Part 6

ORESTES Brief my command: I bid my sister pass In silence to the house, and all I bid This my design with wariness conceal, That they who did by craft a chieftain slay May by like craft and in like noose be ta’en Dying the death which Loxias foretold— Apollo, king and prophet undisproved. I with this warrior Pylades will come In likeness of a stranger, full equipt As travellers come, and at the palace gates Will stand, as stranger yet in friendship’s bond Unto this house allied; and each of us Will speak the tongue that round Parnassus sounds, Feigning such speech as Phocian voices use. And what if none of those that tend the gates Shall welcome us with gladness, since the house With ills divine is haunted? if this hap, We at the gate will bide, till, passing by, Some townsman make conjecture and proclaim, _How? is Aegisthus here, and knowingly Keeps suppliants aloof, by bolt and bar?_ Then shall I win my way; and if I cross The threshold of the gate, the palace’ guard, And find him throned where once my father sat— Or if he come anon, and face to face Confronting, drop his eyes from mine—I swear He shall not utter, _Who art thou and whence?_ Ere my steel leap, and compassed round with death Low he shall lie: and thus, full-fed with doom, The Fury of the house shall drain once more A deep third draught of rich unmingled blood. But thou, O sister, look that all within Be well prepared to give these things event. And ye—I say ’twere well to bear a tongue Full of fair silence and of fitting speech As each beseems the time; and last, do thou, Hermes the warder-god, keep watch and ward, And guide to victory my striving sword.

[_Exit with Pylades._

CHORUS Many and marvellous the things of fear Earth’s breast doth bear; And the sea’s lap with many monsters teems, And windy levin-bolts and meteor gleams Breed many deadly things— Unknown and flying forms, with fear upon their wings, And in their tread is death; And rushing whirlwinds, of whose blasting breath Man’s tongue can tell. But who can tell aright the fiercer thing, The aweless soul, within man’s breast inhabiting? Who tell, how, passion-fraught and love-distraught The woman’s eager, craving thought Doth wed mankind to woe and ruin fell? Yea, how the loveless love that doth possess The woman, even as the lioness, Doth rend and wrest apart, with eager strife, The link of wedded life?

Let him be the witness, whose thought is not borne on light wings thro’ the air, But abideth with knowledge, what thing was wrought by Althea’s despair; For she marr’d the life-grace of her son, with ill counsel rekindled the flame That was quenched as it glowed on the brand, what time from his mother he came, With the cry of a new-born child; and the brand from the burning she won, For the Fates had foretold it coeval, in life and in death, with her son.

Yea, and man’s hate tells of another, even Scylla of murderous guile, Who slew for an enemy’s sake her father, won o’er by the wile And the gifts of Cretan Minos, the gauds of the high-wrought gold; For she clipped from her father’s head the lock that should never wax old, As he breathed in the silence of sleep, and knew not her craft and her crime— But Hermes, the guard of the dead, doth grasp her, in fulness of time.

And since of the crimes of the cruel I tell, let my singing record The bitter wedlock and loveless, the curse on these halls outpoured, The crafty device of a woman, whereby did a chieftain fall, A warrior stern in his wrath; the fear of his enemies all,— A song of dishonour, untimely! and cold is the hearth that was warm And ruled by the cowardly spear, the woman’s unwomanly arm.

But the summit and crown of all crimes is that which in Lemnos befell; A woe and a mourning it is, a shame and a spitting to tell; And he that in after time doth speak of his deadliest thought, Doth say, _It is like to the deed that of old time in Lemnos was wrought_; And loathed of men were the doers, and perished, they and their seed, For the gods brought hate upon them; none loveth the impious deed.

It is well of these tales to tell; for the sword in the grasp of Right With a cleaving, a piercing blow to the innermost heart doth smite, And the deed unlawfully done is not trodden down nor forgot, When the sinner out-steppeth the law and heedeth the high God not; But Justice hath planted the anvil, and Destiny forgeth the sword That shall smite in her chosen time; by her is the child restored; And, darkly devising, the Fiend of the house, world-cursed, will repay The price of the blood of the slain that was shed in the bygone day.

[_Enter Orestes and Pylades, in guise of travellers_.

ORESTES (_knocking at the palace gate_) What ho! slave, ho! I smite the palace gate In vain, it seems; what ho, attend within,— Once more, attend; come forth and ope the halls, If yet Aegisthus holds them hospitable.

SLAVE (_from within_) Anon, anon! [_Opens the door._

Speak, from what land art thou, and sent from whom?

ORESTES Go, tell to them who rule the palace-halls, Since ’tis to them I come with tidings new— (Delay not—Night’s dark car is speeding on, And time is now for wayfarers to cast Anchor in haven, wheresoe’er a house Doth welcome strangers)—that there now come forth Some one who holds authority within— The queen, or, if some man, more seemly were it; For when man standeth face to face with man, No stammering modesty confounds their speech, But each to each doth tell his meaning clear.

[_Enter Clytemnestra_.

CLYTEMNESTRA Speak on, O strangers; have ye need of aught? Here is whate’er beseems a house like this— Warm bath and bed, tired Nature’s soft restorer, And courteous eyes to greet you; and if aught Of graver import needeth act as well, That, as man’s charge, I to a man will tell.

ORESTES A Daulian man am I, from Phocis bound, And as with mine own travel-scrip self-laden I went toward Argos, parting hitherward With travelling foot, there did encounter me One whom I knew not and who knew not me, But asked my purposed way nor hid his own, And, as we talked together, told his name— Strophius of Phocis; then he said, “Good sir, Since in all case thou art to Argos bound, Forget not this my message, heed it well, Tell to his own, _Orestes is no more_. And—whatsoe’er his kinsfolk shall resolve, Whether to bear his dust unto his home, Or lay him here, in death as erst in life Exiled for aye, a child of banishment— Bring me their hest, upon thy backward road; For now in brazen compass of an urn His ashes lie, their dues of weeping paid.” So much I heard, and so much tell to thee, Not knowing if I speak unto his kin Who rule his home; but well, I deem, it were, Such news should earliest reach a parent’s ear.

CLYTEMNESTRA Ah woe is me! thy word our ruin tells; From roof-tree unto base are we despoiled.— O thou whom nevermore we wrestle down, Thou Fury of this home, how oft and oft Thou dost descry what far aloof is laid, Yea, from afar dost bend th’ unerring bow And rendest from my wretchedness its friends; As now Orestes—who, a brief while since, Safe from the mire of death stood warily,— Was the home’s hope to cure th’ exulting wrong; Now thou ordainest, _Let the ill abide_.

ORESTES To host and hostess thus with fortune blest, Lief had I come with better news to bear Unto your greeting and acquaintanceship; For what goodwill lies deeper than the bond Of guest and host? and wrong abhorred it were, As well I deem, if I, who pledged my faith To one, and greetings from the other had, Bore not aright the tidings ’twixt the twain.

CLYTEMNESTRA Whate’er thy news, thou shalt not welcome lack, Meet and deserved, nor scant our grace shall be. Hadst them thyself not come, such tale to tell, Another, sure, had borne it to our ears. But lo! the hour is here when travelling guests, Fresh from the daylong labour of the road, Should win their rightful due. Take him within

[_To the slave._

To the man-chamber’s hospitable rest— Him and these fellow-farers at his side; Give them such guest-right as beseems our halls; I bid thee do as thou shalt answer for it. And I unto the prince who rules our home Will tell the tale, and, since we lack not friends, With them will counsel how this hap to bear

[_Exit Clytemnestra._

CHORUS So be it done— Sister-servants, when draws nigh Time for us aloud to cry _Orestes and his victory?_

O holy earth and holy tomb Over the grave-pit heaped on high, Where low doth Agamemnon lie, The king of ships, the army’s lord! Now is the hour—give ear and come, For now doth Craft her aid afford, And Hermes, guard of shades in hell, Stands o’er their strife, to sentinel The dooming of the sword. I wot the stranger worketh woe within— For lo! I see come forth, suffused with tears, Orestes’ nurse. What ho, Kilissa—thou Beyond the doors? Where goest thou? Methinks Some grief unbidden walketh at thy side.

[_Enter Kilissa, a nurse._

KILISSA My mistress bids me, with what speed I may, Call in Aegisthus to the stranger guests, That he may come, and standing face to face, A man with men, may thus more clearly learn This rumour new. Thus speaking, to her slaves She hid beneath the glance of fictive grief Laughter for what is wrought—to her desire Too well; but ill, ill, ill besets the house, Brought by the tale these guests have told so clear. And he, God wot, will gladden all his heart Hearing this rumour. Woe and well-a-day! The bitter mingled cup of ancient woes, Hard to be borne, that here in Atreus’ house Befel, was grievous to mine inmost heart, But never yet did I endure such pain. All else I bore with set soul patiently; But now—alack, alack!—Orestes dear, The day and night-long travail of my soul! Whom from his mother’s womb, a new-born child, I clasped and cherished! Many a time and oft Toilsome and profitless my service was, When his shrill outcry called me from my couch! For the young child, before the sense is born, Hath but a dumb thing’s life, must needs be nursed As its own nature bids. The swaddled thing Hath nought of speech, whate’er discomfort come— Hunger or thirst or lower weakling need,— For the babe’s stomach works its own relief. Which knowing well before, yet oft surprised, ’Twas mine to cleanse the swaddling clothes—poor I Was nurse to tend and fuller to make white; Two works in one, two handicrafts I took, When in mine arms the father laid the boy. And now he’s dead—alack and well-a-day! Yet must I go to him whose wrongful power Pollutes this house—fair tidings these to him!

CHORUS Say then, with what array she bids him come?

KILISSA What say’st thou! Speak more clearly for mine ear.

CHORUS Bids she bring henchmen, or to come alone?

KlLISSA She bids him bring a spear-armed body-guard.

CHORUS Nay, tell not that unto our loathèd lord, But speed to him, put on the mien of joy, Say, _Come along, fear nought, the news is good:_ A bearer can tell straight a twisted tale.

KILISSA Does then thy mind in this new tale find joy?

CHORUS What if Zeus bid our ill wind veer to fair?

KILISSA And how? the home’s hope with Orestes dies.

CHORUS Not yet—a seer, though feeble, this might see.

KILISSA What say’st thou? Know’st thou aught, this tale belying?

CHORUS Go, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,— What the gods will, themselves can well provide.

KILISSA Well, I will go, herein obeying thee; And luck fall fair, with favour sent from heaven.

[_Exit._

CHORUS Zeus, sire of them who on Olympus dwell, Hear thou, O hear my prayer! Grant to my rightful lords to prosper well Even as their zeal is fair! For right, for right goes up aloud my cry— Zeus, aid him, stand anigh!

Into his father’s hall he goes To smite his father’s foes. Bid him prevail! by thee on throne of triumph set, Twice, yea and thrice with joy shall he acquit the debt.

Bethink thee, the young steed, the orphan foal Of sire beloved by thee, unto the car Of doom is harnessed fast. Guide him aright, plant firm a lasting goal, Speed thou his pace,—O that no chance may mar The homeward course, the last!

And ye who dwell within the inner chamber Where shines the storèd joy of gold— Gods of one heart, O hear ye, and remember; Up and avenge the blood shed forth of old, With sudden rightful blow; Then let the old curse die, nor be renewed With progeny of blood,— Once more, and not again, be latter guilt laid low!

O thou who dwell’st in Delphi’s mighty cave, Grant us to see this home once more restored Unto its rightful lord! Let it look forth, from veils of death, with joyous eye Unto the dawning light of liberty; And Hermes, Maia’s child, lend hand to save, Willing the right, and guide Our state with Fortune’s breeze adown the favouring tide. Whate’er in darkness hidden lies, He utters at his will; He at his will throws darkness on our eye By night and eke by day inscrutable.

Then, then shall wealth atone The ills that here were done. Then, then will we unbind, Fling free on wafting wind Of joy, the woman’s voice that waileth now In piercing accents for a chief laid low; And this our song shall be— _Hail to the commonwealth restored! Hail to the freedom won to me! All hail! for doom hath passed from him, my well-loved lord!_

And thou, O child, when Time and Chance agree, Up to the deed that for thy sire is done! And if she wail unto thee, _Spare, O son_— Cry, _Aid, O father_—and achieve the deed, The horror of man’s tongue, the gods’ great need! Hold in thy breast such heart as Perseus had, The bitter woe work forth, Appease the summons of the dead, The wrath of friends on earth; Yea, set within a sign of blood and doom, And do to utter death him that pollutes thy home.

[_Enter Aegisthus_.

AEGISTHUS Hither and not unsummoned have I come; For a new rumour, borne by stranger men Arriving hither, hath attained mine ears, Of hap unwished-for, even Orestes’ death. This were new sorrow, a blood-bolter’d load Laid on the house that doth already bow Beneath a former wound that festers deep. Dare I opine these words have truth and life? Or are they tales, of woman’s terror born, That fly in the void air, and die disproved? Canst thou tell aught, and prove it to my soul?

CHORUS What we have heard, we heard; go thou within Thyself to ask the strangers of their tale. Strengthless are tidings, thro’ another heard; Question is his, to whom the tale is brought.

AEGISTHUS I too will meet and test the messenger, Whether himself stood witness of the death, Or tells it merely from dim rumour learnt: None shall cheat me, whose soul hath watchful eyes.

[_Exit._

CHORUS Zeus, Zeus! what word to me is given? What cry or prayer, invoking heaven, Shall first by me be utterèd? What speech of craft? nor all revealing, Nor all too warily concealing— Ending my speech, shall aid the deed? For lo! in readiness is laid The dark emprise, the rending blade; Blood-dropping daggers shall achieve The dateless doom of Atreus’ name, Or—kindling torch and joyful flame In sign of new-won liberty— Once more Orestes shall retrieve His father’s wealth, and, throned on high, Shall hold the city’s fealty. So mighty is the grasp whereby, Heaven-holpen, he shall trip and throw, Unseconded, a double foe Ho for the victory!

[_A loud cry within._

VOICE OF AEGISTHUS Help, help, alas!

CHORUS Ho there, ho! how is’t within? Is’t done? is’t over? Stand we here aloof While it is wrought, that guiltless we may seem Of this dark deed; with death is strife fulfilled.

[_Enter a slave_

SLAVE O woe, O woe, my lord is done to death! Woe, woe, and woe again, AEgisthus gone! Hasten, fling wide the doors, unloose the bolts Of the queen’s chamber. O for some young strength To match the need! but aid availeth nought To him laid low for ever. Help, help, help! Sure to deaf ears I shout, and call in vain To slumber ineffectual. What ho! The queen! how fareth Clytemnestra’s self? Her neck too, hers, is close upon the steel, And soon shall sink, hewn thro’ as justice wills.

[_Enter Clytemnestra._

CLYTEMNESTRA What ails thee, raising this ado for us?

SLAVE I say the dead are come to slay the living.

CLYTEMNESTRA Alack, I read thy riddles all too clear— We slew by craft and by like craft shall die. Swift, bring the axe that slew my lord of old; I’ll know anon or death or victory— So stands the curse, so I confront it here.

[_Enter Orestes, his sword dropping with blood._

ORESTES Thee too I seek: for him what’s done will serve.

CLYTEMNESTRA Woe, woe! Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain!

ORESTES What lov’st the man? then in his grave lie down, Be his in death, desert him nevermore!

CLYTEMNESTSA Stay, child, and fear to strike. O son, this breast Pillowed thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep, Thy toothless mouth drew mother’s milk from me.

ORESTES Can I my mother spare? speak, Pylades,

PYLADES Where then would fall the hest Apollo gave At Delphi, where the solemn compact sworn? Choose thou the hate of all men, not of gods.

ORESTES Thou dost prevail; I hold thy counsel good.

[_To Clytemnestra_.

Follow; I will slay thee at his side. With him whom in his life thou lovedst more Than Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meed For hate where love, and love where hate was due!

CLYTEMNESTRA I nursed thee young; must I forego mine eld?

ORESTES Thou slew’st my father; shalt thou dwell with me?

CLYTEMNESTRA Fate bore a share in these things, O my child!

ORESTES Fate also doth provide this doom for thee.

CLYTEMNESTRA Beware, O my child, a parent’s dying curse.

ORESTES A parent who did cast me out to ill!

CLYTEMNESTRA Not cast thee out, but to a friendly home.

ORESTES Born free, I was by twofold bargain sold.

CLYTEMNESTRA Where then the price that I received for thee?

ORESTES The price of shame; I taunt thee not more plainly.

CLYTEMNESTRA Nay, but recount thy father’s lewdness too.

ORESTES Home-keeping, chide not him who toils without.

CLYTEMNESTRA ’Tis hard for wives to live as widows, child.

ORESTES The absent husband toils for them at home.

CLYTEMNESTRA Thou growest fain to slay thy mother, child

ORESTES Nay, ’tis thyself wilt slay thyself, not I.

CLYTEMNESTRA Beware thy mother’s vengeful hounds from hell.

ORESTES How shall I ’scape my father’s, sparing thee?

CLYTEMNESTRA Living, I cry as to a tomb, unheard.

ORESTES My father’s fate ordains this doom for thee.

CLYTEMNESTRA Ah, me! this snake it was I bore and nursed.

ORESTES Ay, right prophetic was thy visioned fear. Shameful thy deed was—die the death of shame!

[_Exit, driving Clytemnestra before him._

CHORUS Lo, even for these I mourn, a double death: Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom, Thus crowns the height of murders manifold, I say, ’tis well—that not in night and death Should sink the eye and light of this our home.

There came on Priam’s race and name A vengeance; though it tarried long, With heavy doom it came. Came, too, on Agamemnon’s hall A lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong. And last, the heritage doth fall To him, to whom from Pythian cave The god his deepest counsel gave. Cry out, rejoice! our kingly hall Hath ’scaped from ruin—ne’er again Its ancient wealth be wasted all By two usurpers, sin-defiled— An evil path of woe and bane! On him who dealt the dastard blow Comes Craft, Revenge’s scheming child. And hand in hand with him doth go, Eager for fight, The child of Zeus, whom men below Call Justice, naming her aright. And on her foes her breath Is as the blast of death; For her the god who dwells in deep recess Beneath Parnassus’ brow, Summons with loud acclaim To rise, though late and lame, And come with craft that worketh righteousness.

For even o’er Powers divine this law is strong— _Thou shalt not serve the wrong_. To that which ruleth heaven beseems it that we bow. Lo, freedom’s light hath come! Lo, now is rent away The grim and curbing bit that held us dumb. Up to the light, ye halls! this many a day Too low on earth ye lay. And Time, the great Accomplisher, Shall cross the threshold, whensoe’er He choose with purging hand to cleanse The palace, driving all pollution thence. And fair the cast of Fortune’s die Before our state’s new lords shall lie, Not as of old, but bringing fairer doom Lo, freedom’s light hath come!

[_The scene opens, disclosing Orestes standing over the corpses of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; in one hand he holds his sword, in the other the robe in which Agamemnon was entangled and slain_.

ORESTES There lies our country’s twofold tyranny, My father’s slayers, spoilers of my home. Erst were they royal, sitting on the throne, And loving are they yet,—their common fate Tells the tale truly, shows their trothplight firm. They swore to work mine ill-starred father’s death, They swore to die together; ’tis fulfilled. O ye who stand, this great doom’s witnesses, Behold this too, the dark device which bound My sire unhappy to his death,—behold The mesh which trapped his hands, enwound his feet! Stand round, unfold it—’tis the trammel-net That wrapped a chieftain; holds it that he see, The father—not my sire, but he whose eye Is judge of all things, the all-seeing Sun! Let him behold my mother’s damnèd deed, Then let him stand, when need shall be to me, Witness that justly I have sought and slain My mother; blameless was Aegisthus’ doom— He died the death law bids adulterers die. But she who plotted this accursèd thing To slay her lord, by whom she bare beneath Her girdle once the burden of her babes, Beloved erewhile, now turned to hateful foes— What deem ye of her? or what venomed thing, Sea-snake or adder, had more power than she To poison with a touch the flesh unscarred? So great her daring, such her impious will. How name her, if I may not speak a curse? A lion-springe! a laver’s swathing cloth, Wrapping a dead man, twining round his feet— A net, a trammel, an entangling robe? Such were the weapon of some strangling thief, The terror of the road, a cut-purse hound— With such device full many might he kill, Full oft exult in heat of villainy. Ne’er have my house so cursed an indweller— Heaven send me, rather, childless to be slain!

CHORUS Woe for each desperate deed! Woe for the queen, with shame of life bereft! And ah, for him who still is left, Madness, dark blossom of a bloody seed!

ORESTES Did she the deed or not? this robe gives proof, Imbrued with blood that bathed Aegisthus’ sword: Look, how the spurted stain combines with time To blur the many dyes that once adorned Its pattern manifold! I now stand here, Made glad, made sad with blood, exulting, wailing— Hear, O thou woven web that slew my sire! I grieve for deed and death and all my home— Victor, pollution’s damnèd stain for prize.

CHORUS Alas, that none of mortal men Can pass his life untouched by pain! Behold, one woe is here— Another loometh near.