Chapter 3

First, that a wife sat sundered from her lord, In widowed solitude, was utter woe— And woe, to hear how rumour’s many tongues All boded evil—woe, when he who came And he who followed spake of ill on ill, Keening _Lost, lost, all lost!_ thro’ hall and bower. Had this my husband met so many wounds, As by a thousand channels rumour told, No network e’er was full of holes as he. Had he been slain, as oft as tidings came That he was dead, he well might boast him now A second Geryon of triple frame, With triple robe of earth above him laid— For that below, no matter—triply dead, Dead by one death for every form he bore. And thus distraught by news of wrath and woe, Oft for self-slaughter had I slung the noose, But others wrenched it from my neck away. Hence haps it that Orestes, thine and mine, The pledge and symbol of our wedded troth, Stands not beside us now, as he should stand. Nor marvel thou at this: he dwells with one Who guards him loyally; ’tis Phocis’ king, Strophius, who warned me erst, _Bethink thee, queen, What woes of doubtful issue well may fall! Thy lord in daily jeopardy at Troy, While here a populace uncurbed may cry “Down with the council, down!” bethink thee too, ’Tis the world’s way to set a harder heel On fallen power._ For thy child’s absence then Such mine excuse, no wily afterthought. For me, long since the gushing fount of tears Is wept away; no drop is left to shed. Dim are the eyes that ever watched till dawn, Weeping, the bale-fires, piled for thy return, Night after night unkindled. If I slept, Each sound—the tiny humming of a gnat, Roused me again, again, from fitful dreams Wherein I felt thee smitten, saw thee slain, Thrice for each moment of mine hour of sleep.

All this I bore, and now, released from woe, I hail my lord as watch-dog of a fold, As saving stay-rope of a storm-tossed ship, As column stout that holds the roof aloft, As only child unto a sire bereaved, As land beheld, past hope, by crews forlorn, As sunshine fair when tempest’s wrath is past, As gushing spring to thirsty wayfarer. So sweet it is to ’scape the press of pain. With such salute I bid my husband hail! Nor heaven be wroth therewith! for long and hard I bore that ire of old. Sweet lord, step forth, Step from thy car, I pray—nay, not on earth Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod down Troy! Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is To spread your monarch’s path with tapestry? Swift, swift, with purple strew his passage fair, That justice lead him to a home, at last, He scarcely looked to see. For what remains, Zeal unsubdued by sleep shall nerve my hand To work as right and as the gods command.

AGAMEMNON Daughter of Leda, watcher o’er my home, Thy greeting well befits mine absence long, For late and hardly has it reached its end. Know, that the praise which honour bids us crave, Must come from others’ lips, not from our own: See too that not in fashion feminine Thou make a warrior’s pathway delicate; Not unto me, as to some Eastern lord, Bowing thyself to earth, make homage loud. Strew not this purple that shall make each step An arrogance; such pomp beseems the gods, Not me. A mortal man to set his foot On these rich dyes? I hold such pride in fear, And bid thee honour me as man, not god.

Fear not—such footcloths and all gauds apart, Loud from the trump of Fame my name is blown; Best gift of heaven it is, in glory’s hour, To think thereon with soberness: and thou— Bethink thee of the adage, _Call none blest Till peaceful death have crowned a life of weal._ ’Tis said: I fain would fare unvexed by fear.

CLYTEMNESTRA Nay, but unsay it—thwart not thou my will!

AGAMEMNON Know, I have said, and will not mar my word.

CLYTEMNESTRA Was it fear made this meekness to the gods?

AGAMEMNON If cause be cause, ’tis mine for this resolve.

CLYTEMNESTRA What, think’st thou, in thy place had Priam done?

AGAMEMNON He surely would have walked on broidered robes.

CLYTEMNESTRA Then fear not thou the voice of human blame.

AGAMEMNON Yet mighty is the murmur of a crowd.

CLYTEMNESTRA Shrink not from envy, appanage of bliss.

AGAMEMNON War is not woman’s part, nor war of words.

CLYTEMNESTRA Yet happy victors well may yield therein.

AGAMEMNON Dost crave for triumph in this petty strife?

CLYTEMNESTRA Yield; of thy grace permit me to prevail!

AGAMEMNON Then, if thou wilt, let some one stoop to loose Swiftly these sandals, slaves beneath my foot: And stepping thus upon the sea’s rich dye, I pray, _Let none among the gods look down With jealous eye on me_—reluctant all, To trample thus and mar a thing of price, Wasting the wealth of garments silver-worth. Enough hereof: and, for the stranger maid, Lead her within, but gently: God on high Looks graciously on him whom triumph’s hour Has made not pitiless. None willingly Wear the slave’s yoke—and she, the prize and flower Of all we won, comes hither in my train, Gift of the army to its chief and lord. —Now, since in this my will bows down to thine, I will pass in on purples to my home.

CLYTEMNESTRA A Sea there is—and who shall stay its springs? And deep within its breast, a mighty store, Precious as silver, of the purple dye, Whereby the dipped robe doth its tint renew. Enough of such, O king, within thy halls There lies, a store that cannot fail; but I— I would have gladly vowed unto the gods Cost of a thousand garments trodden thus, (Had once the oracle such gift required) Contriving ransom for thy life preserved. For while the stock is firm the foliage climbs, Spreading a shade what time the dog-star glows; And thou, returning to thine hearth and home, Art as a genial warmth in winter hours, Or as a coolness, when the lord of heaven Mellows the juice within the bitter grape. Such boons and more doth bring into a home The present footstep of its proper lord. Zeus, Zeus, Fulfilment’s lord! my vows fulfil, And whatsoe’er it be, work forth thy will!

[_Exeunt all but Cassandra and the Chorus._

CHORUS Wherefore for ever on the wings of fear Hovers a vision drear Before my boding heart? a strain, Unbidden and unwelcome, thrills mine ear, Oracular of pain. Not as of old upon my bosom’s throne Sits Confidence, to spurn Such fears, like dreams we know not to discern. Old, old and gray long since the time has grown, Which saw the linkèd cables moor The fleet, when erst it came to Ilion’s sandy shore; And now mine eyes and not another’s see Their safe return.

Yet none the less in me The inner spirit sings a boding song, Self-prompted, sings the Furies’ strain— And seeks, and seeks in vain, To hope and to be strong!

Ah! to some end of Fate, unseen, unguessed, Are these wild throbbings of my heart and breast— Yea, of some doom they tell— Each pulse, a knell. Lief, lief I were, that all To unfulfilment’s hidden realm might fall.

Too far, too far our mortal spirits strive, Grasping at utter weal, unsatisfied— Till the fell curse, that dwelleth hard beside, Thrust down the sundering wall. Too fair they blow, The gales that waft our bark on Fortune’s tide! Swiftly we sail, the sooner all to drive Upon the hidden rock, the reef of woe.

Then if the hand of caution warily Sling forth into the sea Part of the freight, lest all should sink below, From the deep death it saves the bark: even so, Doom-laden though it be, once more may rise His household, who is timely wise.

How oft the famine-stricken field Is saved by God’s large gift, the new year’s yield! But blood of man once spilled, Once at his feet shed forth, and darkening the plain,— Nor chant nor charm can call it back again.

So Zeus hath willed: Else had he spared the leech Asclepius, skilled To bring man from the dead: the hand divine Did smite himself with death—a warning and a sign.

Ah me! if Fate, ordained of old, Held not the will of gods constrained, controlled, Helpless to us-ward, and apart— Swifter than speech my heart Had poured its presage out! Now, fretting, chafing in the dark of doubt, ’Tis hopeless to unfold Truth, from fear’s tangled skein; and, yearning to proclaim Its thought, my soul is prophecy and flame.

_Re-enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA Get thee within thou too, Cassandra, go! For Zeus to thee in gracious mercy grants To share the sprinklings of the lustral bowl, Beside the altar of his guardianship, Slave among many slaves. What, haughty still? Step from the car; Alcmena’s son, ’tis said, Was sold perforce and bore the yoke of old. Ay, hard it is, but, if such fate befall, ’Tis a fair chance to serve within a home Of ancient wealth and power. An upstart lord, To whom wealth’s harvest came beyond his hope, Is as a lion to his slaves, in all Exceeding fierce, immoderate in sway. Pass in: thou hearest what our ways will be.

CHORUS Clear unto thee, O maid, is her command, But thou—within the toils of Fate thou art— If such thy will, I urge thee to obey; Yet I misdoubt thou dost nor hear nor heed.

CLYTEMNESTRA I wot—unless like swallows she doth use Some strange barbarian tongue from oversea— My words must speak persuasion to her soul.

CHORUS Obey: there is no gentler way than this. Step from the car’s high seat and follow her.

CLYTEMNESTRA Truce to this bootless waiting here without! I will not stay: beside the central shrine The victims stand, prepared for knife and fire— Offerings from hearts beyond all hope made glad. Thou—if thou reckest aught of my command, ’Twere well done soon: but if thy sense be shut From these my words, let thy barbarian hand Fulfil by gesture the default of speech.

CHORUS No native is she, thus to read thy words Unaided: like some wild thing of the wood, New-trapped, behold! she shrinks and glares on thee.

CLYTEMNESTRA ’Tis madness and the rule of mind distraught, Since she beheld her city sink in fire, And hither comes, nor brooks the bit, until In foam and blood her wrath be champed away. See ye to her; unqueenly ’tis for me, Unheeded thus to cast away my words.

[_Exit Clytemnestra._

CHORUS But with me pity sits in anger’s place. Poor maiden, come thou from the car; no way There is but this—take up thy servitude.

CASSANDRA Woe, woe, alas! Earth, Mother Earth! and thou Apollo, Apollo!

CHORUS Peace! shriek not to the bright prophetic god, Who will not brook the suppliance of woe.

CASSANDRA Woe, woe, alas! Earth, Mother Earth! and thou Apollo, Apollo!

CHORUS Hark, with wild curse she calls anew on him, Who stands far off and loathes the voice of wail.

CASSANDRA Apollo, Apollo! God of all ways, but only Death’s to me, Once and again, O thou, Destroyer named, Thou hast destroyed me, thou, my love of old!

CHORUS She grows presageful of her woes to come, Slave tho’ she be, instinct with prophecy.

CASSANDRA Apollo, Apollo! God of all ways, but only Death’s to me, O thou Apollo, thou Destroyer named! What way hast led me, to what evil home?

CHORUS Know’st thou it not? The home of Atreus’ race: Take these my words for sooth and ask no more.

CASSANDRA Home cursed of God! Bear witness unto me, Ye visioned woes within— The blood-stained hands of them that smite their kin— The strangling noose, and, spattered o’er With human blood, the reeking floor!

CHORUS How like a sleuth-hound questing on the track, Keen-scented unto blood and death she hies!

CASSANDRA Ah! can the ghostly guidance fail, Whereby my prophet-soul is onwards led? Look! for their flesh the spectre-children wail, Their sodden limbs on which their father fed!

CHORUS Long since we knew of thy prophetic fame,— But for those deeds we seek no prophet’s tongue.

CASSANDRA God! ’tis another crime— Worse than the storied woe of olden time, Cureless, abhorred, that one is plotting here— A shaming death, for those that should be dear! Alas! and far away, in foreign land, He that should help doth stand!

CHORUS I knew th’ old tales, the city rings withal— But now thy speech is dark, beyond my ken.

CASSANDRA O wretch, O purpose fell! Thou for thy wedded lord The cleansing wave hast poured— A treacherous welcome! How the sequel tell? Too soon ’twill come, too soon, for now, even now, She smites him, blow on blow!

CHORUS Riddles beyond my rede—I peer in vain Thro’ the dim films that screen the prophecy.

CASSANDRA God! a new sight! a net, a snare of hell, Set by her hand—herself a snare more fell! A wedded wife, she slays her lord, Helped by another hand! Ye powers, whose hate Of Atreus’ home no blood can satiate, Raise the wild cry above the sacrifice abhorred!

CHORUS Why biddest thou some fiend, I know not whom, Shriek o’er the house? Thine is no cheering word. Back to my heart in frozen fear I feel My waning life-blood run— The blood that round the wounding steel Ebbs slow, as sinks life’s parting sun— Swift, swift and sure, some woe comes pressing on!

CASSANDRA Away, away—keep him away— The monarch of the herd, the pasture’s pride, Far from his mate! In treach’rous wrath, Muffling his swarthy horns, with secret scathe She gores his fenceless side! Hark! in the brimming bath, The heavy plash—the dying cry— Hark—in the laver—hark, he falls by treachery!

CHORUS I read amiss dark sayings such as thine, Yet something warns me that they tell of ill. O dark prophetic speech, Ill tidings dost thou teach Ever, to mortals here below! Ever some tale of awe and woe Thro’ all thy windings manifold Do we unriddle and unfold!

CASSANDRA Ah well-a-day! the cup of agony, Whereof I chant, foams with a draught for me. Ah lord, ah leader, thou hast led me here— Was’t but to die with thee whose doom is near?

CHORUS Distraught thou art, divinely stirred, And wailest for thyself a tuneless lay, As piteous as the ceaseless tale Wherewith the brown melodious bird Doth ever Itys! Itys! wail, Deep-bowered in sorrow, all its little life-time’s day!

CASSANDRA Ah for thy fate, O shrill-voiced nightingale! Some solace for thy woes did Heaven afford, Clothed thee with soft brown plumes, and life apart from wail— But for my death is edged the double-biting sword!

CHORUS What pangs are these, what fruitless pain, Sent on thee from on high? Thou chantest terror’s frantic strain, Yet in shrill measured melody. How thus unerring canst thou sweep along The prophet’s path of boding song?

CASSANDRA Woe, Paris, woe on thee! thy bridal joy Was death and fire upon thy race and Troy! And woe for thee, Scamander’s flood! Beside thy banks, O river fair, I grew in tender nursing care From childhood unto maidenhood! Now not by thine, but by Cocytus’ stream And Acheron’s banks shall ring my boding scream.

CHORUS Too plain is all, too plain! A child might read aright thy fateful strain. Deep in my heart their piercing fang Terror and sorrow set, the while I heard That piteous, low, tender word, Yet to mine ear and heart a crushing pang.

CASSANDRA Woe for my city, woe for Ilion’s fall! Father, how oft with sanguine stain Streamed on thine altar-stone the blood of cattle, slain That heaven might guard our wall! But all was shed in vain. Low lie the shattered towers whereas they fell, And I—ah burning heart!—shall soon lie low as well.

CHORUS Of sorrow is thy song, of sorrow still! Alas, what power of ill Sits heavy on thy heart and bids thee tell In tears of perfect moan thy deadly tale? Some woe—I know not what—must close thy piteous wail.

CASSANDRA List! for no more the presage of my soul, Bride-like, shall peer from its secluding veil; But as the morning wind blows clear the east, More bright shall blow the wind of prophecy, And as against the low bright line of dawn Heaves high and higher yet the rolling wave, So in the clearing skies of prescience Dawns on my soul a further, deadlier woe, And I will speak, but in dark speech no more. Bear witness, ye, and follow at my side— I scent the trail of blood, shed long ago. Within this house a choir abidingly Chants in harsh unison the chant of ill; Yea, and they drink, for more enhardened joy, Man’s blood for wine, and revel in the halls, Departing never, Furies of the home. They sit within, they chant the primal curse, Each spitting hatred on that crime of old, The brother’s couch, the love incestuous That brought forth hatred to the ravisher. Say, is my speech or wild and erring now, Or doth its arrow cleave the mark indeed? They called me once, _The prophetess of lies, The wandering hag, the pest of every door—_ Attest ye now, _She knows in very sooth The house’s curse, the storied infamy._

CHORUS Yet how should oath—how loyally soe’er I swear it—aught avail thee? In good sooth, My wonder meets thy claim: I stand amazed That thou, a maiden born beyond the seas, Dost as a native know and tell aright Tales of a city of an alien tongue.

CASSANDRA That is my power—a boon Apollo gave.

CHORUS God though he were, yearning for mortal maid?

CASSANDRA Ay! what seemed shame of old is shame no more.

CHORUS Such finer sense suits not with slavery.

CASSANDRA He strove to win me, panting for my love.

CHORUS Came ye by compact unto bridal joys?

CASSANDRA Nay—for I plighted troth, then foiled the god.

CHORUS Wert thou already dowered with prescience?

CASSANDRA Yea—prophetess to Troy of all her doom.

CHORUS How left thee then Apollo’s wrath unscathed?

CASSANDRA I, false to him, seemed prophet false to all.

CHORUS Not so—to us at least thy words seem sooth.

CASSANDRA Woe for me, woe! Again the agony— Dread pain that sees the future all too well With ghastly preludes whirls and racks my soul. Behold ye—yonder on the palace roof The spectre-children sitting—look, such things As dreams are made on, phantoms as of babes, Horrible shadows, that a kinsman’s hand Hath marked with murder, and their arms are full— A rueful burden—see, they hold them up, The entrails upon which their father fed!

For this, for this, I say there plots revenge A coward lion, couching in the lair— Guarding the gate against my master’s foot— My master—mine—I bear the slave’s yoke now, And he, the lord of ships, who trod down Troy, Knows not the fawning treachery of tongue Of this thing false and dog-like—how her speech Glozes and sleeks her purpose, till she win By ill fate’s favour the desired chance, Moving like Atè to a secret end. O aweless soul! the woman slays her lord— Woman? what loathsome monster of the earth Were fit comparison? The double snake— Or Scylla, where she dwells, the seaman’s bane, Girt round about with rocks? some hag of hell, Raving a truceless curse upon her kin? Hark—even now she cries exultingly The vengeful cry that tells of battle turned— How fain, forsooth, to greet her chief restored! Nay then, believe me not: what skills belief Or disbelief? Fate works its will—and thou Wilt see and say in ruth, _Her tale was true._

CHORUS Ah—’tis Thyestes’ feast on kindred flesh— I guess her meaning and with horror thrill, Hearing no shadow’d hint of th’ o’er-true tale, But its full hatefulness: yet, for the rest, Far from the track I roam, and know no more.

CASSANDRA ’Tis Agamemnon’s doom thou shalt behold.

CHORUS Peace, hapless woman, to thy boding words!

CASSANDRA Far from my speech stands he who sains and saves.

CHORUS Ay—were such doom at hand—which God forbid!

CASSANDRA Thou prayest idly—these move swift to slay.

CHORUS What man prepares a deed of such despite?

CASSANDRA Fool! thus to read amiss mine oracles.

CHORUS Deviser and device are dark to me.

CASSANDRA Dark! all too well I speak the Grecian tongue.

CHORUS Ay—but in thine, as in Apollo’s strains, Familiar is the tongue, but dark the thought.

CASSANDRA Ah ah the fire! it waxes, nears me now— Woe, woe for me, Apollo of the dawn!

Lo, how the woman-thing, the lioness Couched with the wolf—her noble mate afar— Will slay me, slave forlorn! Yea, like some witch, She drugs the cup of wrath, that slays her lord With double death—his recompense for me! Ay, ’tis for me, the prey he bore from Troy, That she hath sworn his death, and edged the steel! Ye wands, ye wreaths that cling around my neck, Ye showed me prophetess yet scorned of all— I stamp you into death, or e’er I die— Down, to destruction! Thus I stand revenged— Go, crown some other with a prophet’s woe. Look! it is he, it is Apollo’s self Rending from me the prophet-robe he gave. God! while I wore it yet, thou saw’st me mocked There at my home by each malicious mouth— To all and each, an undivided scorn. The name alike and fate of witch and cheat— Woe, poverty, and famine—all I bore; And at this last the god hath brought me here Into death’s toils, and what his love had made, His hate unmakes me now: and I shall stand Not now before the altar of my home, But me a slaughter-house and block of blood Shall see hewn down, a reeking sacrifice. Yet shall the gods have heed of me who die, For by their will shall one requite my doom. He, to avenge his father’s blood outpoured, Shall smite and slay with matricidal hand. Ay, he shall come—tho’ far away he roam, A banished wanderer in a stranger’s land— To crown his kindred’s edifice of ill, Called home to vengeance by his father’s fall: Thus have the high gods sworn, and shall fulfil.

And now why mourn I, tarrying on earth, Since first mine Ilion has found its fate And I beheld, and those who won the wall Pass to such issue as the gods ordain? I too will pass and like them dare to die!

[_Turns and looks upon the palace door._

Portal of Hades, thus I bid thee hail! Grant me one boon—a swift and mortal stroke, That all unwrung by pain, with ebbing blood Shed forth in quiet death, I close mine eyes.

CHORUS Maid of mysterious woes, mysterious lore, Long was thy prophecy: but if aright Thou readest all thy fate, how, thus unscared, Dost thou approach the altar of thy doom, As fronts the knife some victim, heaven-controlled?

CASSANDRA Friends, there is no avoidance in delay.

CHORUS Yet who delays the longest, his the gain.

CASSANDRA The day is come—flight were small gain to me!

CHORUS O brave endurance of a soul resolved!

CASSANDRA That were ill praise, for those of happier doom.

CHORUS All fame is happy, even famous death.

CASSANDRA Ah sire, ah brethren, famous once were ye!

[_She moves to enter the house, then starts back._

CHORUS What fear is this that scares thee from the house?

CASSANDRA Pah!

CHORUS What is this cry? some dark despair of soul?

CASSANDRA Pah! the house fumes with stench and spilth of blood.

CHORUS How? ’tis the smell of household offerings.

CASSANDRA ’Tis rank as charnel-scent from open graves.

CHORUS Thou canst not mean this scented Syrian nard?

CASSANDRA Nay, let me pass within to cry aloud The monarch’s fate and mine—enough of life. Ah friends! Bear to me witness, since I fall in death, That not as birds that shun the bush and scream I moan in idle terror. This attest When for my death’s revenge another dies, A woman for a woman, and a man Falls, for a man ill-wedded to his curse. Grant me this boon—the last before I die.

CHORUS Brave to the last! I mourn thy doom foreseen.

CASSANDRA Once more one utterance, but not of wail, Though for my death—and then I speak no more.

Sun! thou whose beam I shall not see again, To thee I cry, Let those whom vengeance calls To slay their kindred’s slayers, quit withal The death of me, the slave, the fenceless prey.

Ah state of mortal man! in time of weal, A line, a shadow! and if ill fate fall, One wet sponge-sweep wipes all our trace away— And this I deem less piteous, of the twain.

[_Exit into the palace._