Chapter 2

He taught my father, too, an old old man Of other days than these.

ORESTES.

Thy father's grave... He had due rites and tendance?

ELECTRA.

What chance gave, My father had, cast out to rot in the sun.

ORESTES.

God, 'tis too much!... To hear of such things done Even to a stranger, stings a man.... But speak, Tell of thy life, that I may know, and seek Thy brother with a tale that must be heard Howe'er it sicken. If mine eyes be blurred, Remember, 'tis the fool that feels not. Aye, Wisdom is full of pity; and thereby Men pay for too much wisdom with much pain.

LEADER.

My heart is moved as this man's. I would fain Learn all thy tale. Here dwelling on the hills Little I know of Argos and its ills.

ELECTRA.

If I must speak--and at love's call, God knows, I fear not--I will tell thee all; my woes, My father's woes, and--O, since thou hast stirred This storm of speech, thou bear him this my word-- His woes and shame! Tell of this narrow cloak In the wind; this grime and reek of toil, that choke My breathing; this low roof that bows my head After a king's. This raiment ... thread by thread, 'Tis I must weave it, or go bare--must bring, Myself, each jar of water from the spring. No holy day for me, no festival, No dance upon the green! From all, from all I am cut off. No portion hath my life 'Mid wives of Argos, being no true wife. No portion where the maidens throng to praise Castor--my Castor, whom in ancient days, Ere he passed from us and men worshipped him, They named my bridegroom!-- And she, she!... The grim Troy spoils gleam round her throne, and by each hand Queens of the East, my father's prisoners, stand, A cloud of Orient webs and tangling gold. And there upon the floor, the blood, the old Black blood, yet crawls and cankers, like a rot In the stone! And on our father's chariot The murderer's foot stands glorying, and the red False hand uplifts that ancient staff, that led The armies of the world!... Aye, tell him how The grave of Agamemnon, even now, Lacketh the common honour of the dead; A desert barrow, where no tears are shed, No tresses hung, no gift, no myrtle spray. And when the wine is in him, so men say, Our mother's mighty master leaps thereon, Spurning the slab, or pelteth stone on stone, Flouting the lone dead and the twain that live: "Where is thy son Orestes? Doth he give Thy tomb good tendance? Or is all forgot?" So is he scorned because he cometh not....

O Stranger, on my knees, I charge thee, tell This tale, not mine, but of dumb wrongs that swell Crowding--and I the trumpet of their pain, This tongue, these arms, this bitter burning brain; These dead shorn locks, and he for whom they died! His father slew Troy's thousands in their pride; He hath but one to kill.... O God, but one! Is he a man, and Agamemnon's son?

LEADER.

But hold: is this thy husband from the plain, His labour ended, hasting home again?

_Enter the_ PEASANT.

PEASANT.

Ha, who be these? Strange men in arms before My house! What would they at this lonely door? Seek they for me?--Strange gallants should not stay A woman's goings.

ELECTRA.

Friend and helper!--Nay, Think not of any evil. These men be Friends of Orestes, charged with words for me!... Strangers, forgive his speech.

PEASANT.

What word have they Of him? At least he lives and sees the day!

ELECTRA.

So fares their tale--and sure I doubt it not!

PEASANT.

And ye two still are living in his thought, Thou and his father?

ELECTRA.

In his dreams we live. An exile hath small power.

PEASANT.

And did he give Some privy message?

ELECTRA.

None: they come as spies For news of me.

PEASANT.

Thine outward news their eyes Can see; the rest, methinks, thyself will tell.

ELECTRA.

They have seen all, heard all. I trust them well.

PEASANT.

Why were our doors not open long ago?-- Be welcome, strangers both, and pass below My lintel. In return for your glad words Be sure all greeting that mine house affords Is yours.--Ye followers, bear in their gear!-- Gainsay me not; for his sake are ye dear That sent you to our house; and though my part In life be low, I am no churl at heart.

[_The_ PEASANT _goes to the_ ARMED SERVANTS _at the back, to help them with the baggage._

ORESTES (_aside to_ ELECTRA).

Is this the man that shields thy maidenhood Unknown, and will not wrong thy father's blood?

ELECTRA.

He is called my husband. 'Tis for him I toil.

ORESTES.

How dark lies honour hid! And what turmoil In all things human: sons of mighty men Fallen to naught, and from ill seed again Good fruit: yea, famine in the rich man's scroll Writ deep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul. As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not With pride of house uplifted, in a lot Of unmarked life hath shown a prince's grace. [_To the_ PEASANT, _who has returned._ All that is here of Agamemnon's race, And all that lacketh yet, for whom we come, Do thank thee, and the welcome of thy home Accept with gladness.--Ho, men; hasten ye Within!--This open-hearted poverty Is blither to my sense than feasts of gold.

Lady, thine husband's welcome makes me bold; Yet would thou hadst thy brother, before all Confessed, to greet us in a prince's hall! Which may be, even yet. Apollo spake The word; and surely, though small store I make Of man's divining, God will fail us not.

[ORESTES _and_ PYLADES _go in, following the_ SERVANTS.

LEADER.

O never was the heart of hope so hot Within me. How? So moveless in time past, Hath Fortune girded up her loins at last?

ELECTRA.

Now know'st thou not thine own ill furniture, To bid these strangers in, to whom for sure Our best were hardship, men of gentle breed?

PEASANT.

Nay, if the men be gentle, as indeed I deem them, they will take good cheer or ill With even kindness.

ELECTRA.

'Twas ill done; but still-- Go, since so poor thou art, to that old friend Who reared my father. At the realm's last end He dwells, where Tanaos river foams between Argos and Sparta. Long time hath he been An exile 'mid his flocks. Tell him what thing Hath chanced on me, and bid him haste and bring Meat for the strangers' tending.--Glad, I trow, That old man's heart will be, and many a vow Will lift to God, to learn the child he stole From death, yet breathes.--I will not ask a dole From home; how should my mother help me? Nay, I pity him that seeks that door, to say Orestes liveth!

PEASANT.

Wilt thou have it so? I will take word to the old man. But go Quickly within, and whatso there thou find Set out for them. A woman, if her mind So turn, can light on many a pleasant thing To fill her board. And surely plenishing We have for this one day.--'Tis in such shifts As these, I care for riches, to make gifts To friends, or lead a sick man back to health With ease and plenty. Else small aid is wealth For daily gladness; once a man be done With hunger, rich and poor are all as one.

[_The_ PEASANT _goes off to the left_; ELECTRA _goes into the house._

* * * * *

CHORUS.

O for the ships of Troy, the beat [_Strophe_ 1. Of oars that shimmered Innumerable, and dancing feet Of Nereids glimmered; And dolphins, drunken with the lyre, Across the dark blue prows, like fire, Did bound and quiver, To cleave the way for Thetis' son, Fleet-in-the-wind Achilles, on To war, to war, till Troy be won Beside the reedy river.

Up from Euboea's caverns came [_Antistrophe_ 1. The Nereids, bearing Gold armour from the Lords of Flame, Wrought for his wearing: Long sought those daughters of the deep, Up Pelion's glen, up Ossa's steep Forest enchanted, Where Peleus reared alone, afar, His lost sea-maiden's child, the star Of Hellas, and swift help of war When weary armies panted.

There came a man from Troy, and told [_Strophe_ 2. Here in the haven, How, orb on orb, to strike with cold The Trojan, o'er that targe of gold, Dread shapes were graven. All round the level rim thereof Perseus, on wingèd feet, above The long seas hied him; The Gorgon's wild and bleeding hair He lifted; and a herald fair, He of the wilds, whom Maia bare, God's Hermes, flew beside him.

[_Antistrophe_ 2. But midmost, where the boss rose higher, A sun stood blazing, And wingèd steeds, and stars in choir, Hyad and Pleiad, fire on fire, For Hector's dazing: Across the golden helm, each way, Two taloned Sphinxes held their prey, Song-drawn to slaughter: And round the breastplate ramping came A mingled breed of lion and flame, Hot-eyed to tear that steed of fame That found Pirênê's water.

The red red sword with steeds four-yoked [_Epode_. Black-maned, was graven, That laboured, and the hot dust smoked Cloudwise to heaven. Thou Tyndarid woman! Fair and tall Those warriors were, and o'er them all One king great-hearted, Whom thou and thy false love did slay: Therefore the tribes of Heaven one day For these thy dead shall send on thee An iron death: yea, men shall see The white throat drawn, and blood's red spray, And lips in terror parted.

[_As they cease, there enters from the left a very old man, bearing a lamb, a wineskin, and a wallet_.

OLD MAN.

Where is my little Princess? Ah, not now; But still my queen, who tended long ago The lad that was her father.... How steep-set These last steps to her porch! But faint not yet: Onward, ye failing knees and back with pain Bowed, till we look on that dear face again. [_Enter_ ELECTRA. Ah, daughter, is it thou?--Lo, here I am, With gifts from all my store; this suckling lamb Fresh from the ewe, green crowns for joyfulness, And creamy things new-curdled from the press. And this long-storèd juice of vintages Forgotten, cased in fragrance: scant it is, But passing sweet to mingle nectar-wise With feebler wine.--Go, bear them in; mine eyes... Where is my cloak?--They are all blurred with tears.

ELECTRA.

What ails thine eyes, old friend? After these years Doth my low plight still stir thy memories? Or think'st thou of Orestes, where he lies In exile, and my father? Aye, long love Thou gavest him, and seest the fruit thereof Wasted, for thee and all who love thee!

OLD MAN.

All Wasted! And yet 'tis that lost hope withal I cannot brook. But now I turned aside To see my master's grave. All, far and wide, Was silence; so I bent these knees of mine And wept and poured drink-offerings from the wine I bear the strangers, and about the stone Laid myrtle sprays. And, child, I saw thereon Just at the censer slain, a fleeced ewe, Deep black, in sacrifice: the blood was new About it: and a tress of bright brown hair Shorn as in mourning, close. Long stood I there And wondered, of all men what man had gone In mourning to that grave.--My child, 'tis none In Argos. Did there come ... Nay, mark me now... Thy brother in the dark, last night, to bow His head before that unadorèd tomb? O come, and mark the colour of it. Come And lay thine own hair by that mourner's tress! A hundred little things make likenesses In brethren born, and show the father's blood.

ELECTRA (_trying to mask her excitement and resist the contagion of his_).

Old heart, old heart, is this a wise man's mood?... O, not in darkness, not in fear of men, Shall Argos find him, when he comes again, Mine own undaunted ... Nay, and if it were, What likeness could there be? My brother's hair Is as a prince's and a rover's, strong With sunlight and with strife: not like the long Locks that a woman combs.... And many a head Hath this same semblance, wing for wing, tho' bred Of blood not ours.... 'Tis hopeless. Peace, old man.

OLD MAN.

The footprints! Set thy foot by his, and scan The track of frame and muscles, how they fit!

ELECTRA.

That ground will take no footprint! All of it Is bitter stone.... It hath?... And who hath said There should be likeness in a brother's tread And sister's? His is stronger every way.

OLD MAN.

But hast thou nothing...? If he came this day And sought to show thee, is there no one sign Whereby to know him?... Stay; the robe was thine, Work of thy loom, wherein I wrapt him o'er That night and stole him through the murderers' door.

ELECTRA.

Thou knowest, when Orestes was cast out I was a child.... If I did weave some clout Of raiment, would he keep the vesture now He wore in childhood? Should my weaving grow As his limbs grew?... 'Tis lost long since. No more! O, either 'twas some stranger passed, and shore His locks for very ruth before that tomb: Or, if he found perchance, to seek his home, Some spy...

OLD MAN.

The strangers! Where are they? I fain Would see them, aye, and bid them answer plain...

ELECTRA.

Here at the door! How swift upon the thought!

_Enter_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.

OLD MAN.

High-born: albeit for that I trust them not. The highest oft are false.... Howe'er it be,

[_Approaching them_.

I bid the strangers hail!

ORESTES.

All hail to thee, Greybeard!--Prithee, what man of all the King Trusted of old, is now this broken thing?

ELECTRA.

'Tis he that trained my father's boyhood.

ORESTES.

How? And stole from death thy brother? Sayest thou?

ELECTRA.

This man was his deliverer, if it be Deliverance.

ORESTES.

How his old eye pierceth me, As one that testeth silver and alloy! Sees he some likeness here?

ELECTRA.

Perchance 'tis joy, To see Orestes' comrade, that he feels.

ORESTES.

None dearer.--But what ails the man? He reels Dizzily back.

ELECTRA.

I marvel. I can say No more.

OLD MAN (_in a broken voice_).

Electra, mistress, daughter, pray! Pray unto God!

ELECTRA.

Of all the things I crave, The thousand things, or all that others have, What should I pray for?

OLD MAN.

Pray thine arms may hold At last this treasure-dream of more than gold God shows us!

ELECTRA.

God, I pray thee!... Wouldst thou more?

OLD MAN.

Gaze now upon this man, and bow before Thy dearest upon earth!

ELECTRA.

I gaze on thee! O, hath time made thee mad?

OLD MAN.

Mad, that I see Thy brother?

ELECTRA.

My ... I know not what thou say'st: I looked not for it...

OLD MAN.

I tell thee, here confessed Standeth Orestes, Agamemnon's son!

ELECTRA.

A sign before I trust thee! O, but one! How dost thou know...?

OLD MAN.

There, by his brow, I see The scar he made, that day he ran with thee Chasing thy fawn, and fell.

ELECTRA (_in a dull voice_).

A scar? 'Tis so. I see a scar.

OLD MAN.

And fearest still to throw Thine arms round him thou lovest?

ELECTRA.

O, no more! Thy sign hath conquered me.... (_throwing herself into_ ORESTES' _arms_). At last, at last! Thy face like light! And do I hold thee fast, Unhoped for?

ORESTES.

Yea, at last! And I hold thee.

ELECTRA.

I never knew...

ORESTES.

I dreamed not.

ELECTRA.

Is it he, Orestes?

ORESTES.

Thy defender, yea, alone To fight the world! Lo, this day have I thrown A net, which once unbroken from the sea Drawn home, shall ... O, and it must surely be! Else men shall know there is no God, no light In Heaven, if wrong to the end shall conquer right.

CHORUS.

Comest thou, comest thou now, Chained by the years and slow, O Day long sought? A light on the mountains cold Is lit, yea, a fire burneth, 'Tis the light of one that turneth From roamings manifold, Back out of exile old To the house that knew him not.

Some spirit hath turned our way, Victory visible, Walking at thy right hand, Belovèd; O lift this day Thine arms, thy voice, as a spell; And pray for thy brother, pray, Threading the perilous land, That all be well!

ORESTES.

Enough; this dear delight is mine at last Of thine embracing; and the hour comes fast When we shall stand again as now we stand, And stint not.--Stay, Old Man: thou, being at hand At the edge of time, advise me, by what way Best to requite my father's murderers. Say, Have I in Argos any still to trust; Or is the love, once borne me, trod in dust, Even as my fortunes are? Whom shall I seek? By day or night? And whither turn, to wreak My will on them that hate us? Say.

OLD MAN.

My son, In thine adversity, there is not one Will call thee friend. Nay, that were treasure-trove, A friend to share, not faltering from love, Fair days and foul the same. Thy name is gone Forth to all Argos, as a thing o'erthrown And dead. Thou hast not left one spark to glow With hope in one friend's heart! Hear all, and know: Thou hast God's fortune and thine own right hand, Naught else, to conquer back thy fatherland.

ORESTES.

The deed, the deed! What must we do?

OLD MAN.

Strike down Aegisthus ... and thy mother.

ORESTES.

'Tis the crown My race is run for. But how find him?

OLD MAN.

Not Within the city walls, however hot Thy spirit.

ORESTES.

Ha! With watchers doth he go Begirt, and mailèd pikemen?

OLD MAN.

Even so: He lives in fear of thee, and night nor day Hath slumber.

ORESTES.

That way blocked!--'Tis thine to say What next remains.

OLD MAN.

I will; and thou give ear. A thought has found me!

ORESTES.

All good thoughts be near, For thee to speak and me to understand!

OLD MAN.

But now I saw Aegisthus, close at hand As here I journeyed.

ORESTES.

That good word shall trace My path for me! Thou saw'st him? In what place?

OLD MAN.

Out on the pastures where his horses stray.

ORESTES.

What did he there so far?--A gleam of day Crosseth our darkness.

OLD MAN.

'Twas a feast, methought, Of worship to the wild-wood nymphs he wrought.

ORESTES.

The watchers of men's birth? Is there a son New born to him, or doth he pray for one That cometh? [_Movement of_ ELECTRA.

OLD MAN.

More I know not; he had there A wreathed ox, as for some weighty prayer.

ORESTES.

What force was with him? Not his serfs alone?

OLD MAN.

No Argive lord was there; none but his own Household.

ORESTES.

Not any that aught know my face, Or guess?

OLD MAN.

Thralls, thralls; who ne'er have seen thy face.

ORESTES.

Once I prevail, the thralls will welcome me!

OLD MAN.

The slaves' way, that; and no ill thing for thee!

ORESTES.

How can I once come near him?

OLD MAN.

Walk thy ways Hard by, where he may see thee, ere he slays His sacrifice.

ORESTES.

How? Is the road so nigh?

OLD MAN.

He cannot choose but see thee, passing by, And bid thee stay to share the beast they kill.

ORESTES.

A bitter fellow-feaster, if God will!

OLD MAN.

And then ... then swift be heart and brain, to see God's chances!

ORESTES.

Aye. Well hast thou counselled me. But ... where is she?

OLD MAN.

In Argos now, I guess; But goes to join her husband, ere the press Of the feast.

ORESTES.

Why goeth not my mother straight Forth at her husband's side?

OLD MAN.

She fain will wait Until the gathered country-folk be gone.

ORESTES.

Enough! She knows what eyes are turned upon Her passings in the land!

OLD MAN.

Aye, all men hate The unholy woman.

ORESTES.

How then can I set My snare for wife and husband in one breath?

ELECTRA (_coming forward_).

Hold! It is I must work our mother's death.

ORESTES.

If that be done, I think the other deed Fortune will guide.

ELECTRA.

This man must help our need, One friend alone for both.

OLD MAN.

He will, he will! Speak on. What cunning hast thou found to fill Thy purpose?

ELECTRA.

Get thee forth, Old Man, and quick Tell Clytemnestra ... tell her I lie sick, New-mothered of a man-child.

OLD MAN.

Thou hast borne A son! But when?

ELECTRA.

Let this be the tenth morn. Till then a mother stays in sanctity, Unseen.

OLD MAN.

And if I tell her, where shall be The death in this?

ELECTRA.

That word let her but hear, Straight she will seek me out!

OLD MAN.

The queen! What care Hath she for thee, or pain of thine?

ELECTRA.

She will; And weep my babe's low station!

OLD MAN.

Thou hast skill To know her, child; say on.

ELECTRA.

But bring her here, Here to my hand; the rest will come.

OLD MAN.

I swear, Here at the gate she shall stand palpable!

ELECTRA.

The gate: the gate that leads to me and Hell.

OLD MAN.

Let me but see it, and I die content.

ELECTRA.

First, then, my brother: see his steps be bent...

OLD MAN.

Straight yonder, where Aegisthus makes his prayer!

ELECTRA.

Then seek my mother's presence, and declare My news.

OLD MAN.

Thy very words, child, as tho' spoke From thine own lips!

ELECTRA.

Brother, thine hour is struck. Thou standest in the van of war this day.

ORESTES (_rousing himself_).

Aye, I am ready.... I will go my way, If but some man will guide me.

OLD MAN.

Here am I, To speed thee to the end, right thankfully.

ORESTES (_turning as he goes and raising his hands to heaven_).

Zeus of my sires, Zeus of the lost battle,

ELECTRA.

Have pity; have pity; we have earned it well!

OLD MAN.

Pity these twain, of thine own body sprung!

ELECTRA.

O Queen o'er Argive altars, Hera high,

ORESTES.

Grant us thy strength, if for the right we cry.

OLD MAN.

Strength to these twain, to right their father's wrong!

ELECTRA.

O Earth, deep Earth, to whom I yearn in vain,

ORESTES.

And deeper thou, O father darkly slain,

OLD MAN.

Thy children call, who love thee: hearken thou!

ORESTES.

Girt with thine own dead armies, wake, O wake!

ELECTRA.

With all that died at Ilion for thy sake ...

OLD MAN.

And hate earth's dark defilers; help us now!

ELECTRA.

Dost hear us yet, O thou in deadly wrong, Wronged by my mother?

OLD MAN.

Child, we stay too long. He hears; be sure he hears!

ELECTRA.

And while he hears, I speak this word for omen in his ears: "Aegisthus dies, Aegisthus dies."... Ah me, My brother, should it strike not him, but thee, This wrestling with dark death, behold, I too Am dead that hour. Think of me as one true, Not one that lives. I have a sword made keen For this, and shall strike deep. I will go in And make all ready. If there come from thee Good tidings, all my house for ecstasy Shall cry; and if we hear that thou art dead, Then comes the other end!--Lo, I have said.

ORESTES.

I know all, all.

ELECTRA.

Then be a man to-day!

[ORESTES _and the_ OLD MAN _depart_.

O Women, let your voices from this fray Flash me a fiery signal, where I sit, The sword across my knees, expecting it. For never, though they kill me, shall they touch My living limbs!--I know my way thus much.

[_She goes into the house_.

* * * * *

CHORUS.

When white-haired folk are met [_Strophe_. In Argos about the fold, A story lingereth yet, A voice of the mountains old, That tells of the Lamb of Gold: A lamb from a mother mild, But the gold of it curled and beat; And Pan, who holdeth the keys of the wild, Bore it to Atreus' feet: His wild reed pipes he blew, And the reeds were filled with peace, And a joy of singing before him flew, Over the fiery fleece: And up on the basèd rock, As a herald cries, cried he: "Gather ye, gather, O Argive folk, The King's Sign to see, The sign of the blest of God, For he that hath this, hath all!" Therefore the dance of praise they trod In the Atreïd brethren's hall.

They opened before men's eyes [_Antistrophe_. That which was hid before, The chambers of sacrifice, The dark of the golden door, And fires on the altar floor. And bright was every street, And the voice of the Muses' tree. The carven lotus, was lifted sweet; When afar and suddenly, Strange songs, and a voice that grew: "Come to your king, ye folk! Mine, mine, is the Golden Ewe!" 'Twas dark Thyestes spoke. For, lo, when the world was still, With his brother's bride he lay, And won her to work his will, And they stole the Lamb away! Then forth to the folk strode he, And called them about his fold, And showed that Sign of the King to be, The fleece and the horns of gold.