Chapter 2

Just at this One of the strangers started from his seat, And stood, and upward, downward, with a beat His head went, and he groaned, and all his arm Trembled. Then, as a hunter gives alarm, He shrieked, stark mad and raving: "Pylades, Dost see her there?--And there--Oh, no one sees!-- A she-dragon of Hell, and all her head Agape with fanged asps, to bite me dead. She hath no face, but somewhere from her cloak Bloweth a wind of fire and bloody smoke: The wings' beat fans it: in her arms, Ah see! My mother, dead grey stone, to cast on me And crush ... Help, help! They crowd on me behind ..."

No shapes at all were there. 'Twas his sick mind Which turned the herds that lowed and barking hounds That followed, to some visionary sounds Of Furies. For ourselves, we did but sit And watch in silence, wondering if the fit Would leave him dead. When suddenly out shone His sword, and like a lion he leaped upon Our herds, to fight his Furies! Flank and side He stabbed and smote them, till the foam was dyed Red at the waves' edge. Marry, when we saw The cattle hurt and falling, no more law We gave, but sprang to arms and blew the horn For help--so strong they looked and nobly born For thralls like us to meet, that pair unknown.

Well, a throng gathered ere much time was gone; When suddenly the whirl of madness slips From off him and he falls, quite weak, his lips Dropping with foam. When once we saw him fall So timely, we were at him one and all To pelt and smite. The other watched us come, But knelt and wiped those lips all dank with foam And tended the sick body, while he held His cloak's good web above him for a shield; So cool he was to ward off every stone And all the while care for that stricken one.

Then rose the fallen man, calm now and grave, Looked, and saw battle bursting like a wave That bursts, and knew that peril close at hand Which now is come, and groaned. On every hand We stood, and stoned and stoned, and ceased not. Aye, 'Twas then we heard that fearful battle-cry: "Ho, Pylades, 'tis death! But let it be A gallant death! Draw sword and follow me."

When those two swords came flashing, up the glen Through the loose rocks we scattered back; but when One band was flying, down by rocks and trees Came others pelting: did they turn on these, Back stole the first upon them, stone on stone. 'Twas past belief: of all those shots not one Struck home. The goddess kept her fated prey Perfect. Howbeit, at last we made our way Right, left and round behind them on the sands, And rushed, and beat the swords out of their hands, So tired they scarce could stand. Then to the king We bore them both, and he, not tarrying, Sends them to thee, to touch with holy spray-- And then the blood-bowl!

I have heard thee pray, Priestess, ere now for such a draft as this. Aye, slay but these two chiefs to Artemis And Hellas shall have paid thy debt, and know What blood was spilt in Aulis long ago.

LEADER. I marvel that one mad, whoe'er he be, Should sail from Hellas to the Friendless Sea.

IPHIGENIA. 'Tis well. Let thy hand bring them, and mine own Shall falter not till here God's will be done.

[EXIT HERDSMAN.]

O suffering heart, not fierce thou wast of old To shipwrecked men. Nay, pities manifold Held thee in fancy homeward, lest thy hand At last should fall on one of thine own land. But now, for visions that have turned to stone My heart, to know Orestes sees the sun No more, a cruel woman waits you here, Whoe'er ye be, and one without a tear. 'Tis true: I know by mine own evil will: One long in pain, if things more suffering still Fall to his hand, will hate them for his own Torment ... And no great wind hath ever blown, No ship from God hath passed the Clashing Gate, To bring me Helen, who hath earned my hate, And Menelaus, till I mocked their prayers In this new Aulis, that is mine, not theirs: Where Greek hands held me lifted, like a beast For slaughter, and my throat bled. And the priest My father! ... Not one pang have I forgot. Ah me, the blind half-prisoned arms I shot This way and that, to find his beard, his knees, Groping and wondering: "Father, what are these For bridal rites? My mother even now Mid Argive women sings for me, whom thou ... What dost thou? She sings happy songs, and all Is dance and sound of piping in the hall; And here ... Is he a vampyre, is he one That fattens on the dead, thy Peleus' son-- Whose passion shaken like a torch before My leaping chariot, lured me to this shore To wed--" Ah me! And I had hid my face, Burning, behind my veil. I would not press Orestes to my arms ... who now is slain! ... I would not kiss my sister's lips again, For shame and fulness of the heart to meet My bridegroom. All my kisses, all my sweet Words were stored up and hid: I should come back So soon to Argos! And thou, too: alack, Brother, if dead thou art, from what high things Thy youth is outcast, and the pride of kings Fallen! And this the goddess deemeth good! If ever mortal hand be dark with blood; Nay, touch a new-made mother or one slain In war, her ban is on him. 'Tis a stain She driveth from her outer walls; and then Herself doth drink this blood of slaughtered men? Could ever Leto, she of the great King Beloved, be mother to so gross a thing? These tales be lies, false as those feastings wild Of Tantalus and Gods that tore a child. This land of murderers to its god hath given Its own lust; evil dwelleth not in heaven.

[SHE GOES INTO THE TEMPLE.]

CHORUS.

Dark of the sea, dark of the sea, [STROPHE 1.] Gates of the warring water, One, in the old time, conquered you, A winged passion that burst the blue, When the West was shut and the Dawn lay free To the pain of Inachus' daughter. But who be these, from where the rushes blow On pale Eurotas, from pure Dirce's flow, That turn not neither falter, Seeking Her land, where no man breaketh bread, Her without pity, round whose virgin head Blood on the pillars rusts from long ago, Blood on the ancient altar. [ANTISTROPHE 1.] A flash of the foam, a flash of the foam, A wave on the oarblade welling, And out they passed to the heart of the blue: A chariot shell that the wild winds drew. Is it for passion of gold they come, Or pride to make great their dwelling?

For sweet is Hope, yea, to much mortal woe So sweet that none may turn from it nor go, Whom once the far voice calleth, To wander through fierce peoples and the gleam Of desolate seas, in every heart a dream: And these she maketh empty die, and, lo, To that man's hand she falleth.

[STROPHE 2.]

Through the Clashing Rocks they burst: They passed by the Cape unsleeping Of Phineus' sons accurst: They ran by the star-lit bay Upon magic surges sweeping, Where folk on the waves astray Have seen, through the gleaming grey, Ring behind ring, men say, The dance of the old Sea's daughters.

The guiding oar abaft It rippled and it dinned, And now the west wind laughed And now the south-west wind; And the sail was full in flight, And they passed by the Island White:

Birds, birds, everywhere, White as the foam, light as the air; And ghostly Achilles raceth there, Far in the Friendless Waters. [ANTISTROPHE 1.] Ah, would that Leda's child ... (So prayeth the priestess maiden) From Troy, that she beguiled, Hither were borne, to know What sin on her soul is laden! Hair twisted, throat held low, Head back for the blood to flow, To die by the sword. ... Ah no! One hope my soul yet hideth.

A sail, a sail from Greece, Fearless to cross the sea, With ransom and with peace To my sick captivity. O home, to see thee still, And the old walls on the hill!

Dreams, dreams, gather to me! Bear me on wings over the sea; O joy of the night, to slave and free, One good thing that abideth!

LEADER. But lo, the twain whom Thoas sends, Their arms in bondage grasped sore; Strange offering this, to lay before The Goddess! Hold your peace, O friends.

Onward, still onward, to this shrine They lead the first-fruits of the Greek. 'Twas true, the tale he came to speak, That watcher of the mountain kine.

O holy one, if it afford Thee joy, what these men bring to thee, Take thou their sacrifice, which we, By law of Hellas, hold abhorred.

[Enter ORESTES and PYLADES, bound, and guarded by taurians. re-enter IPHIGENIA.]

IPHIGENIA. So be it. My foremost care must be that nothing harms The temple's holy rule.--Untie their arms. That which is hallowed may no more be bound. You, to the shrine within! Let all be found As the law bids, and as we need this day.

[ORESTES and PYLADES are set free; some ATTENDANTS go into the temple.]

Ah me! What mother then was yours, O strangers, say, And father? And your sister, if you have A sister: both at once, so young and brave To leave her brotherless! Who knows when heaven May send that fortune? For to none is given To know the coming nor the end of woe; So dark is God, and to great darkness go His paths, by blind chance mazed from our ken. Whence are ye come, O most unhappy men? From some far home, methinks, ye have found this shore And far shall stay from home for evermore.

ORESTES. Why weepest thou, woman, to make worse the smart Of that which needs must be, whoe'er thou art? I count it not for gentleness, when one Who means to slay, seeks first to make undone By pity that sharp dread. Nor praise I him, With hope long dead, who sheddeth tears to dim The pain that grips him close. The evil so Is doubled into twain. He doth but show His feeble heart, and, as he must have died, Dies.--Let ill fortune float upon her tide And weep no more for us. What way this land Worships its god we know and understand.

IPHIGENIA. Say first ... which is it men call Pylades?

ORESTES. 'Tis this man's name, if that will give thee ease.

IPHIGENIA. From what walled town of Hellas cometh he?

ORESTES. Enough!--How would the knowledge profit thee?

IPHIGENIA. Are ye two brethren of one mother born?

ORESTES. No, not in blood. In love we are brothers sworn.

IPHIGENIA. Thou also hast a name: tell me thereof.

ORESTES. Call me Unfortunate. 'Tis name enough.

IPHIGENIA. I asked not that. Let that with Fortune lie.

ORESTES. Fools cannot laugh at them that nameless die.

IPHIGENIA. Why grudge me this? Hast thou such mighty fame?

ORESTES. My body, if thou wilt, but not my name.

IPHIGENIA. Nor yet the land of Greece where thou wast bred?

ORESTES. What gain to have told it thee, when I am dead?

IPHIGENIA. Nay: why shouldst thou deny so small a grace?

ORESTES. Know then, great Argos was my native place.

IPHIGENIA. Stranger! The truth! ... From Argos art thou come?

ORESTES. Mycenae, once a rich land, was my home.

IPHIGENIA. 'Tis banishment that brings thee here--or what?

ORESTES. A kind of banishment, half forced, half sought.

IPHIGENIA. Wouldst thou but tell me all I need of thee!

ORESTES. 'Twere not much added to my misery.

IPHIGENIA. From Argos! ... Oh, how sweet to see thee here!

ORESTES. Enjoy it, then. To me 'tis sorry cheer.

IPHIGENIA. Thou knowest the name of Troy? Far doth it flit.

ORESTES. Would God I had not; nay, nor dreamed of it.

IPHIGENIA. Men fable it is fallen beneath the sword?

ORESTES. Fallen it is. Thou hast heard no idle word.

IPHIGENIA. Fallen! At last!--And Helen taken too?

ORESTES. Aye; on an evil day for one I knew.

IPHIGENIA. Where is she? I too have some anger stored ...

ORESTES. In Sparta! Once more happy with her lord!

IPHIGENIA. Oh. hated of all Greece, not only me!

ORESTES. I too have tasted of her wizardry.

IPHIGENIA. And came the armies home, as the tales run?

ORESTES. To answer that were many tales in one.

IPHIGENIA. Oh, give me this hour full! Thou wilt soon die.

ORESTES. Ask, if such longing holds thee. I will try.

IPHIGENIA. A seer called Calchas! Did he ever come ...?

ORESTES.

Calchas is dead, as the news went at home.

IPHIGENIA.

Good news, ye gods!--Odysseus, what of him?

ORESTES.

Not home yet, but still living, as men deem.

IPHIGENIA.

Curse him! And may he see his home no more.

ORESTES.

Why curse him? All his house is stricken sore.

IPHIGENIA.

How hath the Nereid's son, Achilles, sped?

ORESTES.

Small help his bridal brought him! He is dead.

IPHIGENIA.

A fierce bridal, so the sufferers tell!

ORESTES.

Who art thou, questioning of Greece so well?

IPHIGENIA.

I was Greek. Evil caught me long ago.

ORESTES. Small wonder, then, thou hast such wish to know.

IPHIGENIA. That war-lord, whom they call so high in bliss...

ORESTES. None such is known to me. What name was his?

IPHIGENIA. They called him Agamemnon, Atreus' son.

ORESTES. I know not. Cease.--My questioning is done.

IPHIGENIA. 'Twill be such joy to me! How fares he? Tell!

ORESTES. Dead. And hath wrecked another's life as well.

IPHIGENIA. Dead? By what dreadful fortune? Woe is me!

ORESTES. Why sighst thou? Had he any link with thee?

IPHIGENIA. I did but think of his old joy and pride.

ORESTES. His own wife foully stabbed him, and he died.

IPHIGENIA. O God! I pity her that slew ... and him that slew.

ORESTES. Now cease thy questions. Add no word thereto.

IPHIGENIA. But one word. Lives she still, that hapless wife?

ORESTES. No. Her own son, her first-born, took her life.

IPHIGENIA. O shipwrecked house! What thought was in his brain?

ORESTES. Justice on her, to avenge his father slain.

IPHIGENIA. Alas! A bad false duty bravely hath he wrought.

ORESTES. Yet God, for all his duty, helps him not.

IPHIGENIA. And not one branch of Atreus' tree lives on?

ORESTES. Electra lives, unmated and alone.

IPHIGENIA. The child they slaughtered ... is there word of her?

ORESTES. Why, no, save that she died in Aulis there.

IPHIGENIA. Poor child! Poor father, too, who killed and lied!

ORESTES. For a bad woman's worthless sake she died.

IPHIGENIA. The dead king's son, lives he in Argos still?

ORESTES. He lives, now here, now nowhere, bent with ill.

IPHIGENIA. O dreams, light dreams, farewell! Ye too were lies.

ORESTES. Aye; the gods too, whom mortals deem so wise, Are nothing clearer than some winged dream; And all their ways, like man's ways, but a stream Of turmoil. He who cares to suffer least, Not blind, as fools are blinded, by a priest, Goes straight... to what death, those who know him know.

LEADER. We too have kinsmen dear, but, being low, None heedeth, live they still or live they not.

IPHIGENIA (WITH SUDDEN IMPULSE). Listen! For I am fallen upon a thought, Strangers, of some good use to you and me, Both. And 'tis thus most good things come to be, When different eyes hold the same for fair.

Stranger, if I can save thee, wilt thou bear To Argos and the friends who loved my youth Some word? There is a tablet which, in truth For me and mine ill works, a prisoner wrote, Ta'en by the king in war. He knew 'twas not My will that craved for blood, but One on high Who holds it righteous her due prey shall die. And since that day no Greek hath ever come Whom I could save and send to Argos home With prayer for help to any friend: but thou, I think, dost loathe me not; and thou dost know Mycenae and the names that fill my heart. Help me! Be saved! Thou also hast thy part, Sending Completed Page, Please Wait ...

IPHIGENIA. 'Tis I. This altar's spell is over me.

ORESTES. A grievous office and unblest, O maid.

IPHIGENIA. What dare I do? The law must be obeyed.

ORESTES. A girl to hold a sword and stab men dead!

IPHIGENIA. I shall but sign the water on thy head.

ORESTES. And who shall strike me, if I needs must ask?

IPHIGENIA. There be within these vaults who know their task.

ORESTES. My grave, when they have finished their desire?

IPHIGENIA. A great gulf of the rock, and holy fire.

ORESTES. Woe's me! Would that my sister's hand could close mine eyes!

IPHIGENIA. Alas, she dwelleth under distant skies, Unhappy one, and vain is all thy prayer. Yet, Oh, them art from Argos: all of care That can be, I will give and fail thee not. Rich raiment to thy burial shall be brought, And oil to cool thy pyre in golden floods, And sweet that from a thousand mountain buds The murmuring bee hath garnered, I will throw To die with thee in fragrance. ... I must go And seek the tablet from the Goddess' room Within.--Oh, do not hate me for my doom!

Watch them, ye servitors, but leave them free.

It may be, past all hoping, it may be, My word shall sail to Argos, to his hand Whom most I love. How joyous will he stand To know, past hope, that here on the world's rim His dead are living, and cry out for him!

[She goes into the Temple.]

CHORUS. Alas, we pity thee; surely we pity thee: [Strophe.] Who art given over to the holy water, The drops that fall deadly as drops of blood.

ORESTES. I weep not, ye Greek maidens: but farewell.

CHORUS.

[ANTISTROPHE.]

Aye, and rejoice with thee; surely rejoice with thee, Thou happy rover from the place of slaughter; Thy foot shall stand again where thy father's stood.

PYLADES. While he I love must die? 'Tis miserable.

DIVERS WOMEN OF THE CHORUS. A. Alas, the deathward faring of the lost! B. Woe, woe; thou too shalt move to misery. C Which one shall suffer most? D. My heart is torn by two words evenly, For thee should I most sorrow, or for thee?

ORESTES. By heaven, is THY thought, Pylades, like mine?

PYLADES. O friend, I cannot speak.--But what is thine?

ORESTES. Who can the damsel be? How Greek her tone Of question, all of Ilion overthrown, And how the kings came back, the wizard flame Of Calchas, and Achilles' mighty name, And ill-starred Agamemnon. With a keen Pity she spoke, and asked me of his queen And children ... The strange woman comes from there By race, an Argive maid.--What aileth her With tablets, else, and questionings as though Her own heart beat with Argos' joy or woe?

PYLADES. Thy speech is quicker, friend, else I had said The same; though surely all men visited By ships have heard the fall of the great kings. But let that be: I think of other things ...

ORESTES. What? If thou hast need of me, let it be said.

PYLADES. I cannot live for shame if thou art dead. I sailed together with thee; let us die Together. What a coward slave were I, Creeping through Argos and from glen to glen Of wind-torn Phocian hills! And most of men-- For most are bad--will whisper how one day I left my friend to die and made my way Home. They will say I watched the sinking breath Of thy great house and plotted for thy death To wed thy sister, climb into thy throne... I dread, I loathe it.--Nay, all ways but one Are shut. My last breath shall go forth with thine, Thy bloody sword, thy gulf of fire be mine Also. I love thee and I dread men's scorn.

ORESTES. Peace from such thoughts! My burden can be borne; But where one pain sufficeth, double pain I will not bear. Nay, all that scorn and stain That fright thee, on mine own head worse would be If I brought death on him who toiled for me. It is no bitter thing for such an one As God will have me be, at last to have done With living. THOU art happy; thy house lies At peace with God, unstained in men's eyes; Mine is all evil fate and evil life ... Nay, thou once safe, my sister for thy wife-- So we agreed:--in sons of hers and thine My name will live, nor Agamemnon's line Be blurred for ever like an evil scroll. Back! Rule thy land! Let life be in thy soul! And when thou art come to Hellas, and the plain Of Argos where the horsemen ride, again-- Give me thy hand!--I charge thee, let there be Some death-mound and a graven stone for me. My sister will go weep thereat, and shear A tress or two. Say how I ended here, Slain by a maid of Argolis, beside God's altar, in mine own blood purified.

And fare thee well. I have no friend like thee For truth and love, O boy that played with me, And hunted on Greek hills, O thou on whom Hath lain the hardest burden of my doom! Farewell. The Prophet and the Lord of Lies Hath done his worst. Far out from Grecian skies With craft forethought he driveth me, to die Where none may mark how ends his prophecy! I trusted in his word. I gave him all My heart. I slew my mother at his call; For which things now he casts me here to die.

PYLADES. Thy tomb shall fail thee not. Thy sister I Will guard for ever. I, O stricken sore, Who loved thee living and shall love thee more Dead. But for all thou standest on the brink, God's promise hath not yet destroyed thee. Think! How oft, how oft the darkest hour of ill Breaks brightest into dawn, if Fate but will!

ORESTES. Enough. Nor god nor man can any more Aid me. The woman standeth at the door.

[enter IPHIGENIA from the Temple.]

IPHIGENIA. Go ye within; and have all things of need In order set for them that do the deed. There wait my word.

[ATTENDANTS go in.]

Ye strangers, here I hold The many-lettered tablet, fold on fold. Yet ... one thing still. No man, once unafraid And safe, remembereth all the vows he made In fear of death. My heart misgiveth me, Lest he who bears my tablet, once gone free, Forget me here and set my charge at naught.

ORESTES. What wouldst thou, then? Thou hast some troubling thought.

IPHIGENIA. His sworn oath let him give, to bear this same Tablet to Argos, to the friend I name.

ORESTES. And if he give this oath, wilt thou swear too?

IPHIGENIA. What should I swear to do or not to do?

ORESTES. Send him from Tauris safe and free from ill.

IPHIGENIA. I promise. How else could he do my will?

ORESTES. The King will suffer this?

IPHIGENIA. Yes: I can bend The King, and set upon his ship thy friend.

ORESTES. Choose then what oath is best, and he will swear.

IPHIGENIA (to PYLADES, who has come up to her). Say: "To thy friend this tablet I will bear."

PYLADES (TAKING THE TABLET). Good. I will bear this tablet to thy friend.

IPHIGENIA. And I save thee beyond this kingdom's end.

PYLADES. What god dost thou invoke to witness this?

IPHIGENIA. Her in whose house I labour, Artemis.

PYLADES. And I the Lord of Heaven, eternal Zeus.

IPHIGENIA. And if thou fail me, or thine oath abuse ...?

PYLADES. May I see home no more. And thou, what then?

IPHIGENIA. May this foot never tread Greek earth again.

PYLADES. But stay: there is one chance we have forgot.

IPHIGENIA. A new oath can be sworn, if this serve not.

PYLADES. In one case set me free. Say I be crossed With shipwreck, and, with ship and tablet lost And all I bear, my life be saved alone: Let not this oath be held a thing undone, To curse me.

IPHIGENIA. Nay, then, many ways are best To many ends. The words thou carriest Enrolled and hid beneath that tablet's rim, I will repeat to thee, and thou to him I look for. Safer so. If the scrip sail Unhurt to Greece, itself will tell my tale Unaided: if it drown in some wide sea, Save but thyself, my words are saved with thee.

PYLADES. For thy sake and for mine 'tis fairer so. Now let me hear his name to whom I go In Argolis, and how my words should run.

IPHIGENIA (REPEATING THE WORDS BY HEART). Say: "To Orestes, Agamemnon's son She that was slain in Aulis, dead to Greece Yet quick, Iphigenia sendeth peace:"

ORESTES. Iphigenia! Where? Back from the dead?

IPHIGENIA. 'Tis I. But speak not, lest thou break my thread.-- "Take me to Argos, brother, ere I die, Back from the Friendless Peoples and the high Altar of Her whose bloody rites I wreak."

ORESTES (ASIDE). Where am I, Pylades? How shall I speak?

IPHIGENIA. "Else one in grief forsaken shall, like shame, Haunt thee."

PYLADES (aside). Orestes!

IPHIGENIA (overhearing him). Yes: that is the name.

PYLADES. Ye Gods above!

IPHIGENIA. Why callest thou on God For words of mine?

PYLADES. 'Tis nothing. 'Twas a road My thoughts had turned. Speak on.--No need for us To question; we shall hear things marvellous.