Chapter 12

CLYTEMNESTRA. Again you are let loose and range at will. Ay, for Aegisthus is not here, who barred Your rashness from defaming your own kin Beyond the gates. But now he's gone from home, You heed not me: though you have noised abroad That I am bold in crime, and domineer Outrageously, oppressing thee and thine. I am no oppressor, but I speak thee ill, For thou art ever speaking ill of me-- Still holding forth thy father's death, that I Have done it. So I did: I know it well: That I deny not; for not I alone But Justice slew him; and if you had sense, To side with Justice ought to be your part. For who but he of all the Greeks, your sire, For whom you whine and cry, who else but he Took heart to sacrifice unto the Gods Thy sister?--having less of pain, I trow, In getting her, than I, that bore her, knew! Come, let me question thee! On whose behalf Slew he my child? Was 't for the Argive host? What right had they to traffic in my flesh?-- Menelaues was his brother. Wilt thou say He slew my daughter for his brother's sake? How then should he escape me? Had not he, Menelaues, children twain, begotten of her Whom to reclaim that army sailed to Troy? Was Death then so enamoured of my seed, That he must feast thereon and let theirs live? Or was the God-abandoned father's heart Tender toward them and cruel to my child? Doth this not argue an insensate sire? I think so, though your wisdom may demur. And could my lost one speak, she would confirm it. For my part, I can dwell on what I have done Without regret. You, if you think me wrong, Bring reasons forth and blame me to my face!

EL. Thou canst not say this time that I began And brought this on me by some taunting word. But, so you'd suffer me, I would declare The right both for my sister and my sire.

CLY. Thou hast my sufferance. Nor would hearing vex, If ever thus you tuned your speech to me.

EL. Then I will speak. You say you slew him. Where Could there be found confession more depraved, Even though the cause were righteous? But I'll prove No rightful vengeance drew thee to the deed, But the vile bands of him you dwell with now. Or ask the huntress Artemis, what sin She punished, when she tied up all the winds Round Aulis.--I will tell thee, for her voice Thou ne'er may'st hear! 'Tis rumoured that my sire, Sporting within the goddess' holy ground, His foot disturbed a dappled hart, whose death Drew from his lips some rash and boastful word. Wherefore Latona's daughter in fell wrath Stayed the army, that in quittance for the deer My sire should slay at the altar his own child. So came her sacrifice. The Achaean fleet Had else no hope of being launched to Troy Nor to their homes. Wherefore, with much constraint And painful urging of his backward will, Hardly he yielded;--not for his brother's sake. But grant thy speech were sooth, and all were done In aid of Menelaues; for this cause Hadst thou the right to slay him? What high law Ordaining? Look to it, in establishing Such precedent thou dost not lay in store Repentance for thyself. For if by right One die for one, thou first wilt be destroyed If Justice find thee.--But again observe The hollowness of thy pretended plea. Tell me, I pray, what cause thou dost uphold In doing now the basest deed of all, Chambered with the blood-guilty, with whose aid Thou slewest our father in that day. For him You now bear children--ousting from their right The stainless offspring of a holy sire. How should this plead for pardon? Wilt thou say Thus thou dost 'venge thy daughter's injury? O shameful plea? Where is the thought of honour, If foes are married for a daughter's sake?-- Enough. No words can move thee. Thy rash tongue With checkless clamour cries that we revile Our mother. Nay, no mother, but the chief Of tyrants to us! For my life is full Of weariness and misery from thee And from thy paramour. While he abroad, Orestes, our one brother, who escaped Hardly from thy attempt, unhappy boy! Wears out his life, victim of cross mischance. Oft hast thou taunted me with fostering him To be thy punisher. And this, be sure, Had I but strength, I had done. Now for this word, Proclaim me what thou wilt,--evil in soul, Or loud in cursing, or devoid of shame: For if I am infected with such guilt, Methinks my nature is not fallen from thine.

CH. (_looking at_ CLYTEMNESTRA). I see her fuming with fresh wrath: the thought Of justice enters not her bosom now.

CLY. What thought of justice should be mine for her, Who at her age can so insult a mother? Will shame withhold her from the wildest deed?

EL. Not unashamed, assure thee, I stand here, Little as thou mayest deem it. Well I feel My acts untimely and my words unmeet. But your hostility and treatment force me Against my disposition to this course. Harsh ways are taught by harshness.

CLY. Brazen thing! Too true it is that words and deeds of mine Are evermore informing thy harsh tongue.

EL. The shame is yours, because the deeds are yours. My words are but their issue and effect.

CLY. By sovereign Artemis, whom still I serve, You'll rue this boldness when Aegisthus comes.

EL. See now, your anger bears you off, and ne'er Will let you listen, though you gave me leave.

CLY. Must I not even sacrifice in peace From your harsh clamour, when you've had your say?

EL. I have done. I check thee not. Go, sacrifice! Accuse not me of hindering piety.

CLY. (_to an attendant_). Then lift for me those fruitful offerings, While to Apollo, before whom we stand, I raise my supplication for release From doubts and fears that shake my bosom now. And, O defender of our house! attend My secret utterance. No friendly ear Is that which hearkens for my voice. My thought Must not be blazoned with her standing by, Lest through her envious and wide-babbling tongue She fill the city full of wild surmise. List, then, as I shall speak: and grant the dreams Whose two-fold apparition I to-night Have seen, if good their bodement, be fulfilled: If hostile, turn their influence on my foes. And yield not them their wish that would by guile Thrust me from this high fortune, but vouchsafe That ever thus exempt from harms I rule The Atridae's home and kingdom, in full life, Partaking with the friends I live with now All fair prosperity, and with my children, Save those who hate and vex me bitterly. Lykeian Phoebus, favourably hear My prayer, and grant to all of us our need! More is there, which, though I be silent here, A God should understand. No secret thing Is hidden from the all-seeing sons of Heaven.

_Enter the_ Old Man.

OLD M. Kind dames and damsels, may I clearly know If these be King Aegisthus' palace-halls?

CH. They are, sir; you yourself have guessed aright.

OLD M. May I guess further that in yonder dame I see his queen? She looks right royally.

CH. 'Tis she,--no other,--whom your eyes behold.

OLD M. Princess, all hail! To thee and to thy spouse I come with words of gladness from a friend.

CLY. That auspice I accept. But I would first Learn from thee who of men hath sent thee forth?

OLD M. Phanoteus the Phocian, with a charge of weight.

CLY. Declare it, stranger. Coming from a friend, Thou bring'st us friendly tidings, I feel sure.

OLD M. Orestes' death. Ye have the sum in brief.

EL. Ah me! undone! This day hath ruined me.

CLY. What? Let me hear again. Regard her not.

OLD M. Again I say it, Orestes is no more.

EL. Undone! undone! Farewell to life and hope!

CLY. (_to_ ELECTRA). See thou to thine own case! (_To_ Old Man) Now, stranger, tell me In true discourse the manner of his death.

OLD M. For that I am here, and I will tell the whole. He, entering on the great arena famed As Hellas' pride, to win a Delphian prize, On hearing the loud summons of the man Calling the foot-race, which hath trial first, Came forward, a bright form, admired by all. And when his prowess in the course fulfilled The promise of his form, he issued forth Dowered with the splendid meed of victory.-- To tell a few out of the many feats Of such a hero were beyond my power. Know then, in brief, that of the prizes set For every customary course proclaimed By order of the judges, the whole sum Victoriously he gathered, happy deemed By all; declared an Argive, and his name Orestes, son of him who levied once The mighty armament of Greeks for Troy. So fared he then: but when a God inclines To hinder happiness, not even the strong Are scatheless. So, another day, when came At sunrise the swift race of charioteers, He entered there with many a rival car:-- One from Achaia, one from Sparta, two Libyan commanders of the chariot-yoke; And he among them fifth, with steeds of price From Thessaly;--the sixth Aetolia sent With chestnut mares; the seventh a Magnete man; The eighth with milk-white colts from Oeta's vale; The ninth from god-built Athens; and the tenth Boeotia gave to make the number full. Then stood they where the judges of the course Had posted them by lot, each with his team; And sprang forth at the brazen trumpet's blare. Shouting together to their steeds, they shook The reins, and all the course was filled with noise Of rattling chariots, and the dust arose To heaven. Now all in a confused throng Spared not the goad, each eager to outgo The crowded axles and the snorting steeds; For close about his nimbly circling wheels And stooping sides fell flakes of panted foam. Orestes, ever nearest at the turn, With whirling axle seemed to graze the stone, And loosing with free rein the right-hand steed That pulled the side-rope[5], held the near one in. So for a time all chariots upright moved, But soon the Oetaean's hard-mouthed horses broke From all control, and wheeling as they passed From the sixth circuit to begin the seventh, Smote front to front against the Barcan car. And when that one disaster had befallen, Each dashed against his neighbour and was thrown, Till the whole plain was strewn with chariot-wreck. Then the Athenian, skilled to ply the rein, Drew on one side, and heaving to, let pass The rider-crested surge that rolled i' the midst. Meanwhile Orestes, trusting to the end, Was driving hindmost with tight rein; but now, Seeing him left the sole competitor, Hurling fierce clamour through his steeds, pursued: So drave they yoke by yoke--now this, now that Pulling ahead with car and team. Orestes, Ill-fated one, each previous course had driven Safely without a check, but after this, In letting loose again the left-hand rein[6], He struck the edge of the stone before he knew, Shattering the axle's end, and tumbled prone, Caught in the reins[7], that dragged him with sharp thongs. Then as he fell to the earth the horses swerved, And roamed the field. The people when they saw Him fallen from out the car, lamented loud For the fair youth, who had achieved before them Such glorious feats, and now had found such woe,-- Dashed on the ground, then tossed with legs aloft Against the sky,--until the charioteers, Hardly restraining the impetuous team, Released him, covered so with blood that none,-- No friend who saw--had known his hapless form. Which then we duly burned upon the pyre. And straightway men appointed to the task From all the Phocians bear his mighty frame-- Poor ashes! narrowed in a brazen urn,-- That he may find in his own fatherland His share of sepulture.--Such our report, Painful to hear, but unto us, who saw, The mightiest horror that e'er met mine eye.

CH. Alas! the stock of our old masters, then, Is utterly uprooted and destroyed.

CLY. O heavens! what shall I say? That this is well? Or terrible, but gainful? Hard my lot, To save my life through my calamity!

OLD M. Lady, why hath my speech disheartened thee?

CLY. To be a mother hath a marvellous power: No injury can make one hate one's child.

OLD M. Then it should seem our coming was in vain.

CLY. In vain? Nay, verily; thou, that hast brought Clear evidences of his fate, who, sprung Prom my life's essence, severed from my breast And nurture, was estranged in banishment, And never saw me from the day he went Out from this land, but for his father's blood Threatened me still with accusation dire; That sleep nor soothed at night nor sweetly stole My senses from the day, but, all my time, Each instant led me on the way to death!-- But this day's chance hath freed me from all fear Of him, and of this maid: who being at home Troubled me more, and with unmeasured thirst Kept draining my life-blood; but now her threats Will leave us quiet days, methinks, and peace Unbroken.--How then shouldst thou come in vain?

EL. O misery! 'Tis time to wail thy fate, Orestes, when, in thy calamity, Thy mother thus insults thee. Is it well?

CLY. 'Tis well that he is gone, not that you live.

EL. Hear, 'venging spirits of the lately dead!

CLY. The avenging spirits have heard and answered well.

EL. Insult us now, for thou art fortunate!

CLY. You and Orestes are to quench my pride.

EL. Our pride is quenched. No hope of quenching thee!

CLY. A world of good is in thy coming, stranger, Since thou hast silenced this all-clamorous tongue.

OLD M. Then I may go my way, seeing all is well.

CLY. Nay, go not yet! That would disgrace alike Me and the friend who sent you to our land. But come thou in, and leave her out of door To wail her own and loved ones' overthrow. [_Exeunt_ CLYTEMNESTRA _and_ Old Man

EL. Think you the wretch in heartfelt agony Weeps inconsolably her perished son? She left us with a laugh! O misery! How thou hast ruined me, dear brother mine, By dying! Thou hast torn from out my heart The only hope I cherished yet, that thou Living wouldst come hereafter to avenge Thy father's woes and mine. Where must I go? Since I am left of thee and of my sire Bereaved and lonely, and once more must be The drudge and menial of my bitterest foes, My father's murderers. Say, is it well? Nay, nevermore will I consort with these, But sinking here before the palace gate, Thus, friendless, I will wither out my life. Hereat if any in the house be vexed, Let them destroy me; for to take my life Were kindness, and to live is only pain: Life hath not kindled my desires with joy.

CH. 1. O ever-blazing sun! I 1 O lightning of the eternal Sire! Can ye behold this done And tamely hide your all-avenging fire?

EL. Ah me!

CH. 2. My daughter, why these tears?

EL. Woe!

CH. 3. Weep not, calm thy fears.

EL. You kill me.

CH. 4. How?

EL. To breathe A hope for one beneath So clearly sunk in death, 'Tis to afflict me more Already pining sore.

CH. 5. One in a woman's toils I 2 Was tangled[8], buried by her glittering coils, Who now beneath--

EL. Ah woe!

CH. 6. Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.

EL. O dreadful!

CH. 7. Dreadful was the wrong.

EL. But she was quelled.

CH. 8. Ay.

EL. True! That faithful mourner knew A brother's aid. But I Have no man now. The one I had, is gone, is gone. Rapt into nothingness.

CH. 9. Thou art wrung with sore distress. II 1

EL. I know it. Too well I know, Taught by a life of woe, Where horror dwells without relief.

CH. 10. Our eyes have seen thy grief.

EL. Then comfort not again--

CH. 11. Whither now turns thy strain?

EL. One utterly bereft, Seeing no hope is left, Of help from hands owning the same great sire.

CH. 12. 'Tis nature's debt. II 2

EL. To expire On sharp-cut dragging thongs, 'Midst wildly trampling throngs Of swiftly racing hoofs, like him, Poor hapless one?

CH. 13. Vast, dim, And boundless was the harm.

EL. Yea, severed from mine arm, By strangers kept--

CH. 14. O pain!

EL. Hidden he must remain, Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.

_Enter_ CHRYSOTHEMIS.

CHR. Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come, Reckless of dignity, with headlong speed. For news I bear of joy and sweet relief From ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.

EL. Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes, That close in darkness without hope of dawn?

CHR. Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth, As certainly as you now look on me.

EL. What? Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh Over thine own calamity and mine?

CHR. No, by our father's hearth, I say not this In mockery. I tell you he is come.

EL. Me miserable! Who hath given thine ear The word that so hath wrought on thy belief?

CHR. Myself am the eyewitness, no one else Gained my belief, but proofs I clearly saw.

EL. What sign hath so engrossed thine eye, poor girl? What sight hath fired thee with this quenchless glow?

CHR. But list to me, I pray thee, that henceforth Thou mayest account me clear eyed, or a fool!

EL. By all means, if it pleasure thee, say on.

CHR. Well, I will tell thee all I saw:--I came Unto the ancient tomb that holds our sire; And from the topmost mound I marked a stream Of milk fresh-flowing, and his resting place Ringed round with garlands of all flowers that blow. I marvelled at the sight, and peered about, Lest some one might be nearer than we knew. But finding all was quiet in the spot, I ventured closer to the tomb, and there, Hard by the limit, I beheld a curl Of hair new shorn, with all the gloss of youth And straight it struck my heart, as with a sense Of something seen, ah me! long, long ago, And told me that my sight encountered here The token of Orestes, dearest soul Then, clasping it, I did not cry aloud, But straight mine eyes were filled with tears of joy. And now as much as then I feel assured He and none else bestowed this ornament. To whom beyond thyself and me belongs Such consecration? And I know this well, I did it not,--nor thou. Impossible! Thou canst not worship even the blessed Gods Forth of this roof, unpunished. And, most sure, Our mother is not minded so to act, Nor, had she done it, could we fail to know. This offering comes then of Orestes' hand. Take courage, dear one. Not one fate pursues One house perpetually, but changeth still. Ours was a sullen Genius, but perchance This day begins the assurance of much good.

EL. Oh how I pity thine infatuate mind!

CHR. Why? Dost thou find no comfort in my news?

EL. You know not where you roam. Far wide! far wide!

CHR. Not know? when I have seen it with mine eyes?

EL. Dear, he is dead. Look not to him, poor girl! Salvation comes to thee no more from him.

CHR. Oh me, unfortunate! Who told thee this?

EL. He who stood by and saw his life destroyed.

CHR. Amazement seizes me. Where is that man?

EL. Right welcome to the mother there within.

CHR. Me miserable! Who then can have decked With all those ceremonies our father's tomb?

EL. I cannot but suppose some hand hath brought These gifts in memory of Orestes dead.

CHR. O cruel fate! While I in ecstasy Sped with such news, all ignorant, it seems, Of our dire fortune; and, arriving, find Fresh sorrows added to the former woe.

EL. It is so, sister; yet if thou wilt list To me, thou mayest disperse this heaviness.

CHR. What? Shall I raise the dead again to life?

EL. I did not mean so. I am not so fond.

CHR. What bid you then that I have power to do?

EL. To endure courageously what I enjoin.

CHR. So it make profit, I will not refuse.

EL. Remember, without toil no plan may thrive!

CHR. I know it, and will aid thee to my power.

EL. Then hearken my resolve. Thou seest now, We have no friendly succour in the world; But death has taken all, and we are left Two only. I, so long as I could hear My brother lived and flourished, still had hope He would arise to wreak his father's blood. But now that he is gone, to thee I turn, To help thy sister boldly to destroy The guilty author of our father's death, Aegisthus.--Wherefore hide it from thee now? --Yea, sister! Till what term wilt thou remain Inactive? To what end? What hope is yet Left standing? Surely thou hast cause to grieve, Bobbed of thy father's opulent heritage, And feeling bitterly the creeping years That find thee still a virgin and unwed. Nay, nor imagine thou shalt ever know That blessing. Not so careless of his life Is King Aegisthus, as to risk the birth Of sons from us, to his most certain fall. But if thou wilt but follow my resolve, First thou shalt win renown of piety From our dead father, and our brother too, Who rest beneath the ground, and shalt be free For evermore in station as in birth, And nobly matched in marriage, for the good Draw gazers to them still. Then seest thou not What meed of honour, if thou dost my will, Thou shalt apportion to thyself and me? For who, beholding us, what citizen, What foreigner, will not extend the hand Of admiration, and exclaim, 'See, friends, These scions of one stock, these noble twain, These that have saved their father's house from woe, Who once when foes were mighty, set their life Upon a cast, and stood forth to avenge The stain of blood! Who will not love the pair And do them reverence? Who will not give Honour at festivals, and in the throng Of popular resort, to these in chief, For their high courage and their bold emprise?' Such fame will follow us in all the world. Living or dying, still to be renowned. Ah, then, comply, dear sister; give thy sire This toil--this labour to thy brother give; End these my sufferings, end thine own regret: The well-born cannot bear to live in shame.

CH. In such affairs, for those who speak and hear Wise thoughtfulness is still the best ally.

CHR. True, noble women, and before she spake Sound thought should have prevented the rash talk That now hath proved her reckless. What wild aim Beckons thee forth in arming this design Whereto thou wouldst demand my ministry? Dost not perceive, thou art not man but woman, Of strength inferior to thine enemies,-- Their Genius daily prospering more and more, Whilst ours is dwindling into nothingness? Who then that plots against a life so strong Shall quit him of the danger without harm? Take heed we do not add to our distress Should some one hear of this our colloquy. Small help and poor advantage 'twere for us To win brief praise and then inglorious die. Nay, death is not so hateful as when one Desiring death is balked of that desire. And I beseech thee, ere in utter ruin We perish and make desolate our race, Refrain thy rage. And I will guard for thee In silence these thy words unrealized; If thou wilt learn this wisdom from long time, Having no strength, to bend before the strong.

CH. Comply. Than prudence and a heedful mind, No fairer treasure can be found for men.

EL. Thy words have not surprised me. Well I knew The good I offered would come back with scorn. I, all alone and with a single hand, Must do this. For it shall not rest undone.

CHR. Would thou hadst been thus minded when our sire Lay dying! In one act thou hadst compassed all.

EL. My spirit was the same: my mind was less.

CHR. Be such the life-long temper of thy mind!

EL. Thine admonition augurs little aid.

CHR. Yea. For the attempt would bring me certain bane.

EL. I envy thee thy prudence, hate thy fear.

CHR. Even when thou speak'st me fair, I will endure it.

EL. Take heart. That never will be thine from me.

CHR. Long time remains to settle that account.

EL. I find no profit in thee. Go thy way.

CHR. Profit there is, hadst thou a mind to learn.

EL. Go to thy mother and declare all this!

CHR. I am not so in hatred of thy life.

EL. Yet know the shame thou wouldst prepare for me.

CHR. No, no! Not shame, but care for thine estate.

EL. Must I still follow as thou thinkest good?

CHR. When thou hast wisdom, thou shalt be the guide.

EL. 'Tis hard when error wears the garb of sense.

CHR. Right. That is the misfortune of your case.

EL. Why? Feel you not the justice of my speech?

CHR. Justice may chance to bring me injury.

EL. I care not, I, to live by such a rule.