In that thou knowest nothing of these woes; For blessed are the days of ignorance, When joy and grief are both untasted still. But when the time is come, see that thou show My enemies what blood is in thy veins. Till then, sweet airs breathe on thine infancy. Be happy, boy, and cheer thy mother's heart. I ween the Achaean lives not that on thee Will dare to trample, e'en when I am gone, So good a warden shall I leave for thee In Teucer, who shall tend thee well, though now He is far off, upon the foeman's trail. And now, my warriors, that have sailed with me, I crave one service at your loving hands, And pray ye will of Teucer crave the same: Bear to my home the boy, that Telamon And Eriboea may their grandson see, And he may be the prop of their old age. My arms, no judges, nor my honour's foe Shall ere set up as prizes for the host. My shield, Eurysaces, my son, take thou, [Footnote: Signifying "him of the broad shield."] Thy namesake, by its well-knit handles wield The impenetrable orb of seven-fold hide. My other arms shall share their master's grave. And now, Tecmessa, take the boy again; Shut up the tent, and let us have no wails Here at the door; women are made of tears. Shut up the tent, I say; never wise leech Did patter spells when steel was the sole cure.

CHORUS.

I tremble as I hear thy heated words, The sharpness of thy speech disquiets me.

TECMESSA.

Ajax, my lord, what dost thou meditate?

AJAX.

Question me not. 'Tis good to be discreet.

TECMESSA.

Fear overwhelms my soul. Oh, by the gods, And by thy child, I pray desert us not.

AJAX.

Thou art importunate. Dost thou not know That I no more am debtor to the gods?

TECMESSA.

Hush! Be not impious.

AJAX.

Speak not to the deaf.

TECMESSA.

Wilt thou not yield?

AJAX.

Thou pratest overmuch.

TECMESSA.

My lord, I quake.

AJAX.

Shut up the tent at once.

TECMESSA. I do conjure thee.

AJAX.

Small must be thy sense, If thou dost think to put this heart to school.

* * * * *

_THE RESOLVE_.

Ajax pretends to be softened, and to be going forth only for the harmless purpose of purification in a running stream, though he is really going to his death.

LINES 646-692.

AJAX.

Time in its long, immeasurable course, Turns ever dark to light, and light to dark, And nothing is past hope; the solemn oath Is broken, and the stubborn heart gives way. I, that was hard as tempered steel erewhile, Am softened now by yonder woman's plaint. I cannot bear to leave her desolate, Or my boy fatherless among his foes. I'll go to the fresh baths which lie beside Yon cliff, that, having washed pollution off, I may the goddess' heavy wrath avert. I'll seek me out a solitary spot, And there I'll hide this sword, this hateful sword, Burying it where it shall be seen no more; Let night and Hades be its armoury, For ever since I took it as a gift From Hector, our most mortal enemy, Our Argive hearts have ne'er been kind to me. True is the word, the gifts of enemies Are no gifts, and they bring more loss than gain. So for the future we shall learn to bow To heaven's good will, and reverence the Kings; Theirs is the power, submission is our part. Whatever is most dread and masterful Yields to authority: the winter's snow In time makes way for summer crowned with fruits; In time the weary round of night gives place To the white steeds that bring returning day; In time the blustering tempest leaves at rest The roaring sea; in time profoundest sleep Loosens its bond, and lets the sleeper wake; Why should not time bring wisdom to us too? By all means shall it. I have lately learned That we should hate our enemy as one Who yet may be a friend, and so far serve Our friend as one that may to-morrow be A friend no more, since, to the general, Friendship is but a doubtful anchorage. But for these matters all is ordered well. Go in, Tecmessa, duly offer up Thy prayers that my desire may be fulfilled. And you, my comrades, honour equally My wishes, and bid Teucer, when he comes, Be a good friend to you and think of me. Now go I forth upon my destined way. Do ye my bidding, and ye soon may hear That I have shuffled off this coil of ills.

* * * * *

_THE LAST SPEECH OF AJAX_.

LINES 815-865.

AJAX.

The sword is set where it may best strike home, If leisure were to dally with such thoughts, The sword that Hector gave, the bitterest foe And worst that I did ever treat withal; And it is planted in the soil of Troy, That hostile soil, fresh whetted for its work. Carefully have I fixed it where it stands, That quickly I may die, and painlessly. So far all's well; in what comes now, O Zeus, On thee for aid, and with good right, I call. 'Tis no great favour that I crave of thee: Let some one bear to Teucer the ill news, That he may be the first to lift my corpse From off the sword, fresh streaming with my blood. Let me not, by some foeman first espied, Be cast a prey to carrion fowl and dogs. This, Zeus, I ask of thee, and I invoke Hermes, who leads the dead, that at one bound Pierced through, and with no lingering agony I may be laid in my eternal sleep. Last on the dread Erinnyes I call, That ever-virgin sisterhood, who see All that is done among mankind, to mark How the Atridae have my ruin wrought. Come, ye swift powers of retribution, come, And flesh you on the whole Achaean host. Thou sun, whose chariot traverses the sky, When on my native land thou lookest down, Draw for a while thy glittering rein, and tell The story of my madness and my doom To my grey-headed father, and to her That bare me, and that when she hears this news Will make the city echo with her wail. But to no purpose are these weak laments; The thing must now be done, and done with speed. O death, O death, come and thy office do; Long, where I go, our fellowship will be. O thou glad daylight, which I now behold, O sun, that ridest in the firmament, I greet you, and shall greet you never more. O light, O sacred soil of my own land, O my ancestral home, my Salamis, Famed Athens and my old Athenian mates, Rivers and springs and plains of Troy, farewell; Farewell all things in which I lived my life; 'Tis the last word of Ajax to you all, When next I speak 'twill be to those below.

ELECTRA.

The subject of the "Electra" of Sophocles is the same as that of the "Choëphoroe" (the Libation-bearers) of Aeschylus. It is the return of Orestes from exile to take vengeance on Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra, for their murder of his father, Agamemnon. Electra plays the same part which she plays in the "Choëphoroe," while her sister, Chrysothemis, plays that of gentleness and comparative weakness. Orestes, in this play, returns with a fictitious story of his death which throws Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra off their guard.

* * * * *

_THE SNARE_.

The Paedagogos (tutor or governor) of Orestes, to circumvent Clytaemnestra, tells her a fictitious story of her son's death by a fall in a chariot-race. Electra is on the scene.

LINES 660-822.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Good ladies, tell a stranger in your land, Does King Aegisthus in this mansion dwell?

CHORUS.

He does, my friend; thou hast conjectured right.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Shall I conjecture right if I take this To be his Queen? She has a queenly look.

CHORUS.

Thou'rt right again; the Queen indeed she is.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Hail, royal lady. From a friend I bring News good for thee and for Aegisthus too.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Thy words are pleasing to mine ear; but first I must inquire of thee, who sent thee here?

PAEDAGOGOS.

The Phocian Phanoteus, on errand grave.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Say what it is; for as the name is dear Of him that sent thee, glad will be thy news.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Orestes is no more: that is the sum.

ELECTRA.

Alas! alas! I am undone this day.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

What? what? repeat it; listen not to her.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Again, I say, Orestes is no more.

ELECTRA.

It is my death-blow; I am lost, am lost.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Look to thyself, girl. Stranger, tell me true, In what way was it that he met his doom?

PAEDAGOGOS.

To this end was I sent; thou shalt hear all. To those great games, the pride of Hellas, came Orestes, fain to win the Delphic prize. There, when he heard the herald with loud voice Proclaim the race, which is the first event, He entered, dazzling, and admired of all; And shooting swift from starting-post to goal, Bore off the prize of glorious victory. Briefly to speak, exploits so marvellous, Such proofs of prowess, never did I see. Know that in every foot-race that as wont The presidents proclaimed, he, midst the cheers Of gratulating crowds, bore off the prize; While heralds loud proclaimed the victor's name, Argive Orestes, Agamemnon's son, Heir to the glory of that conqueror. So far he prospered; but when heaven decrees That man shall fall, man's might is vain to save. Another day, when in the early morn, The chariot race was held upon the course, Orestes came with many a charioteer. One an Achaean, one a Spartan, was; Two with their cars from distant Lybia came; Orestes with his steeds of Thessaly The fifth, the sixth was an Aetolian, With bright bay steeds; then a Magnesian, Then with white steeds an Aeneanian came; Athens, the god-built city, sent the ninth; In the tenth chariot a Boeotian rode. Taking their stand, each where his lot was drawn, And as the masters of the games ordained, At trumpet's sound they started, and at once, All shouting to their steeds, they shook the reins To urge them onwards, while the course was filled With din of rattling chariots; rose the dust In clouds, the racers, mingled in a throng, Plied, each of them, the goad unsparingly, To clear the press of cars and snorting steeds, So close, they felt the horses' breath behind, And all the whirling wheels were flecked with foam. Orestes showed his skill once and again, Grazing the pillar at the course's end, The near horse well in hand, his mate let go. So far had all the chariots safely run; But now the hard-mouthed Aeneanian steeds O'erpowered their driver, and in wheeling round, Just as, the sixth stretch past, the seventh began, Dashed front to front on the Barcaean car. Disaster on disaster came: now one And now another car was overturned And shattered; Crisa's plain was filled with wreck. The skilful charioteer whom Athens sent Then drew aside, slackened his pace and gave The surge of wild confusion room to pass. Last of the train Orestes drove, his steeds Holding in hand, and trusting to the end; But seeing only the Athenian left, With piercing shouts, urging his team to speed, He made for him, and side by side the pair Drove onward, yoke even with yoke, now one And now the other leading by a head. Through all the courses but the last that youth Ill-starred stood safely in an upright car. But at the last, slackening his left-hand rein, As his horse turned the goal, he unawares The pillar struck and broke his axle-tree. Out of the car he rolled, still in the reins Entangled, while his horses, as he fell, Rushed wildly through the middle of the course. The whole assembly, when they saw him fall, Raised a loud cry of horror at the fate Of him that was the hero of the games, Seeing him dragged along the ground, his feet Anon flung skyward; till some charioteers, With much ado, stopping the headlong steeds, Released him, but so mangled that no friend The gory and disfigured corpse would know. They laid him on the funeral pyre, and now Have Phocian envoys in a narrow urn Brought the poor ashes of that mighty frame For sepulture in his ancestral tomb. Such is my story. Sad enough for those Who hear; for those who saw most piteous Of all the sights that e'er these eyes beheld.

CHORUS.

Alas, alas! it seems the noble stock Of our old Kings is wholly rooted out.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

What shall I call this, Zeus? Is it good luck, Or gain with sorrow blended? Sad it is That I should owe my safety to my dole.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Why art thou downcast, lady, at my words?

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Strong is a mother's love; no injury Can make her hate the offspring of her womb.

PAEDAGOGOS.

My errand then is bootless, as it seems.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Bootless it is not, and it could not be, If thou hast brought me certain evidence That he is dead, who, owing life to me, Rebelled against the breast that suckled him; Who, when self-banished, he had left the land Looked on my face no more; who, charging me With his sire's murder, threatened vengeance dire, So that sweet sleep neither by night nor day Could fold my weary sense, but every hour Passed in the shadow of impending death. Now--since this day doth end my fears from him, And from this maid, whose presence in my home, Draining the very life-blood of my heart, Was to me yet more baneful--now at last Rid of their menaces, we dwell in peace.

ELECTRA.

Alas, alas! well may we wail for thee, Orestes, when thy mother can exult Over her child's poor ashes. Is this well?

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Not well for thee, with him 'tis well enough.

ELECTRA.

Hear, Nemesis, the prayer of him that's gone.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

The right prayer she had heard and ratified.

ELECTRA.

Thy tongue is free, fortune is on thy side.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Thou and Orestes soon will put us down.

ELECTRA.

We put thee down? We are put down ourselves.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Stranger, thy mission would be blessed indeed If thou could silence yonder termagant.

PAEDAGOGOS.

If I am no more needed, let me go.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Nay, it would shame my hospitality And his that sent thee, thus to let thee go. Come in with me, and leave this damsel here, To mourn her friend's disasters and her own.

(_Exeunt_ PAEDAGOGOS _and_ CLYTAEMNESTRA.)

ELECTRA.

How say ye? Does yon wretched woman seem Deeply to mourn and bitterly bewail The son that has so miserably died? She goes off mocking us. Woe worth the day! Dearest Orestes, I have died in thee. For thou hast carried with thee to the grave The only hope that in my heart yet lived, The hope that thou wouldst some day come to venge Thy sire and me. Now whither can I turn? I am left desolate, deprived of thee, As of my father. Once more I become The slave of those whom I do hate like death, My father's murderers. What a lot is mine! But with those murderers I will dwell no more Under one roof; an outcast at this gate I'll fling me down, and pine away my life. Let those within, then, if my grief offends, Kill me at once. Welcome would be the blow; Life is a burden, death would be a boon.

* * * * *

_THE SISTERS_.

Electra's sister, Chrysothemis, having found the offering of Orestes on his father's tomb, brings what she deems glad tidings to Electra, who meets her with the announcement that the Pedagogos has just brought certain news of their brother's death. Electra, now reduced to despair, proposes to Chrysothemis that they should themselves attempt to slay Aegisthus.

LINES 871-1057.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Joy, dearest sister, has impelled my steps To haste with no regard for dignity, [Footnote: Composure in gait and manner was the rule for Hellenic women.] I bring to thee glad tidings and relief From all the miseries thou hast undergone.

ELECTRA.

Whence canst thou any aid or comfort draw For my misfortunes which are past all cure?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Orestes has come home. Doubt not my word. As sure as now thou seest me, he is here.

ELECTRA.

Hast thou gone mad, unhappy one, that thus Thou mockest at my miseries and thy own?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

By our ancestral hearth I swear to thee I say not this in mockery; he is here.

ELECTRA.

O misery, from what mortal hast thou heard This story that has gained thy fond belief?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It is no hearsay: mine own eyes have seen The certain proofs of that which I believe.

ELECTRA.

What is the token? What has met thy gaze To fire thy silly heart with fevered hope?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Only give ear to what I have to tell, Then call me mad, or not mad, as thou wilt.

ELECTRA.

Speak on, if thou hast pleasure in the tale.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

All that I saw, I will recount to thee. When to our old ancestral tomb I came, I saw a stream of milk fresh running down, From the mound's summit, and our father's grave Crowned with a wreath of all the flowers that grow. The sight amazed me and I looked around, Fearing lest some intruder might be near. But when I saw that all around was still, I drew near to the tomb, and on its edge I found a lock of hair, freshly cut off. When I beheld that lock, into my soul Rushed a familiar image, and meseemed Orestes must have laid that token there. I took it up, I opened not my lips, But in my eyes the tears of joy o'erflowed. That from one hand alone this gift could come Is now, as then it was, my sure belief. Who else could lay it there save you or me? That 'twas not I, is certain, and no less That 'twas not you, when scarcely you have leave To go forth to the temples of the gods; While, for our mother, she has little mind To do such things, nor could she go unseen. It is Orestes that his homage pays. Be of good cheer, my sister; destiny Unkind to-day, to-morrow may be kind. So far it has been adverse, but this hour, Perchance, may prove the dawn of happiness.

ELECTRA.

I pity as I hear thy foolish talk.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Why? Is not what I say sweet to thine ear?

ELECTRA.

Thou know'st not what thou dost or where thou art.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not know the thing which my own eyes beheld?

ELECTRA.

He's dead, poor foolish heart. These proofs of thine Are good for nothing. Look for him no more.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Unhappy me; who was it told thee this?

ELECTRA.

One that was present when he met his end.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Amazement fills my soul! Where is this man?

ELECTRA.

Within there, and our mother's welcome guest.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thy words o'erwhelm me. Who, then, could have laid Affection's offerings on our father's grave?

ELECTRA.

That some one brought them as memorials Of dead Orestes, likeliest seems to me.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Unhappy that I am! And full of joy I hastened with these tidings, ignorant Of our dark fate. I left the cup of grief Full, and I come to see it overflow.

ELECTRA.

So stands it now, but do what I advise, And thou mayest lighten yet this load of woe.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

How? Can I bring the dead to life again?

ELECTRA.

I meant not that, nor was so void of sense.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

What wouldst thou have, that is within my power?

ELECTRA.

I'd have thee bravely do what I enjoin.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

So it be helpful, I will not refuse.

ELECTRA.

Look, without effort nothing will go well.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

'Tis true, and I will aid with all my might.

ELECTRA.

Hear now my resolution. Thou dost know That we are friendless now; the friend we had Hades has ta'en and left us desolate. While I still heard that our Orestes lived, And all was well with him, the hope remained That he would come, and venge our murdered sire. But now that he is gone I look to thee To lend thy sister aid in taking off Aegisthus; frankly such is my intent. Where will thy sufferance end? what hope is left For thee to look to? woe on woe is thine. Of thy sire's wealth thou'rt disinherited, And to this hour hast been condemned to pine In cold companionless virginity. Nor deem that thou shalt ever be a bride; Aegisthus is not so devoid of sense As to permit a shoot from thee or me To spring which to his certain bane would grow. But if thy soul can rise to my resolve, First to thy sire and brother there below Thou wilt discharge the debt of piety; Next a free woman thou wilt be once more, As thou wast born, and find a worthy mate, For lover's eyes look to the good and brave. Then seest thou not what glory thou wilt win For both of us, embracing my design? What citizen or foreigner will fail Whene'er we pass, to pay his meed of praise? "Look at yon pair of sisters; these are they That from its fall redeemed their father's house, That setting their own lives upon the die, Their enemies, in power uplifted, slew. To these we all should loving homage pay, These ever honour at our festivals And our assemblies for their bravery." Such things the public voice will say of us, In life or death our fame will never end. Consent, dear sister; for thy father strike, Strike for thy brother, rescue me from woe, Redeem thyself. Those who are nobly born Honour forbids to live the butt of scorn.

CHORUS.

Foresight in matters such as these is good, For those who give and those who take advice.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Before she spoke, ladies, had not her mind Been quite perverted, she would have held fast The caution which she utterly lets go. What puts it in thy heart, this desperate deed Thyself to dare, and call on me to aid? Dost thou not know that thou a woman art? And that our enemies are mightier far? While their good fortune waxes day by day, Ours wanes as fast and leaves us destitute. Who then that strikes at one so powerful Can fail to pluck down ruin on himself? Beware, lest to our ills we add more ill, If these thy resolutions get abroad. Little would all that glory profit us, If we should die an ignominious death. And death is not the worst that may befall; It is worse still to long for death in vain. I do conjure thee, ere thou ruin us Beyond redemption, and cut off our race, To moderate thy wrath; what thou hast said I will regard as unsaid, null and void. Do thou at last get thee some sober sense, And yield to power as thou art powerless.

CHORUS.

Take her advice; there is not among men A better thing than foresight and good sense.

ELECTRA.

All thou hast said I did anticipate; What I proposed I knew thou wouldst reject. Alone, with my own hand, I'll do the deed; My resolution shall not come to naught.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

What now thou art, would thou hadst been the day Thy father died: thou wouldst have ruled the hour.

ELECTRA.

In heart I was the same, but not in sense.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Strive still to keep the sense that then thou hadst.

ELECTRA.

Thy preaching shows I shall not have thy aid,

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

No, for the enterprise is desperate.

ELECTRA.

Thy sense I envy, but thy spirit scorn.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thy blame or praise to me is all the same.

ELECTRA.

Praise from these lips thou needest never fear.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

That will be seen hereafter: time is long.

ELECTRA.

Get thee away, in thee there is no help.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Help is in me, knowledge in thee is not.

ELECTRA.

Go, if thou wilt, and tell our mother all.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Hate if I must, not so far goes my hate.

ELECTRA.

It goes so far as to dishonour me.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not to dishonour but to care for thee.

ELECTRA.

And is my justice to be led by thine?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Learn to be wise, and thou shalt lead us both.

ELECTRA.

'Tis pity when good talkers go astray.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thou hast exactly hit thy own disease.

ELECTRA.

What! have I not, then, justice on my side?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Justice itself may sometimes lead us wrong.

ELECTRA.

Let me not live where justice may be wrong.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Do it and thou wilt see that I was right.

ELECTRA.

Do it I will, and reckless of thy frown.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thou wilt: and is no room for counsel left?

ELECTRA.

Base counsel is a thing my soul abhors.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It seems that we shall never be agreed.

ELECTRA.

Of that I was convinced a while ago.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

I will begone: thy spirit will not brook My counsel, nor can I thy ways approve.

ELECTRA.

Go then, but never shall I follow thee, Entreat me as thou mayst, of that be sure: Fools only look for that which none can find. [Footnote: As no help or sympathy can be found in Chrysothemis.]

CHRYSOTHEMIS.