Chapter 3

Then, then, the world was changed; [_Strophe_ 2. And the Father, where they ranged, Shook the golden stars and glowing, And the great Sun stood deranged In the glory of his going.

Lo, from that day forth, the East Bears the sunrise on his breast, And the flaming Day in heaven Down the dim ways of the west Driveth, to be lost at even.

The wet clouds to Northward beat; And Lord Ammon's desert seat Crieth from the South, unslaken, For the dews that once were sweet, For the rain that God hath taken.

'Tis a children's tale, that old [_Antistrophe_ 2. Shepherds on far hills have told; And we reck not of their telling, Deem not that the Sun of gold Ever turned his fiery dwelling,

Or beat backward in the sky, For the wrongs of man, the cry Of his ailing tribes assembled, To do justly, ere they die! Once, men told the tale, and trembled;

Fearing God, O Queen: whom thou Hast forgotten, till thy brow With old blood is dark and daunted. And thy brethren, even now, Walk among the stars, enchanted.

LEADER.

Ha, friends, was that a voice? Or some dream sound Of voices shaketh me, as underground God's thunder shuddering? Hark, again, and clear! It swells upon the wind.--Come forth and hear! Mistress, Electra!

ELECTRA, _a bare sword in her hand, comes from the house._

ELECTRA.

Friends! Some news is brought? How hath the battle ended?

LEADER.

I know naught. There seemed a cry as of men massacred!

ELECTRA.

I heard it too. Far off, but still I heard.

LEADER.

A distant floating voice ... Ah, plainer now!

ELECTRA.

Of Argive anguish!--Brother, is it thou?

LEADER.

I know not. Many confused voices cry...

ELECTRA.

Death, then for me! That answer bids me die.

LEADER.

Nay, wait! We know not yet thy fortune. Wait!

ELECTRA.

No messenger from him!--Too late, too late!

LEADER.

The message yet will come. 'Tis not a thing So light of compass, to strike down a king.

_Enter a_ MESSENGER, _running_.

MESSENGER.

Victory, Maids of Argos, Victory! Orestes ... all that love him, list to me!... Hath conquered! Agamemnon's murderer lies Dead! O give thanks to God with happy cries!

ELECTRA.

Who art thou? I mistrust thee.... 'Tis a plot!

MESSENGER.

Thy brother's man. Look well. Dost know me not?

ELECTRA.

Friend, friend; my terror made me not to see Thy visage. Now I know and welcome thee. How sayst thou? He is dead, verily dead, My father's murderer...?

MESSENGER.

Shall it be said Once more? I know again and yet again Thy heart would hear. Aegisthus lieth slain!

ELECTRA.

Ye Gods! And thou, O Right, that seest all, Art come at last?... But speak; how did he fall? How swooped the wing of death?... I crave to hear.

MESSENGER.

Forth of this hut we set our faces clear To the world, and struck the open chariot road; Then on toward the pasture lands, where stood The great Lord of Mycenae. In a set Garden beside a channelled rivulet, Culling a myrtle garland for his brow, He walked: but hailed us as we passed: "How now, Strangers! Who are ye? Of what city sprung, And whither bound?" "Thessalians," answered young Orestes: "to Alpheüs journeying, With gifts to Olympian Zeus." Whereat the king: "This while, beseech you, tarry, and make full The feast upon my hearth. We slay a bull Here to the Nymphs. Set forth at break of day To-morrow, and 'twill cost you no delay. But come"--and so he gave his hand, and led The two men in--"I must not be gainsaid; Come to the house. Ho, there; set close at hand Vats of pure water, that the guests may stand At the altar's verge, where falls the holy spray." Then quickly spake Orestes: "By the way We cleansed us in a torrent stream. We need No purifying here. But if indeed Strangers may share thy worship, here are we Ready, O King, and swift to follow thee."

So spoke they in the midst. And every thrall Laid down the spears they served the King withal, And hied him to the work. Some bore amain The death-vat, some the corbs of hallowed grain; Or kindled fire, and round the fire and in Set cauldrons foaming; and a festal din Filled all the place. Then took thy mother's lord The ritual grains, and o'er the altar poured Its due, and prayed: "O Nymphs of Rock and Mere, With many a sacrifice for many a year, May I and she who waits at home for me, My Tyndarid Queen, adore you. May it be Peace with us always, even as now; and all Ill to mine enemies"--meaning withal Thee and Orestes. Then my master prayed Against that prayer, but silently, and said No word, to win once more his fatherland. Then in the corb Aegisthus set his hand, Took the straight blade, cut from the proud bull's head A lock, and laid it where the fire was red; Then, while the young men held the bull on high, Slew it with one clean gash; and suddenly Turned on thy brother: "Stranger, every true Thessalian, so the story goes, can hew A bull's limbs clean, and tame a mountain steed. Take up the steel, and show us if indeed Rumour speak true," Right swift Orestes took The Dorian blade, back from his shoulders shook His broochèd mantle, called on Pylades To aid him, and waved back the thralls. With ease Heelwise he held the bull, and with one glide Bared the white limb; then stripped the mighty hide From off him, swifter than a runner runs His furlongs, and laid clean the flank. At once Aegisthus stooped, and lifted up with care The ominous parts, and gazed. No lobe was there; But lo, strange caves of gall, and, darkly raised, The portal vein boded to him that gazed Fell visitations. Dark as night his brow Clouded. Then spake Orestes: "Why art thou Cast down so sudden?" "Guest," he cried, "there be Treasons from whence I know not, seeking me. Of all my foes, 'tis Agamemnon's son; His hate is on my house, like war." "Have done!" Orestes cried: "thou fear'st an exile's plot, Lord of a city? Make thy cold heart hot With meat.--Ho, fling me a Thessalian steel! This Dorian is too light. I will unseal The breast of him." He took the heavier blade, And clave the bone. And there Aegisthus stayed, The omens in his hand, dividing slow This sign from that; till, while his head bent low, Up with a leap thy brother flashed the sword, Then down upon his neck, and cleft the cord Of brain and spine. Shuddering the body stood One instant in an agony of blood, And gasped and fell. The henchmen saw, and straight Flew to their spears, a host of them to set Against those twain. But there the twain did stand Unfaltering, each his iron in his hand, Edge fronting edge. Till "Hold," Orestes calls: "I come not as in wrath against these walls And mine own people. One man righteously I have slain, who slew my father. It is I, The wronged Orestes! Hold, and smite me not, Old housefolk of my father!" When they caught That name, their lances fell. And one old man, An ancient in the house, drew nigh to scan His face, and knew him. Then with one accord They crowned thy brother's temples, and outpoured joy and loud songs. And hither now he fares To show the head, no Gorgon, that he bears, But that Aegisthus whom thou hatest! Yea, Blood against blood, his debt is paid this day.

[_He goes off to meet the others_--ELECTRA _stands as though stupefied_.

CHORUS.

Now, now thou shalt dance in our dances, Beloved, as a fawn in the night! The wind is astir for the glances Of thy feet; thou art robed with delight.

He hath conquered, he cometh to free us With garlands new-won, More high than the crowns of Alpheüs, Thine own father's son: Cry, cry, for the day that is won!

ELECTRA.

O Light of the Sun, O chariot wheels of flame, O Earth and Night, dead Night without a name That held me! Now mine eyes are raised to see, And all the doorways of my soul flung free. Aegisthus dead! My father's murderer dead! What have I still of wreathing for the head Stored in my chambers? Let it come forth now To bind my brother's and my conqueror's brow.

[_Some garlands are brought out from the house to_ ELECTRA.

CHORUS.

Go, gather thy garlands, and lay them As a crown on his brow, many-tressed, But our feet shall refrain not nor stay them: 'Tis the joy that the Muses have blest. For our king is returned as from prison, The old king, to be master again, Our belovèd in justice re-risen: With guile he hath slain... But cry, cry in joyance again!

[_There enter from the left_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES, _followed by some thralls_.

ELECTRA.

O conqueror, come! The king that trampled Troy Knoweth his son Orestes. Come in joy, Brother, and take to bind thy rippling hair My crowns!.... O what are crowns, that runners wear For some vain race? But thou in battle true Hast felled our foe Aegisthus, him that slew By craft thy sire and mine. [_She crowns_ ORESTES. And thou no less, O friend at need, O reared in righteousness, Take, Pylades, this chaplet from my hand. 'Twas half thy battle. And may ye two stand Thus alway, victory-crowned, before my face! [_She crowns_ PYLADES.

ORESTES.

Electra, first as workers of this grace Praise thou the Gods, and after, if thou will, Praise also me, as chosen to fulfil God's work and Fate's.--Aye, 'tis no more a dream; In very deed I come from slaying him. Thou hast the knowledge clear, but lo, I bring More also. See himself, dead! [_Attendants bring in the body of_ AEGISTHUS _on a bier_. Wouldst thou fling This lord on the rotting earth for beasts to tear? Or up, where all the vultures of the air May glut them, pierce and nail him for a sign Far off? Work all thy will. Now he is thine.

ELECTRA.

It shames me; yet, God knows, I hunger sore--

ORESTES.

What wouldst thou? Speak; the old fear nevermore Need touch thee.

ELECTRA.

To let loose upon the dead My hate! Perchance to rouse on mine own head The sleeping hate of the world?

ORESTES.

No man that lives Shall scathe thee by one word.

ELECTRA.

Our city gives Quick blame; and little love have men for me.

ORESTES.

If aught thou hast unsaid, sister, be free And speak. Between this man and us no bar Cometh nor stint, but the utter rage of war. [_She goes and stands over the body. A moment's silence_.

ELECTRA.

Ah me, what have I? What first flood of hate To loose upon thee? What last curse to sate My pain, or river of wild words to flow Bank-high between?... Nothing?... And yet I know There hath not passed one sun, but through the long Cold dawns, over and over, like a song, I have said them--words held back, O, some day yet To flash into thy face, would but the fret Of ancient fear fall loose and let me free. And free I am, now; and can pay to thee At last the weary debt. Oh, thou didst kill My soul within. Who wrought thee any ill, That thou shouldst make me fatherless? Aye, me And this my brother, loveless, solitary? 'Twas thou, didst bend my mother to her shame: Thy weak hand murdered him who led to fame The hosts of Hellas--thou, that never crossed O'erseas to Troy!... God help thee, wast thou lost In blindness, long ago, dreaming, some-wise, She would be true with thee, whose sin and lies Thyself had tasted in my father's place? And then, that thou wert happy, when thy days Were all one pain? Thou knewest ceaselessly Her kiss a thing unclean, and she knew thee A lord so little true, so dearly won! So lost ye both, being in falseness one, What fortune else had granted; she thy curse, Who marred thee as she loved thee, and thou hers... And on thy ways thou heardst men whispering, "Lo, the Queen's husband yonder"--not "the King." And then the lie of lies that dimmed thy brow, Vaunting that by thy gold, thy chattels, Thou Wert Something; which themselves are nothingness. Shadows, to clasp a moment ere they cease. The thing thou art, and not the things thou hast, Abideth, yea, and bindeth to the last Thy burden on thee: while all else, ill-won And sin-companioned, like a flower o'erblown, Flies on the wind away. Or didst them find In women ... Women?... Nay, peace, peace! The blind Could read thee. Cruel wast thou in thine hour, Lord of a great king's house, and like a tower Firm in thy beauty. [_Starting back with a look of loathing_. Ah, that girl-like face! God grant, not that, not that, but some plain grace Of manhood to the man who brings me love: A father of straight children, that shall move Swift on the wings of War.

So, get thee gone! Naught knowing how the great years, rolling on, Have laid thee bare, and thy long debt full paid. O vaunt not, if one step be proudly made In evil, that all Justice is o'ercast: Vaunt not, ye men of sin, ere at the last The thin-drawn marge before you glimmereth Close, and the goal that wheels 'twixt life and death.

LEADER.

Justice is mighty. Passing dark hath been His sin: and dark the payment of his sin.

ELECTRA (_with a weary sigh, turning from the body_).

Ah me! Go some of you, bear him from sight, That when my mother come, her eyes may light On nothing, nothing, till she know the sword.... [_The body is borne into the hut_. PYLADES _goes with it_.

ORESTES (_looking along the road_).

Stay, 'tis a new thing! We have still a word To speak...

ELECTRA.

What? Not a rescue from the town Thou seëst?

ORESTES.

'Tis my mother comes: my own Mother, that bare me. [_He takes off his crown_.

ELECTRA (_springing, as it were, to life again, and moving where she can see the road_).

Straight into the snare! Aye, there she cometh,--Welcome in thy rare Chariot! All welcome in thy brave array!

ORESTES.

What would we with our mother? Didst thou say Kill her?

ELECTRA (_turning on him_).

What? Is it pity? Dost thou fear To see thy mother's shape?

ORESTES.

'Twas she that bare My body into life. She gave me suck. How can I strike her?

ELECTRA.

Strike her as she struck Our father!

ORESTES (_to himself, brooding_).

Phoebus, God, was all thy mind Turned unto darkness?

ELECTRA.

If thy God be blind, Shalt thou have light?

ORESTES (_as before_).

Thou, thou, didst bid me kill My mother: which is sin.

ELECTRA.

How brings it ill To thee, to raise our father from the dust?

ORESTES.

I was a clean man once. Shall I be thrust From men's sight, blotted with her blood?

ELECTRA.

Thy blot Is black as death if him thou succour not!

ORESTES.

Who shall do judgment on me, when she dies?

ELECTRA.

Who shall do judgment, if thy father lies. Forgotten?

ORESTES (_turning suddenly to_ ELECTRA).

Stay! How if some fiend of Hell, Hid in God's likeness, spake that oracle?

ELECTRA.

In God's own house? I trow not.

ORESTES.

And I trow It was an evil charge! [_He moves away from her._

ELECTRA (_almost despairing_).

To fail me now! To fail me now! A coward!--O brother, no!

ORESTES.

What shall it be, then? The same stealthy blow ...

ELECTRA.

That slew our father! Courage! thou hast slain Aegisthus.

ORESTES.

Aye. So be it.--I have ta'en A path of many terrors: and shall do Deeds horrible. 'Tis God will have it so.... Is this the joy of battle, or wild woe? [_He goes into the house._

LEADER.

O Queen o'er Argos thronèd high, O Woman, sister of the twain, God's Horsemen, stars without a stain, Whose home is in the deathless sky, Whose glory in the sea's wild pain, Toiling to succour men that die: Long years above us hast thou been, God-like for gold and marvelled power: Ah, well may mortal eyes this hour Observe thy state: All hail, O Queen!

_Enter from the right_ CLYTEMNESTRA _on a chariot, accompanied by richly dressed Handmaidens_.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Down from the wain, ye dames of Troy, and hold Mine arm as I dismount.... [_Answering_ ELECTRA'S _thought_. The spoils and gold Of Ilion I have sent out of my hall To many shrines. These bondwomen are all I keep in mine own house.... Deemst thou the cost Too rich to pay me for the child I lost-- Fair though they be?

ELECTRA.

Nay, Mother, here am I Bond likewise, yea, and homeless, to hold high Thy royal arm!

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Child, the war slaves are here; Thou needst not toil.

ELECTRA.

What was it but the spear Of war, drove me forth too? Mine enemies Have sacked my father's house, and, even as these, Captives and fatherless, made me their prey.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

It was thy father cast his child away, A child he might have loved!... Shall I speak out? (_Controlling herself_) Nay; when a woman once is caught about With evil fame, there riseth in her tongue A bitter spirit--wrong, I know! Yet, wrong Or right, I charge ye look on the deeds done; And if ye needs must hate, when all is known, Hate on! What profits loathing ere ye know? My father gave me to be his. 'Tis so. But was it his to kill me, or to kill The babes I bore? Yet, lo, he tricked my will With fables of Achilles' love: he bore To Aulis and the dark ship-clutching shore, He held above the altar-flame, and smote, Cool as one reaping, through the strainèd throat, My white Iphigenia.... Had it been To save some falling city, leaguered in With foemen; to prop up our castle towers, And rescue other children that were ours, Giving one life for many, by God's laws I had forgiven all! Not so. Because Helen was wanton, and her master knew No curb for her: for that, for that, he slew My daughter!--Even then, with all my wrong, No wild beast yet was in me. Nay, for long, I never would have killed him. But he came, At last, bringing that damsel, with the flame Of God about her, mad and knowing all: And set her in my room; and in one wall Would hold two queens!--O wild are woman's eyes And hot her heart. I say not otherwise. But, being thus wild, if then her master stray To love far off, and cast his own away, Shall not her will break prison too, and wend Somewhere to win some other for a friend? And then on us the world's curse waxes strong In righteousness! The lords of all the wrong Must hear no curse!--I slew him. I trod then The only road: which led me to the men He hated. Of the friends of Argos whom Durst I have sought, to aid me to the doom I craved?--Speak if thou wouldst, and fear not me, If yet thou deemst him slain unrighteously.

LEADER.

Thy words be just, yet shame their justice brings; A woman true of heart should bear all things From him she loves. And she who feels it not, I cannot reason of her, nor speak aught.

ELECTRA.

Remember, mother, thy last word of grace, Bidding me speak, and fear not, to thy face.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

So said I truly, child, and so say still.

ELECTRA.

Wilt softly hear, and after work me ill?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Not so, not so. I will but pleasure thee.

ELECTRA.

I answer then. And, mother, this shall be My prayer of opening, where hangs the whole: Would God that He had made thee clean of soul! Helen and thou--O, face and form were fair, Meet for men's praise; but sisters twain ye were, Both things of naught, a stain on Castor's star, And Helen slew her honour, borne afar In wilful ravishment: but thou didst slay The highest man of the world. And now wilt say 'Twas wrought in justice for thy child laid low At Aulis?... Ah, who knows thee as I know? Thou, thou, who long ere aught of ill was done Thy child, when Agamemnon scarce was gone, Sate at the looking-glass, and tress by tress Didst comb the twined gold in loneliness. When any wife, her lord being far away. Toils to be fair, O blot her out that day As false within! What would she with a cheek So bright in strange men's eyes, unless she seek Some treason? None but I, thy child, could so Watch thee in Hellas: none but I could know Thy face of gladness when our enemies Were strong, and the swift cloud upon thine eyes If Troy seemed falling, all thy soul keen-set Praying that he might come no more!... And yet It was so easy to be true. A king Was thine, not feebler, not in anything Below Aegisthus; one whom Hellas chose For chief beyond all kings. Aye, and God knows, How sweet a name in Greece, after the sin Thy sister wrought, lay in thy ways to win. Ill deeds make fair ones shine, and turn thereto Men's eyes.--Enough: but say he wronged thee; slew By craft thy child:--what wrong had I done, what The babe Orestes? Why didst render not Back unto us, the children of the dead, Our father's portion? Must thou heap thy bed With gold of murdered men, to buy to thee Thy strange man's arms? Justice! Why is not he Who cast Orestes out, cast out again? Not slain for me whom doubly he hath slain, In living death, more bitter than of old My sister's? Nay, when all the tale is told Of blood for blood, what murder shall we make, I and Orestes, for our father's sake?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Aye, child; I know thy heart, from long ago. Thou hast alway loved him best. 'Tis oft-time so: One is her father's daughter, and one hot To bear her mother's part. I blame thee not.... Yet think not I am happy, child; nor flown With pride now, in the deeds my hand hath done.... [_Seeing_ ELECTRA _unsympathetic, she checks herself_. But thou art all untended, comfortless Of body and wild of raiment; and thy stress Of travail scarce yet ended!... Woe is me! 'Tis all as I have willed it. Bitterly I wrought against him, to the last blind deep Of bitterness.... Woe's me!

ELECTRA.

Fair days to weep, When help is not! Or stay: though he lie cold Long since, there lives another of thy fold Far off; there might be pity for thy son?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

I dare not!... Yes, I fear him. 'Tis mine own Life, and not his, comes first. And rumour saith His heart yet burneth for his father's death.

ELECTRA.

Why dost thou keep thine husband ever hot Against me?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

'Tis his mood. And thou art not So gentle, child!

ELECTRA.

My spirit is too sore! Howbeit, from this day I will no more Hate him.

CLYTEMNESTRA (_with a flash of hope_).

O daughter!--Then, indeed, shall he, I promise, never more be harsh to thee!

ELECTRA.

He lieth in my house, as 'twere his own. 'Tis that hath made him proud.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Nay, art thou flown To strife again so quick, child?

ELECTRA.

Well; I say No more; long have I feared him, and alway Shall fear him, even as now!

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Nay, daughter, peace! It bringeth little profit, speech like this... Why didst thou call me hither?

ELECTRA.

It reached thee, My word that a man-child is born to me? Do thou make offering for me--for the rite I know not--as is meet on the tenth night. I cannot; I have borne no child till now.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Who tended thee? 'Tis she should make the vow.

ELECTRA.

None tended me. Alone I bare my child.

CLYTEMNESTRA

What, is thy cot so friendless? And this wild So far from aid?

ELECTRA.

Who seeks for friendship sake A beggar's house?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

I will go in, and make Due worship for thy child, the Peace-bringer. To all thy need I would be minister. Then to my lord, where by the meadow side He prays the woodland nymphs. Ye handmaids, guide My chariot to the stall, and when ye guess The rite draws near its end, in readiness Be here again. Then to my lord!... I owe My lord this gladness, too.

[_The Attendants depart;_ CLYTEMNESTRA, _left alone, proceeds to enter the house_.

ELECTRA.

Welcome below My narrow roof! But have a care withal, A grime of smoke lies deep upon the wall. Soil not thy robe!... Not far now shall it be, The sacrifice God asks of me and thee. The bread of Death is broken, and the knife Lifted again that drank the Wild Bull's life: And on his breast.... Ha, Mother, hast slept well Aforetime? Thou shalt lie with him in Hell. That grace I give to cheer thee on thy road; Give thou to me--peace from my father's blood! [_She follows her mother into the house_.

CHORUS.

Lo, the returns of wrong. The wind as a changèd thing Whispereth overhead Of one that of old lay dead In the water lapping long: My King, O my King!

A cry in the rafters then Rang, and the marble dome: "Mercy of God, not thou, "Woman! To slay me now, "After the harvests ten "Now, at the last, come home!"