Chapter 5

ELECTRA Hand maidens, orderers of the palace-halls, Since at my side ye come, a suppliant train, Companions of this offering, counsel me As best befits the time: for I, who pour Upon the grave these streams funereal, With what fair word can I invoke my sire? Shall I aver, _Behold, I bear these gifts From well-beloved wife unto her well-beloved lord_, When ’tis from her, my mother, that they come? I dare not say it: of all words I fail Wherewith to consecrate unto my sire These sacrificial honours on his grave. Or shall I speak this word, as mortals use— _Give back, to those who send these coronals Full recompense—of ills for acts malign? Or shall I pour this draught for Earth to drink_, Sans word or reverence, as my sire was slain, And homeward pass with unreverted eyes, Casting the bowl away, as one who flings The household cleansings to the common road? Be art and part, O friends, in this my doubt, Even as ye are in that one common hate Whereby we live attended: fear ye not The wrath of any man, nor hide your word Within your breast: the day of death and doom Awaits alike the freeman and the slave. Speak, then, if aught thou know’st to aid us more.

CHORUS Thou biddest; I will speak my soul’s thought out, Revering as a shrine thy father’s grave.

ELECTRA Say then thy say, as thou his tomb reverest.

CHORUS Speak solemn words to them that love, and pour.

ELECTRA And of his kin whom dare I name as kind?

CHORUS Thyself; and next, whoe’er Aegisthus scorns.

ELECTRA Then ’tis myself and thou, my prayer must name.

CHORUS Whoe’er they be, ’tis thine to know and name them.

ELECTRA Is there no other we may claim as ours?

CHORUS Think of Orestes, though far-off he be.

ELECTRA Right well in this too hast thou schooled my thought.

CHORUS Mindfully, next, on those who shed the blood—

ELECTRA Pray on them what? expound, instruct my doubt.

CHORUS This; _Upon them some god or mortal come_——

ELECTRA As judge or as avenger? speak thy thought.

CHORUS Pray in set terms, _Who shall the slayer slay_.

ELECTRA Beseemeth it to ask such boon of heaven?

CHORUS How not, to wreak a wrong upon a foe?

ELECTRA O mighty Hermes, warder of the shades, Herald of upper and of under world, Proclaim and usher down my prayer’s appeal Unto the gods below, that they with eyes Watchful behold these halls, my sire’s of old— And unto Earth, the mother of all things, And foster-nurse, and womb that takes their seed.

Lo, I that pour these draughts for men now dead, Call on my father, who yet holds in ruth Me and mine own Orestes, _Father, speak— How shall thy children rule thine halls again? Homeless we are and sold; and she who sold Is she who bore us; and the price she took Is he who joined with her to work thy death_, _Aegisthus, her new lord. Behold me here Brought down to slave’s estate, and far away Wanders Orestes, banished from the wealth That once was thine, the profit of thy care, Whereon these revel in a shameful joy. Father, my prayer is said; ’tis thine to hear— Grant that some fair fate bring Orestes home, And unto me grant these—a purer soul Than is my mother’s, a more stainless hand._

These be my prayers for us; for thee, O sire, I cry that one may come to smite thy foes, And that the slayers may in turn be slain. Cursed is their prayer, and thus I bar its path, Praying mine own, a counter-curse on them. And thou, send up to us the righteous boon For which we pray: thine aids be heaven and earth, And justice guide the right to victory,

[_To the Chorus._

Thus have I prayed, and thus I shed these streams, And follow ye the wont, and as with flowers Crown ye with many a tear and cry the dirge, Your lips ring out above the dead man’s grave.

[_She pours the libations_.

CHORUS Woe, woe, woe! Let the teardrop fall, plashing on the ground Where our lord lies low: Fall and cleanse away the cursed libation’s stain, Shed on this grave-mound, Fenced wherein together, gifts of good or bane From the dead are found. Lord of Argos, hearken! Though around thee darken Mist of death and hell, arise and hear! Hearken and awaken to our cry of woe! Who with might of spear Shall our home deliver? Who like Ares bend until it quiver, Bend the northern bow? Who with hand upon the hilt himself will thrust with glaive, Thrust and slay and save?

ELECTRA Lo! the earth drinks them, to my sire they pass— Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange.

CHORUS Speak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear.

ELECTRA I see upon the tomb a curl new shorn.

CHORUS Shorn from what man or what deep-girded maid?

ELECTRA That may he guess who will; the sign is plain.

CHORUS Let me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.

ELECTRA None is there here but I, to clip such gift.

CHORUS For they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.

ELECTRA And lo! in truth the hair exceeding like—

CHORUS Like to what locks and whose? instruct me that.

ELECTRA Like unto those my father’s children wear.

CHORUS Then is this lock Orestes’ secret gift?

ELECTRA Most like it is unto the curls he wore,

CHORUS Yet how dared he to come unto his home?

ELECTRA He hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire.

CHORUS It is a sorrow grievous as his death, That he should live yet never dare return.

ELECTRA Yea, and my heart o’erflows with gall of grief, And I am pierced as with a cleaving dart; Like to the first drops after drought, my tears Fall down at will, a bitter bursting tide, As on this lock I gaze; I cannot deem That any Argive save Orestes’ self Was ever lord thereof; nor, well I wot, Hath she, the murd’ress, shorn and laid this lock To mourn him whom she slew—my mother she, Bearing no mother’s heart, but to her race A loathing spirit, loathed itself of heaven! Yet to affirm, as utterly made sure, That this adornment cometh of the hand Of mine Orestes, brother of my soul, I may not venture, yet hope flatters fair! Ah well-a-day, that this dumb hair had voice To glad mine ears, as might a messenger, Bidding me sway no more ’twixt fear and hope, Clearly commanding, _Cast me hence away, Clipped was I from some head thou lovest not;_ Or, _I am kin to thee, and here, as thou, I come to weep and deck our father’s grave._ Aid me, ye gods! for well indeed ye know How in the gale and counter-gale of doubt, Like to the seaman’s bark, we whirl and stray. But, if God will our life, how strong shall spring, From seed how small, the new tree of our home!— Lo ye, a second sign—these footsteps, look,— Like to my own, a corresponsive print; And look, another footmark,—this his own, And that the foot of one who walked with him. Mark, how the heel and tendons’ print combine, Measured exact, with mine coincident! Alas! for doubt and anguish rack my mind.

ORESTES (_approaching suddenly_) Pray thou, in gratitude for prayers fulfilled, _Fair fall the rest of what I ask of heaven_.

ELECTRA Wherefore? what win I from the gods by prayer?

ORESTES This, that thine eyes behold thy heart’s desire.

ELECTRA On whom of mortals know’st thou that I call?

ORESTES I know thy yearning for Orestes deep.

ELECTRA Say then, wherein event hath crowned my prayer?

ORESTES I, I am he; seek not one more akin.

ELECTRA Some fraud, O stranger, weavest thou for me?

ORESTES Against myself I weave it, if I weave.

ELECTRA Ah, thou hast mind to mock me in my woe!

ORESTES ’Tis at mine own I mock then, mocking thine.

ELECTRA Speak I with thee then as Orestes’ self?

ORESTES My very face thou see’st and know’st me not, And yet but now, when thou didst see the lock Shorn for my father’s grave, and when thy quest Was eager on the footprints I had made, Even I, thy brother, shaped and sized as thou, Fluttered thy spirit, as at sight of me! Lay now this ringlet whence ’twas shorn, and judge, And look upon this robe, thine own hands’ work, The shuttle-prints, the creature wrought thereon— Refrain thyself, nor prudence lose in joy, For well I wot, our kin are less than kind.

ELECTRA O thou that art unto our father’s home Love, grief and hope, for thee the tears ran down, For thee, the son, the saviour that should be; Trust thou thine arm and win thy father’s halls! O aspect sweet of fourfold love to me, Whom upon thee the heart’s constraint bids call As on my father, and the claim of love From me unto my mother turns to thee, For she is very hate; to thee too turns What of my heart went out to her who died A ruthless death upon the altar-stone; And for myself I love thee—thee that wast A brother leal, sole stay of love to me. Now by thy side be strength and right, and Zeus Saviour almighty, stand to aid the twain!

ORESTES Zeus, Zeus! look down on our estate and us, The orphaned brood of him, our eagle-sire, Whom to his death a fearful serpent brought Enwinding him in coils; and we, bereft And foodless, sink with famine, all too weak To bear unto the eyrie, as he bore, Such quarry as he slew. Lo! I and she, Electra, stand before thee, fatherless, And each alike cast out and homeless made.

ELECTRA And if thou leave to death the brood of him Whose altar blazed for thee, whose reverence Was thine, all thine,—whence, in the after years, Shall any hand like his adorn thy shrine With sacrifice of flesh? the eaglets slain, Thou wouldst not have a messenger to bear Thine omens, once so clear, to mortal men; So, if this kingly stock be withered all, None on high festivals will fend thy shrine Stoop thou to raise us! strong the race shall show, Though puny now it seem, and fallen low.

CHORUS O children, saviours of your father’s home, Beware ye of your words, lest one should hear And bear them, for the tongue hath lust to tell, Unto our masters—whom God grant to me In pitchy reek of fun’ral flame to see!

ORESTES Nay, mighty is Apollo’s oracle And shall not fail me, whom it bade to pass Thro’ all this peril; clear the voice rang out With many warnings, sternly threatening To my hot heart the wintry chill of pain, Unless upon the slayers of my sire I pressed for vengeance: this the god’s command— That I, in ire for home and wealth despoiled, Should with a craft like theirs the slayers slay: Else with my very life I should atone This deed undone, in many a ghastly wise For he proclaimed unto the ears of men That offerings, poured to angry power of death, Exude again, unless their will be done, As grim disease on those that poured them forth— As leprous ulcers mounting on the flesh And with fell fangs corroding what of old Wore natural form; and on the brow arise White poisoned hairs, the crown of this disease. He spake moreover of assailing fiends Empowered to quit on me my father’s blood, Wreaking their wrath on me, what time in night Beneath shut lids the spirit’s eye sees clear. The dart that flies in darkness, sped from hell By spirits of the murdered dead who call Unto their kin for vengeance, formless fear, The night-tide’s visitant, and madness’ curse Should drive and rack me; and my tortured frame Should be chased forth from man’s community As with the brazen scorpions of the scourge. For me and such as me no lustral bowl Should stand, no spilth of wine be poured to God For me, and wrath unseen of my dead sire Should drive me from the shrine; no man should dare To take me to his hearth, nor dwell with me: Slow, friendless, cursed of all should be mine end, And pitiless horror wind me for the grave, This spake the god—this dare I disobey? Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done; For to that end diverse desires combine,— The god’s behest, deep grief for him who died, And last, the grievous blank of wealth despoiled— All these weigh on me, urge that Argive men, Minions of valour, who with soul of fire Did make of fencèd Troy a ruinous heap, Be not left slaves to two and each a woman! For he, the man, wears woman’s heart; if not Soon shall he know, confronted by a man.

[_Orestes, Electra, and the Chorus gather round the tomb of Agamemnon for the invocation which follows_.

CHORUS Mighty Fates, on you we call! Bid the will of Zeus ordain Power to those, to whom again Justice turns with hand and aid! Grievous was the prayer one made— Grievous let the answer fall! Where the mighty doom is set, Justice claims aloud her debt Who in blood hath dipped the steel, Deep in blood her meed shall feel! List an immemorial word— _Whosoe’er shall take the sword Shall perish by the sword._

ORESTES Father, unblest in death, O father mine! What breath of word or deed Can I waft on thee from this far confine Unto thy lowly bed,— Waft upon thee, in midst of darkness lying, Hope’s counter-gleam of fire? Yet the loud dirge of praise brings grace undying Unto each parted sire.

CHORUS O child, the spirit of the dead, Altho’ upon his flesh have fed The grim teeth of the flame, Is quelled not; after many days The sting of wrath his soul shall raise, A vengeance to reclaim! To the dead rings loud our cry— Plain the living’s treachery— Swelling, shrilling, urged on high, The vengeful dirge, for parents slain, Shall strive and shall attain.

ELECTRA Hear me too, even me, O father, hear! Not by one child alone these groans, these tears are shed Upon thy sepulchre. Each, each, where thou art lowly laid, Stands, a suppliant, homeless made: Ah, and all is full of ill, Comfort is there none to say! Strive and wrestle as we may, Still stands doom invincible.

CHORUS Nay, if so he will, the god Still our tears to joy can turn He can bid a triumph-ode Drown the dirge beside this urn; He to kingly halls can greet The child restored, the homeward-guided feet.

ORESTES Ah my father! hadst thou lain Under Ilion’s wall, By some Lycian spearman slain, Thou hadst left in this thine hall Honour; thou hadst wrought for us Fame and life most glorious. Over-seas if thou had’st died, Heavily had stood thy tomb, Heaped on high; but, quenched in pride, Grief were light unto thy home.

CHORUS Loved and honoured hadst thou lain By the dead that nobly fell, In the under-world again, Where are throned the kings of hell, Full of sway adorable Thou hadst stood at their right hand— Thou that wert, in mortal land, By Fate’s ordinance and law, King of kings who bear the crown And the staff, to which in awe Mortal men bow down.

ELECTRA Nay O father, I were fain Other fate had fallen on thee. Ill it were if thou hadst lain One among the common slain, Fallen by Scamander’s side— Those who slew thee there should be! Then, untouched by slavery, We had heard as from afar Deaths of those who should have died ’Mid the chance of war.

CHORUS O child, forbear! things all too high thou sayest. Easy, but vain, thy cry! A boon above all gold is that thou prayest, An unreached destiny, As of the blessèd land that far aloof Beyond the north wind lies; Yet doth your double prayer ring loud reproof; A double scourge of sighs Awakes the dead; th’ avengers rise, though late; Blood stains the guilty pride Of the accursed who rule on earth, and Fate Stands on the children’s side.

ELECTRA That hath sped thro’ mine ear, like a shaft from a bow! Zeus, Zeus! it is thou who dost send from below A doom on the desperate doer—ere long On a mother a father shall visit his wrong.

CHORUS Be it mine to upraise thro’ the reek of the pyre The chant of delight, while the funeral fire Devoureth the corpse of a man that is slain And a woman laid low! For who bids me conceal it! out-rending control, Blows ever stern blast of hate thro’ my soul, And before me a vision of wrath and of bane Flits and waves to and fro.

ORESTES Zeus, thou alone to us art parent now. Smite with a rending blow Upon their heads, and bid the land be well: Set right where wrong hath stood; and thou give ear, O Earth, unto my prayer— Yea, hear O mother Earth, and monarchy of hell!

CHORUS Nay, the law is sternly set— Blood-drops shed upon the ground Plead for other bloodshed yet; Loud the call of death doth sound, Calling guilt of olden time, A Fury, crowning crime with crime.

ELECTRA Where, where are ye, avenging powers, Puissant Furies of the slain? Behold the relics of the race Of Atreus, thrust from pride of place! O Zeus, what home henceforth is ours, What refuge to attain?

CHORUS Lo, at your wail my heart throbs, wildly stirred; Now am I lorn with sadness, Darkened in all my soul, to hear your sorrow’s word. Anon to hope, the seat of strength, I rise,— She, thrusting grief away, lifts up mine eyes To the new dawn of gladness.

ORESTES Skills it to tell of aught save wrong on wrong, Wrought by our mother’s deed? Though now she fawn for pardon, sternly strong Standeth our wrath, and will nor hear nor heed; Her children’s soul is wolfish, born from hers, And softens not by prayers.

CHORUS I dealt upon my breast the blow That Asian mourning women know; Wails from my breast the fun’ral cry, The Cissian weeping melody; Stretched rendingly forth, to tatter and tear, My clenched hands wander, here and there, From head to breast; distraught with blows Throb dizzily my brows.

ELECTRA Aweless in hate, O mother, sternly brave! As in a foeman’s grave Thou laid’st in earth a king, but to the bier No citizen drew near,— Thy husband, thine, yet for his obsequies, Thou bad’st no wail arise!

ORESTES Alas the shameful burial thou dost speak! Yet I the vengeance of his shame will wreak— That do the gods command! That shall achieve mine hand! Grant me to thrust her life away, and I Will dare to die!

CHORUS List thou the deed! Hewn down and foully torn, He to the tomb was borne; Yea, by her hand, the deed who wrought, With like dishonour to the grave was brought, And by her hand she strove, with strong desire, Thy life to crush, O child, by murder of thy sire: Bethink thee, hearing, of the shame, the pain Wherewith that sire was slain!

ELECTRA Yea, such was the doom of my sire; well-a-day, I was thrust from his side,— As a dog from the chamber they thrust me away, And in place of my laughter rose sobbing and tears, As in darkness I lay. O father, if this word can pass to thine ears, To thy soul let it reach and abide!

CHORUS Let it pass, let it pierce, through the sense of thine ear, To thy soul, where in silence it waiteth the hour! The past is accomplished; but rouse thee to hear What the future prepareth; awake and appear, Our champion, in wrath and in power!

ORESTES O father, to thy loved ones come in aid.

ELECTRA With tears I call on thee.

CHORUS Listen and rise to light! Be thou with us, be thou against the foe! Swiftly this cry arises—even so Pray we, the loyal band, as we have prayed!

ORESTES Let their might meet with mine, and their right with my right.

ELECTRA O ye Gods, it is yours to decree.

CHORUS Ye call unto the dead; I quake to hear. Fate is ordained of old, and shall fulfil your prayer.

ELECTRA Alas, the inborn curse that haunts our home, Of Atè’s bloodstained scourge the tuneless sound! Alas, the deep insufferable doom, The stanchless wound!

ORESTES It shall be stanched, the task is ours,— Not by a stranger’s, but by kindred hand, Shall be chased forth the blood-fiend of our land. Be this our spoken spell, to call Earth’s nether powers!

CHORUS Lords of a dark eternity, To you has come the children’s cry, Send up from hell, fulfil your aid To them who prayed.

ORESTES O father, murdered in unkingly wise, Fulfil my prayer, grant me thine halls to sway.

ELECTRA To me too, grant this boon—dark death to deal Unto Aegisthus, and to ’scape my doom.

ORESTES So shall the rightful feasts that mortals pay Be set for thee; else, not for thee shall rise The scented reek of altars fed with flesh, But thou shall lie dishonoured: hear thou me!

ELECTRA I too, from my full heritage restored, Will pour the lustral streams, what time I pass Forth as a bride from these paternal halls, And honour first, beyond all graves, thy tomb.

ORESTES Earth, send my sire to fend me in the fight!

ELECTRA Give fair-faced fortune, O Persephone!

ORESTES Bethink thee, father, in the laver slain—

ELECTRA Bethink thee of the net they handselled for thee!

ORESTES Bonds not of brass ensnared thee, father mine.

ELECTRA Yea, the ill craft of an enfolding robe.

ORESTES By this our bitter speech arise, O sire!

ELECTRA Raise thou thine head at love’s last, dearest call!

ORESTES Yea, speed forth Right to aid thy kinsmen’s cause; Grip for grip, let them grasp the foe, if thou Willest in triumph to forget thy fall.

ELECTRA Hear me, O father, once again hear me. Lo! at thy tomb, two fledglings of thy brood— A man-child and a maid; hold them in ruth, Nor wipe them out, the last of Pelops’ line. For while they live, thou livest from the dead; Children are memory’s voices, and preserve The dead from wholly dying: as a net Is ever by the buoyant corks upheld, Which save the flex-mesh, in the depth submerged. Listen, this wail of ours doth rise for thee, And as thou heedest it thyself art saved.

CHORUS In sooth, a blameless prayer ye spake at length— The tomb’s requital for its dirge denied: Now, for the rest, as thou art fixed to do, Take fortune by the hand and work thy will.

ORESTES The doom is set; and yet I fain would ask— Not swerving from the course of my resolve,— Wherefore she sent these offerings, and why She softens all too late her cureless deed? An idle boon it was, to send them here Unto the dead who recks not of such gifts. I cannot guess her thought, but well I ween Such gifts are skilless to atone such crime. Be blood once spilled, an idle strife he strives Who seeks with other wealth or wine outpoured To atone the deed. So stands the word, nor fails. Yet would I know her thought; speak, if thou knowest.

CHORUS I know it, son; for at her side I stood. ’Twas the night-wandering terror of a dream That flung her shivering from her couch, and bade her— Her, the accursed of God—these offerings send.

ORESTES Heard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright?

CHORUS Yea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare.

ORESTES What then the sum and issue of the tale?

CHORUS Even as a swaddled child, she lull’d the thing.

ORESTES What suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged?

CHORUS Yet in her dreams she proffered it the breast.

ORESTES How? did the hateful thing not bite her teat?

CHORUS Yea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk.

ORESTES Not vain this dream—it bodes a man’s revenge.

CHORUS Then out of sleep she started with a cry, And thro’ the palace for their mistress’ aid Full many lamps, that erst lay blind with night, Flared into light; then, even as mourners use, She sends these offerings, in hope to win A cure to cleave and sunder sin from doom.

ORESTES Earth and my father’s grave, to you I call— Give this her dream fulfilment, and thro’ me. I read it in each part coincident, With what shall be; for mark, that serpent sprang From the same womb as I, in swaddling bands By the same hands was swathed, lipped the same breast, And sucking forth the same sweet mother’s-milk Infused a clot of blood; and in alarm She cried upon her wound the cry of pain. The rede is clear: the thing of dread she nursed, The death of blood she dies; and I, ’tis I, In semblance of a serpent, that must slay her. Thou art my seer, and thus I read the dream.

CHORUS So do; yet ere thou doest, speak to us, Siding some act, some, by not acting, aid.