Chapter 4

’Fore God, mine oracle shall no more hide With veils his visage, like a new-wed bride! A shining wind out of this dark shall blow, Piercing the dawn, growing as great waves grow, To burst in the heart of sunrise … stronger far Than this poor pain of mine. I will not mar With mists my wisdom. Be near me as I go, Tracking the evil things of long ago, And bear me witness. For this roof, there clings Music about it, like a choir which sings One-voiced, but not well-sounding, for not good The words are. Drunken, drunken, and with blood, To make them dare the more, a revelling rout Is in the rooms, which no man shall cast out, Of sister Furies. And they weave to song, Haunting the House, its first blind deed of wrong, Spurning in turn that King’s bed desecrate, Defiled, which paid a brother’s sin with hate…. Hath it missed or struck, mine arrow? Am I a poor Dreamer, that begs and babbles at the door? Give first thine oath in witness, that I know Of this great dome the sins wrought long ago.

ELDER. And how should oath of mine, though bravely sworn, Appease thee? Yet I marvel that one born Far over seas, of alien speech, should fall So apt, as though she had lived here and seen all.

CASSANDRA. The Seer Apollo made me too to see.

ELDER (_in a low voice_).

Was the God’s heart pierced with desire for thee?

CASSANDRA. Time was, I held it shame hereof to speak.

ELDER. Ah, shame is for the mighty, not the weak.

CASSANDRA. We wrestled, and his breath to me was sweet.

ELDER. Ye came to the getting of children, as is meet?

CASSANDRA. I swore to Loxias, and I swore a lie.

ELDER. Already thine the gift of prophecy?

CASSANDRA. Already I showed my people all their path.

ELDER. And Loxias did not smite thee in his wrath?

CASSANDRA. After that sin … no man believed me more.

ELDER. Nay, then, to us thy wisdom seemeth sure.

CASSANDRA. Oh, oh! Agony, agony! Again the awful pains of prophecy Are on me, maddening as they fall…. Ye see them there … beating against the wall? So young … like shapes that gather in a dream … Slain by a hand they loved. Children they seem, Murdered … and in their hands they bear baked meat: I think it is themselves. Yea, flesh; I see it; And inward parts…. Oh, what a horrible load To carry! And their father drank their blood.

From these, I warn ye, vengeance broodeth still, A lion’s rage, which goes not forth to kill But lurketh in his lair, watching the high Hall of my war-gone master … Master? Aye; Mine, mine! The yoke is nailed about my neck…. Oh, lord of ships and trampler on the wreck Of Ilion, knows he not this she-wolf’s tongue, Which licks and fawns, and laughs with ear up-sprung, To bite in the end like secret death?—And can The woman? Slay a strong and armèd man? … What fangèd reptile like to her doth creep? Some serpent amphisbene, some Skylla, deep Housed in the rock, where sailors shriek and die, Mother of Hell blood-raging, which doth cry On her own flesh war, war without alloy … God! And she shouted in his face her joy, Like men in battle when the foe doth break. And feigns thanksgiving for his safety’s sake! What if no man believe me? ’Tis all one. The thing which must be shall be; aye, and soon Thou too shalt sorrow for these things, and here Standing confess me all too true a seer.

LEADER. The Thyestean feast of children slain I understood, and tremble. Aye, my brain Reels at these visions, beyond guesswork true. But after, though I heard, I had lost the clue.

CASSANDRA. Man, thou shalt look on Agamemnon dead.

LEADER. Peace, Mouth of Evil! Be those words unsaid!

CASSANDRA. No god of peace hath watch upon that hour.

LEADER. If it must come. Forefend it, Heavenly Power!

CASSANDRA. They do not think of prayer; they think of death.

LEADER. They? Say, what man this foul deed compasseth?

CASSANDRA. Alas, thou art indeed fallen far astray!

LEADER. How could such deed be done? I see no way.

CASSANDRA. Yet know I not the Greek tongue all too well?

LEADER. Greek are the Delphic dooms, but hard to spell.

CASSANDRA. Ah! Ah! There! What a strange fire! It moves … It comes at me. O Wolf Apollo, mercy! O agony! … Why lies she with a wolf, this lioness lone, Two-handed, when the royal lion is gone? God, she will kill me! Like to them that brew Poison, I see her mingle for me too A separate vial in her wrath, and swear, Whetting her blade for him, that I must share His death … because, because he hath dragged me here! Oh, why these mockers at my throat? This gear Of wreathèd bands, this staff of prophecy? I mean to kill you first, before I die. Begone!

[_She tears off her prophetic habiliments; and presently throws them on the ground, and stamps on them._]

Down to perdition! … Lie ye so? So I requite you! Now make rich in woe Some other Bird of Evil, me no more!

[_Coming to herself._]

Ah, see! It is Apollo’s self, hath tore His crown from me! Who watched me long ago In this same prophet’s robe, by friend, by foe, All with one voice, all blinded, mocked to scorn: “A thing of dreams,” “a beggar-maid outworn,” Poor, starving and reviled, I endured all; And now the Seer, who called me till my call Was perfect, leads me to this last dismay…. ’Tis not the altar-stone where men did slay My father; ’tis a block, a block with gore Yet hot, that waits me, of one slain before. Yet not of God unheeded shall we lie. There cometh after, one who lifteth high The downfallen; a branch where blossometh A sire’s avenging and a mother’s death. Exiled and wandering, from this land outcast, One day He shall return, and set the last Crown on these sins that have his house downtrod. For, lo, there is a great oath sworn of God, His father’s upturned face shall guide him home. Why should I grieve? Why pity these men’s doom? I who have seen the City of Ilion Pass as she passed; and they who cast her down Have thus their end, as God gives judgement sure…. I go to drink my cup. I will endure To die. O Gates, Death-Gates, all hail to you! Only, pray God the blow be stricken true! Pray God, unagonized, with blood that flows Quick unto friendly death, these eyes may close!

LEADER. O full of sorrows, full of wisdom great, Woman, thy speech is a long anguish; yet, Knowing thy doom, why walkst thou with clear eyes, Like some god-blinded beast, to sacrifice?

CASSANDRA. There is no escape, friends; only vain delay.

LEADER. Is not the later still the sweeter day?

CASSANDRA. The day is come. Small profit now to fly.

LEADER. Through all thy griefs, Woman, thy heart is high.

CASSANDRA. Alas! None that is happy hears that praise.

LEADER. Are not the brave dead blest in after days?

CASSANDRA. O Father! O my brethren brave, I come!

[_She moves towards the House, but recoils shuddering._]

LEADER. What frights thee? What is that thou startest from?

CASSANDRA. Ah, faugh! Faugh!

LEADER. What turns thee in that blind Horror? Unless some loathing of the mind …

CASSANDRA. Death drifting from the doors, and blood like rain!

LEADER. ’Tis but the dumb beasts at the altar slain.

CASSANDRA. And vapours from a charnel-house … See there!

LEADER. ’Tis Tyrian incense clouding in the air.

CASSANDRA (_recovering herself again_).

So be it!—I will go, in yonder room To weep mine own and Agamemnon’s doom. May death be all! Strangers, I am no bird That pipeth trembling at a thicket stirred By the empty wind. Bear witness on that day When woman for this woman’s life shall pay, And man for man ill-mated low shall lie: I ask this boon, as being about to die.

LEADER. Alas, I pity thee thy mystic fate!

CASSANDRA. One word, one dirge-song would I utter yet O’er mine own corpse. To this last shining Sun I pray that, when the Avenger’s work is done, His enemies may remember this thing too, This little thing, the woman slave they slew!

O world of men, farewell! A painted show Is all thy glory; and when life is low The touch of a wet sponge out-blotteth all. Oh, sadder this than any proud man’s fall!

[_She goes into the House._]

CHORUS. Great Fortune is an hungry thing, And filleth no heart anywhere, Though men with fingers menacing Point at the great house, none will dare, When Fortune knocks, to bar the door Proclaiming: “Come thou here no more!” Lo, to this man the Gods have given Great Ilion in the dust to tread And home return, emblazed of heaven; If it is writ, he too shall go Through blood for blood spilt long ago; If he too, dying for the dead, Should crown the deaths of alien years, What mortal afar off, who hears, Shall boast him Fortune’s Child, and led Above the eternal tide of tears?

[_A sudden Cry from within._]

VOICE. Ho! Treason in the house! I am wounded: slain.

LEADER. Hush! In the castle! ’Twas a cry Of some man wounded mortally.

VOICE. Ah God, another! I am stricken again.

LEADER. I think the deed is done. It was the King Who groaned…. Stand close, and think if anything….

[_The Old Men gather together under the shock, and debate confusedly._]

ELDER B. I give you straight my judgement. Summon all The citizens to rescue. Sound a call!

ELDER C. No, no! Burst in at once without a word! In, and convict them by their dripping sword!

ELDER D. Yes; that or something like it. Quick, I say, Be doing! ’Tis a time for no delay.

ELDER E. We have time to think. This opening … They have planned Some scheme to make enslavement of the land.

ELDER F. Yes, while we linger here! They take no thought Of lingering, and their sword-arm sleepeth not!

ELDER G. I have no counsel. I can speak not. Oh, Let him give counsel who can strike a blow!

ELDER H. I say as this man says. I have no trust In words to raise a dead man from the dust.

ELDER I. How mean you? Drag out our poor lives, and stand Cowering to these defilers of the land?

ELDER J. Nay, ’tis too much! Better to strive and die! Death is an easier doom than slavery.

ELDER K. We heard a sound of groaning, nothing plain, How know we—are we seers?—that one is slain?

ELDER L. Oh, let us find the truth out, ere we grow Thus passionate! To surmise is not to know.

LEADER. Break in, then! ’Tis the counsel ye all bring, And learn for sure, how is it with the King.

[_They cluster up towards the Palace Door, as though to force an entrance, when the great Door swings open, revealing_ CLYTEMNESTRA, _who stands, axe in hand, over the dead bodies of_ AGAMEMNON _and_ CASSANDRA. _The body of_ AGAMEMNON _is wrapped in a rich crimson web. There is blood on_ CLYTEMNESTRA’S _brow, and she speaks in wild triumph._]

CLYTEMNESTRA. Oh, lies enough and more have I this day Spoken, which now I shame not to unsay. How should a woman work, to the utter end, Hate on a damnèd hater, feigned a friend; How pile perdition round him, hunter-wise, Too high for overleaping, save by lies? To me this hour was dreamed of long ago; A thing of ancient hate. ’Twas very slow In coming, but it came. And here I stand Even where I struck, with all the deed I planned Done! ’Twas so wrought—what boots it to deny?— The man could neither guard himself nor fly. An endless web, as by some fisher strung, A deadly plenteousness of robe, I flung All round him, and struck twice; and with two cries His limbs turned water and broke; and as he lies I cast my third stroke in, a prayer well-sped To Zeus of Hell, who guardeth safe his dead! So there he gasped his life out as he lay; And, gasping, the blood spouted … Like dark spray That splashed, it came, a salt and deathly dew; Sweet, sweet as God’s dear rain-drops ever blew O’er a parched field, the day the buds are born! … Which things being so, ye Councillors high-born, Depart in joy, if joy ye will. For me, I glory. Oh, if such a thing might be As o’er the dead thank-offering to outpour, On this dead it were just, aye, just and more, Who filled the cup of the House with treacheries Curse-fraught, and here hath drunk it to the lees!

LEADER. We are astonied at thy speech. To fling, Wild mouth! such vaunt over thy murdered King!

CLYTEMNESTRA. Wouldst fright me, like a witless woman? Lo, This bosom shakes not. And, though well ye know, I tell you … Curse me as ye will, or bless, ’Tis all one … This is Agamemnon; this, My husband, dead by my right hand, a blow Struck by a righteous craftsman. Aye, ’tis so.

CHORUS. Woman, what evil tree, What poison grown of the ground Or draught of the drifting sea Way to thy lips hath found, Making thee clothe thy heart In rage, yea, in curses burning When thine own people pray? Thou hast hewn, thou hast cast away; And a thing cast away thou art, A thing of hate and a spurning!

CLYTEMNESTRA. Aye, now, for me, thou hast thy words of fate; Exile from Argos and the people’s hate For ever! Against him no word was cried, When, recking not, as ’twere a beast that died, With flocks abounding o’er his wide domain, He slew his child, my love, my flower of pain, … Great God, as magic for the winds of Thrace! Why was not he man-hunted from his place, To purge the blood that stained him? … When the deed Is mine, oh, then thou art a judge indeed! But threat thy fill. I am ready, and I stand Content; if thy hand beateth down my hand, Thou rulest. If aught else be God’s decree, Thy lesson shall be learned, though late it be.

CHORUS. Thy thought, it is very proud; Thy breath is the scorner’s breath; Is not the madness loud In thy heart, being drunk with death? Yea, and above thy brow A star of the wet blood burneth! Oh, doom shall have yet her day, The last friend cast away, When lie doth answer lie And a stab for a stab returneth!

CLYTEMNESTRA. And heark what Oath-gods gather to my side! By my dead child’s Revenge, now satisfied, By Mortal Blindness, by all Powers of Hell Which Hate, to whom in sacrifice he fell, My Hope shall walk not in the house of Fear, While on my hearth one fire yet burneth clear, One lover, one Aigisthos, as of old! What should I fear, when fallen here I hold This foe, this scorner of his wife, this toy And fool of each Chryseis under Troy; And there withal his soothsayer and slave, His chanting bed-fellow, his leman brave, Who rubbed the galleys’ benches at his side. But, oh, they had their guerdon as they died! For he lies thus, and she, the wild swan’s way, Hath trod her last long weeping roundelay, And lies, his lover, ravisht o’er the main For his bed’s comfort and my deep disdain.

CHORUS. (_Some Elders_.)

Would God that suddenly With no great agony, No long sick-watch to keep, My hour would come to me, My hour, and presently Bring the eternal, the Unwaking Sleep, Now that my Shepherd, he Whose love watched over me, Lies in the deep!

ANOTHER. For woman’s sake he endured and battled well, And by a woman’s hand he fell.

OTHERS. What hast thou done, O Helen blind of brain, O face that slew the souls on Ilion’s plain, One face, one face, and many a thousand slain? The hate of old that on this castle lay, Builded in lust, a husband’s evil day, Hath bloomed for thee a perfect flower again And unforgotten, an old and burning stain Never to pass away.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Nay, pray not for the hour of death, being tried Too sore beneath these blows Neither on Helen turn thy wrath aside, The Slayer of Men, the face which hath destroyed Its thousand Danaan souls, and wrought a wide Wound that no leech can close.

CHORUS. —Daemon, whose heel is set On the House and the twofold kin Of the high Tantalidae, A power, heavy as fate, Thou wieldest through woman’s sin, Piercing the heart of me!

—Like a raven swoln with hate He hath set on the dead his claw, He croaketh a song to sate His fury, and calls it Law!

CLYTEMNESTRA. Ah, call upon Him! Yea, call— And thy thought hath found its path— The Daemon who haunts this hall, The thrice-engorged Wrath;

From him is the ache of the flesh For blood born and increased; Ere the old sore hath ceased It oozeth afresh.

CHORUS. —Indeed He is very great, And heavy his anger, He, The Daemon who guides the fate Of the old Tantalidae: Alas, alas, an evil tale ye tell Of desolate angers and insatiable!

—Ah me, And yet ’tis all as Zeus hath willed, Doer of all and Cause of all; By His Word every chance doth fall, No end without Him is fulfilled; What of these things But cometh by high Heaven’s counsellings?

[_A band of Mourners has gathered within the House_.]

MOURNERS. Ah, sorrow, sorrow! My King, my King! How shall I weep, what word shall I say? Caught in the web of this spider thing, In foul death gasping thy life away! Woe’s me, woe’s me, for this slavish lying, The doom of craft and the lonely dying, The iron two-edged and the hands that slay!

CLYTEMNESTRA. And criest thou still this deed hath been My work? Nay, gaze, and have no thought That this is Agamemnon’s Queen. ’Tis He, ’tis He, hath round him wrought This phantom of the dead man’s wife; He, the old Wrath, the Driver of Men astray, Pursuer of Atreus for the feast defiled; To assoil an ancient debt he hath paid this life; A warrior and a crowned King this day Atones for a slain child.

CHORUS. —That thou art innocent herein, What tongue dare boast? It cannot be, Yet from the deeps of ancient sin The Avenger may have wrought with thee.

—On the red Slayer crasheth, groping wild For blood, more blood, to build his peace again, And wash like water the old frozen stain Of the torn child.

MOURNERS. Ah, sorrow, sorrow! My King, my King! How shall I weep, what word shall I say? Caught in the web of this spider thing, In foul death gasping thy life away. Woe’s me, woe’s me, for this slavish lying, The doom of craft and the lonely dying, The iron two-edged and the hands that slay!

CLYTEMNESTRA. And what of the doom of craft that first He planted, making the House accurst? What of the blossom, from this root riven, Iphigenîa, the unforgiven? Even as the wrong was, so is the pain: He shall not laugh in the House of the slain, When the count is scored; He hath but spoilèd and paid again The due of the sword.

CHORUS. I am lost; my mind dull-eyed Knows not nor feels Whither to fly nor hide While the House reels. The noise of rain that falls On the roof affrighteth me, Washing away the walls; Rain that falls bloodily.

Doth ever the sound abate? Lo, the next Hour of Fate Whetting her vengeance due On new whet-stones, for new Workings of hate.

MOURNERS. Would thou hadst covered me, Earth, O Earth, Or e’er I had looked on my lord thus low, In the pallèd marble of silvern girth! What hands may shroud him, what tears may flow?

Not thine, O Woman who dared to slay him, Thou durst not weep to him now, nor pray him, Nor pay to his soul the deep unworth Of gift or prayer to forget thy blow.

—Oh, who with heart sincere Shall bring praise or grief To lay on the sepulchre Of the great chief?

CLYTEMNESTRA. His burial is not thine to array. By me he fell, by me he died, I watch him to the grave, not cried By mourners of his housefolk; nay,

His own child for a day like this Waits, as is seemly, and shall run By the white waves of Acheron To fold him in her arms and kiss!

CHORUS. Lo, she who was erst reviled Revileth; and who shall say? Spoil taken from them that spoiled, Life-blood from them that slay! Surely while God ensueth His laws, while Time doth run ’Tis written: On him that doeth It shall be done.

This is God’s law and grace, Who then shall hunt the race Of curses from out this hall? The House is sealed withal To dreadfulness.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Aye, thou hast found the Law, and stept In Truth’s way.—Yet even now I call The Living Wrath which haunts this hall To truce and compact. I accept

All the affliction he doth heap Upon me, and I charge him go Far off with his self-murdering woe To strange men’s houses. I will keep

Some little dower, and leave behind All else, contented utterly. I have swept the madness from the sky Wherein these brethren slew their kind.

[_As she ceases, exhausted and with the fire gone out of her,_ AIGISTHOS, _with Attendants_, _bursts triumphantly in._]

AIGISTHOS. O shining day, O dawn of righteousness Fulfilled! Now, now indeed will I confess That divine watchers o’er man’s death and birth Look down on all the anguish of the earth, Now that I see him lying, as I love To see him, in this net the Furies wove, To atone the old craft of his father’s hand. For Atreus, this man’s father, in this land Reigning, and by Thyestes in his throne Challenged—he was his brother and mine own Father From home and city cast him out; And he, after long exile, turned about And threw him suppliant on the hearth, and won Promise of so much mercy, that his own Life-blood should reek not in his father’s hall. Then did that godless brother, Atreus, call, To greet my sire—More eagerness, O God, Was there than love!—a feast of brotherhood. And, feigning joyous banquet, laid as meat Before him his dead children. The white feet And finger-fringèd hands apart he set, Veiled from all seeing, and made separate The tables. And he straightway, knowing naught, Took of those bodies, eating that which wrought No health for all his race. And when he knew The unnatural deed, back from the board he threw, Spewing that murderous gorge, and spurning brake The table, to make strong the curse he spake: “Thus perish all of Pleisthenês begot!” For that lies this man here; and all the plot Is mine, most righteously. For me, the third, When butchering my two brethren, Atreus spared And cast me with my broken sire that day, A little thing in swaddling clothes, away To exile; where I grew, and at the last Justice hath brought me home! Yea though outcast In a far land, mine arm hath reached this king; My brain, my hate, wrought all the counselling; And all is well. I have seen mine enemy Dead in the snare, and care not if I die!

LEADER. Aigisthos, to insult over the dead I like not. All the counsel, thou hast said, Was thine alone; and thine the will that spilled This piteous blood. As justice is fulfilled, Thou shalt not ’scape—so my heart presageth—-The day of cursing and the hurlèd death.

AIGISTHOS. How, thou poor oarsman of the nether row, When the main deck is master? Sayst thou so?… To such old heads the lesson may prove hard, I fear me, when Obedience is the word. But hunger, and bonds, and cold, help men to find Their wits.—They are wondrous healers of the mind! Hast eyes and seest not this?—Against a spike Kick not, for fear it pain thee if thou strike.

LEADER (_turning from him to_ CLYTEMNESTRA).

Woman! A soldier fresh from war! To keep Watch o’er his house and shame him in his sleep… To plot this craft against a lord of spears…

[CLYTEMNESTRA, _as though in a dream, pays no heed._ AIGISTHOS _interupts._]

AIGISTHOS. These be the words, old man, that lead to tears! Thou hast an opposite to Orpheus’ tongue, Who chained all things with his enchanting song, For thy mad noise will put the chains on thee. Enough! Once mastered thou shalt tamer be.

LEADER. Thou master? Is old Argos so accurst? Thou plotter afar off, who never durst Raise thine own hand to affront and strike him down…

AIGISTHOS. To entice him was the wife’s work. I was known By all men here, his old confessed blood-foe. Howbeit, with his possessions I will know How to be King. And who obeys not me Shall be yoked hard, no easy trace-horse he, Corn-flushed. Hunger, and hunger’s prison mate, The clammy murk, shall see his rage abate.

LEADER. Thou craven soul! Why not in open strife Slay him? Why lay the blood-sin on his wife, Staining the Gods of Argos, making ill The soil thereof?…But young Orestes still Liveth. Oh, Fate will guide him home again, Avenging, conquering, home to kill these twain!

AIGISTHOS. ’Fore God, if ’tis your pleasure thus to speak and do, ye soon shall hear! Ho there, my trusty pikes, advance! There cometh business for the spear.

[_A body of Spearmen, from concealment outside, rush in and dominate the stage._]

LEADER. Ho there, ye Men of Argos! Up! Stand and be ready, sword from sheath!

AIGISTHOS. By Heaven, I also, sword in hand, am ready, and refuse not death!

LEADER. Come, find it! We accept thy word. Thou offerest what we hunger for.