CHORUSYet how should oath—how loyally soe’erI swear it—aught avail thee? In good sooth,My wonder meets thy claim: I stand amazedThat thou, a maiden born beyond the seas,Dost as a native know and tell arightTales of a city of an alien tongue.CASSANDRAThat is my power—a boon Apollo gave.CHORUSGod though he were, yearning for mortal maid?CASSANDRAAy! what seemed shame of old is shame no more.CHORUSSuch finer sense suits not with slavery.CASSANDRAHe strove to win me, panting for my love.CHORUSCame ye by compact unto bridal joys?CASSANDRANay—for I plighted troth, then foiled the god.CHORUSWert thou already dowered with prescience?CASSANDRAYea—prophetess to Troy of all her doom.CHORUSHow left thee then Apollo’s wrath unscathed?CASSANDRAI, false to him, seemed prophet false to all.CHORUSNot so—to us at least thy words seem sooth.CASSANDRAWoe for me, woe! Again the agony—Dread pain that sees the future all too wellWith ghastly preludes whirls and racks my soul.Behold ye—yonder on the palace roofThe spectre-children sitting—look, such thingsAs dreams are made on, phantoms as of babes,Horrible shadows, that a kinsman’s handHath marked with murder, and their arms are full—A rueful burden—see, they hold them up,The entrails upon which their father fed!For this, for this, I say there plots revengeA coward lion, couching in the lair—Guarding the gate against my master’s foot—My master—mine—I bear the slave’s yoke now,And he, the lord of ships, who trod down Troy,Knows not the fawning treachery of tongueOf this thing false and dog-like—how her speechGlozes and sleeks her purpose, till she winBy ill fate’s favour the desired chance,Moving like Atè to a secret end.O aweless soul! the woman slays her lord—Woman? what loathsome monster of the earthWere fit comparison? The double snake—Or Scylla, where she dwells, the seaman’s bane,Girt round about with rocks? some hag of hell,Raving a truceless curse upon her kin?Hark—even now she cries exultinglyThe vengeful cry that tells of battle turned—How fain, forsooth, to greet her chief restored!Nay then, believe me not: what skills beliefOr disbelief? Fate works its will—and thouWilt see and say in ruth,Her tale was true.CHORUSAh—’tis Thyestes’ feast on kindred flesh—I guess her meaning and with horror thrill,Hearing no shadow’d hint of th’ o’er-true tale,But its full hatefulness: yet, for the rest,Far from the track I roam, and know no more.CASSANDRA’Tis Agamemnon’s doom thou shalt behold.CHORUSPeace, hapless woman, to thy boding words!CASSANDRAFar from my speech stands he who sains and saves.CHORUSAy—were such doom at hand—which God forbid!CASSANDRAThou prayest idly—these move swift to slay.CHORUSWhat man prepares a deed of such despite?CASSANDRAFool! thus to read amiss mine oracles.CHORUSDeviser and device are dark to me.CASSANDRADark! all too well I speak the Grecian tongue.CHORUSAy—but in thine, as in Apollo’s strains,Familiar is the tongue, but dark the thought.CASSANDRAAh ah the fire! it waxes, nears me now—Woe, woe for me, Apollo of the dawn!Lo, how the woman-thing, the lionessCouched with the wolf—her noble mate afar—Will slay me, slave forlorn! Yea, like some witch,She drugs the cup of wrath, that slays her lordWith double death—his recompense for me!Ay, ’tis for me, the prey he bore from Troy,That she hath sworn his death, and edged the steel!Ye wands, ye wreaths that cling around my neck,Ye showed me prophetess yet scorned of all—I stamp you into death, or e’er I die—Down, to destruction!Thus I stand revenged—Go, crown some other with a prophet’s woe.Look! it is he, it is Apollo’s selfRending from me the prophet-robe he gave.God! while I wore it yet, thou saw’st me mockedThere at my home by each malicious mouth—To all and each, an undivided scorn.The name alike and fate of witch and cheat—Woe, poverty, and famine—all I bore;And at this last the god hath brought me hereInto death’s toils, and what his love had made,His hate unmakes me now: and I shall standNot now before the altar of my home,But me a slaughter-house and block of bloodShall see hewn down, a reeking sacrifice.Yet shall the gods have heed of me who die,For by their will shall one requite my doom.He, to avenge his father’s blood outpoured,Shall smite and slay with matricidal hand.Ay, he shall come—tho’ far away he roam,A banished wanderer in a stranger’s land—To crown his kindred’s edifice of ill,Called home to vengeance by his father’s fall:Thus have the high gods sworn, and shall fulfil.And now why mourn I, tarrying on earth,Since first mine Ilion has found its fateAnd I beheld, and those who won the wallPass to such issue as the gods ordain?I too will pass and like them dare to die![Turns and looks upon the palace door.Portal of Hades, thus I bid thee hail!Grant me one boon—a swift and mortal stroke,That all unwrung by pain, with ebbing bloodShed forth in quiet death, I close mine eyes.CHORUSMaid of mysterious woes, mysterious lore,Long was thy prophecy: but if arightThou readest all thy fate, how, thus unscared,Dost thou approach the altar of thy doom,As fronts the knife some victim, heaven-controlled?CASSANDRAFriends, there is no avoidance in delay.CHORUSYet who delays the longest, his the gain.CASSANDRAThe day is come—flight were small gain to me!CHORUSO brave endurance of a soul resolved!CASSANDRAThat were ill praise, for those of happier doom.CHORUSAll fame is happy, even famous death.CASSANDRAAh sire, ah brethren, famous once were ye![She moves to enter the house, then starts back.CHORUSWhat fear is this that scares thee from the house?CASSANDRAPah!CHORUSWhat is this cry? some dark despair of soul?CASSANDRAPah! the house fumes with stench and spilth of blood.CHORUSHow? ’tis the smell of household offerings.CASSANDRA’Tis rank as charnel-scent from open graves.CHORUSThou canst not mean this scented Syrian nard?CASSANDRANay, let me pass within to cry aloudThe monarch’s fate and mine—enough of life.Ah friends!Bear to me witness, since I fall in death,That not as birds that shun the bush and screamI moan in idle terror. This attestWhen for my death’s revenge another dies,A woman for a woman, and a manFalls, for a man ill-wedded to his curse.Grant me this boon—the last before I die.CHORUSBrave to the last! I mourn thy doom foreseen.CASSANDRAOnce more one utterance, but not of wail,Though for my death—and then I speak no more.Sun! thou whose beam I shall not see again,To thee I cry, Let those whom vengeance callsTo slay their kindred’s slayers, quit withalThe death of me, the slave, the fenceless prey.Ah state of mortal man! in time of weal,A line, a shadow! and if ill fate fall,One wet sponge-sweep wipes all our trace away—And this I deem less piteous, of the twain.[Exit into the palace.CHORUSToo true it is! our mortal stateWith bliss is never satiate,And none, before the palace highAnd stately of prosperity,Cries to us with a voice of fear,Away! ’tis ill to enter here!Lo! this our lord hath trodden down,By grace of heaven, old Priam’s town,And praised as god he stands once moreOn Argos’ shore!Yet now—if blood shed long agoCries out that other blood shall flow—His life-blood, his, to pay againThe stern requital of the slain—Peace to that braggart’s vaunting vain,Who, having heard the chieftain’s tale,Yet boasts of bliss untouched by bale![A loud cry from within.VOICE OF AGAMEMNONO I am sped—a deep, a mortal blow.CHORUSListen, listen! who is screaming as in mortal agony?VOICE OF AGAMEMNONO! O! again, another, another blow!CHORUSThe bloody act is over—I have heard the monarch’s cry—Let us swiftly take some counsel, lest we too be doomed to die.ONE OF THE CHORUS’Tis best, I judge, aloud for aid to call,“Ho! loyal Argives! to the palace, all!”ANOTHERBetter, I deem, ourselves to bear the aid,And drag the deed to light, while drips the blade.ANOTHERSuch will is mine, and what thou say’st I say:Swiftly to act! the time brooks no delay.ANOTHERAy, for ’tis plain, this prelude of their songForetells its close in tyranny and wrong.ANOTHERBehold, we tarry—but thy name, Delay,They spurn, and press with sleepless hand to slay.ANOTHERI know not what ’twere well to counsel now—Who wills to act, ’tis his to counsel how.ANOTHERThy doubt is mine: for when a man is slain,I have no words to bring his life again.ANOTHERWhat? e’en for life’s sake, bow us to obeyThese house-defilers and their tyrant sway?ANOTHERUnmanly doom! ’twere better far to die—Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.ANOTHERThink well—must cry or sign of woe or painFix our conclusion that the chief is slain?ANOTHERSuch talk befits us when the deed we see—Conjecture dwells afar from certainty.LEADER OF THE CHORUSI read one will from many a diverse word,To know aright, how stands it with our lord![The scene opens, disclosing Clytemnestra, who comes forward. The body of Agamemnon lies, muffled in a long robe, within a silver-sided laver; the corpse of Cassandra is laid beside him.CLYTEMNESTRAHo, ye who heard me speak so long and oftThe glozing word that led me to my will—Hear how I shrink not to unsay it all!How else should one who willeth to requiteEvil for evil to an enemyDisguised as friend, weave the mesh straitly round him,Not to be overleaped, a net of doom?This is the sum and issue of old strife,Of me deep-pondered and at length fulfilled.All is avowed, and as I smote I standWith foot set firm upon a finished thing!I turn not to denial: thus I wroughtSo that he could nor flee nor ward his doom,Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal,I trapped him with inextricable toils,The ill abundance of a baffling robe;Then smote him, once, again—and at each woundHe cried aloud, then as in death relaxedEach limb and sank to earth; and as he lay,Once more I smote him, with the last third blow,Sacred to Hades, saviour of the dead.And thus he fell, and as he passed away,Spirit with body chafed; each dying breathFlung from his breast swift bubbling jets of gore,And the dark sprinklings of the rain of bloodFell upon me; and I was fain to feelThat dew—not sweeter is the rain of heavenTo cornland, when the green sheath teems with grain,Elders of Argos—since the thing stands so,I bid you to rejoice, if such your will:Rejoice or not, I vaunt and praise the deed,And well I ween, if seemly it could be,’Twere not ill done to pour libations here,Justly—ay, more than justly—on his corpseWho filled his home with curses as with wine,And thus returned to drain the cup he filled.CHORUSI marvel at thy tongue’s audacity,To vaunt thus loudly o’er a husband slain.CLYTEMNESTRAYe hold me as a woman, weak of will,And strive to sway me: but my heart is stout,Nor fears to speak its uttermost to you,Albeit ye know its message. Praise or blame,Even as ye list,—I reck not of your words.Lo! at my feet lies Agamemnon slain,My husband once—and him this hand of mine,A right contriver, fashioned for his death.Behold the deed!CHORUSWoman, what deadly birth,What venomed essence of the earthOr dark distilment of the wave,To thee such passion gave,Nerving thine handTo set upon thy brow this burning crown,The curses of thy land?Our king by thee cut off, hewn down!Go forth—they cry—accursèd and forlorn,To hate and scorn!CLYTEMNESTRAO ye just men, who speak my sentence now,The city’s hate, the ban of all my realm!Ye had no voice of old to launch such doomOn him, my husband, when he held as lightMy daughter’s life as that of sheep or goat,One victim from the thronging fleecy fold!Yea, slew in sacrifice his child and mine,The well-loved issue of my travail-pangs,To lull and lay the gales that blew from Thrace.That deed of his, I say, that stain and shame,Had rightly been atoned by banishment;But ye, who then were dumb, are stern to judgeThis deed of mine that doth affront your ears.Storm out your threats, yet knowing this for sooth,That I am ready, if your hand prevailAs mine now doth, to bow beneath your sway:If God say nay, it shall be yours to learnBy chastisement a late humility.CHORUSBold is thy craft, and proudThy confidence, thy vaunting loud;Thy soul, that chose a murd’ress’ fate,Is all with blood elate—Maddened to knowThe blood not yet avenged, the damnèd spotCrimson upon thy brow.But Fate prepares for thee thy lot—Smitten as thou didst smite, without a friend,To meet thine end!CLYTEMNESTRAHear then the sanction of the oath I swear—By the great vengeance for my murdered child,By Atè, by the Fury unto whomThis man lies sacrificed by hand of mine,I do not look to tread the hall of Fear,While in this hearth and home of mine there burnsThe light of love—Aegisthus—as of oldLoyal, a stalwart shield of confidence—As true to me as this slain man was false,Wronging his wife with paramours at Troy,Fresh from the kiss of each Chryseis there!Behold him dead—behold his captive prize,Seeress and harlot—comfort of his bed,True prophetess, true paramour—I wotThe sea-bench was not closer to the flesh,Full oft, of every rower, than was she.See, ill they did, and ill requites them now.His death ye know: she as a dying swanSang her last dirge, and lies, as erst she lay,Close to his side, and to my couch has leftA sweet new taste of joys that know no fear.CHORUSAh woe and well-a-day! I would that Fate—Not bearing agony too great,Nor stretching me too long on couch of pain—Would bid mine eyelids keepThe morningless and unawakening sleep!For life is weary, now my lord is slain,The gracious among kings!Hard fate of old he bore and many grievous things,And for a woman’s sake, on Ilian land—Now is his life hewn down, and by a woman’s hand.O Helen, O infatuate soul,Who bad’st the tides of battle roll,O’erwhelming thousands, life on life,’Neath Ilion’s wall!And now lies dead the lord of all.The blossom of thy storied sinBears blood’s inexpiable stain,O thou that erst, these halls within,Wert unto all a rock of strife,A husband’s bane!CLYTEMNESTRAPeace! pray not thou for death as thoughThine heart was whelmed beneath this woe,Nor turn thy wrath aside to banThe name of Helen, nor recallHow she, one bane of many a man,Sent down to death the Danaan lords,To sleep at Troy the sleep of swords,And wrought the woe that shattered all.CHORUSFiend of the race! that swoopest fellUpon the double stock of Tantalus,Lording it o’er me by a woman’s will,Stern, manful, and imperious—A bitter sway to me!Thy very form I see,Like some grim raven, perched upon the slain,Exulting o’er the crime, aloud, in tuneless strain!CLYTEMNESTRARight was that word—thou namest wellThe brooding race-fiend, triply fell!From him it is that murder’s thirst,Blood-lapping, inwardly is nursed—Ere time the ancient scar can sain,New blood comes welling forth again.CHORUSGrim is his wrath and heavy on our home,That fiend of whom thy voice has cried,Alas, an omened cry of woe unsatisfied,An all-devouring doom!Ah woe, ah Zeus! from Zeus all things befall—Zeus the high cause and finisher of all!—Lord of our mortal state, by him are willedAll things, by him fulfilled!Yet ah my king, my king no more!What words to say, what tears to pourCan tell my love for thee?The spider-web of treacheryShe wove and wound, thy life around,And lo! I see thee lie,And thro’ a coward, impious woundPant forth thy life and die!A death of shame—ah woe on woe!A treach’rous hand, a cleaving blow!CLYTEMNESTRAMy guilt thou harpest, o’er and o’er!I bid thee reckon me no moreAs Agamemnon’s spouse.The old Avenger, stern of moodFor Atreus and his feast of blood,Hath struck the lord of Atreus’ house,And in the semblance of his wifeThe king hath slain.—Yea, for the murdered children’s life,A chieftain’s in requital ta’en.CHORUSThou guiltless of this murder, thou!Who dares such thought avow?Yet it may be, wroth for the parent’s deed,The fiend hath holpen thee to slay the son.Dark Ares, god of death, is pressing onThro’ streams of blood by kindred shed,Exacting the accompt for children dead,For clotted blood, for flesh on which their sire did feed.Yet ah my king, my king no more!What words to say, what tears to pourCan tell my love for thee?The spider-web of treacheryShe wove and wound, thy life around,And lo! I see thee lie,And thro’ a coward, impious woundPant forth thy life and die!A death of shame—ah woe on woe!A treach’rous hand, a cleaving blow!CLYTEMNESTRAI deem not that the death he diedHad overmuch of shame:For this was he who did provideFoul wrong unto his house and name:His daughter, blossom of my womb,He gave unto a deadly doom,Iphigenia, child of tears!And as he wrought, even so he fares.Nor be his vaunt too loud in hell;For by the sword his sin he wrought,And by the sword himself is broughtAmong the dead to dwell.CHORUSAh whither shall I fly?For all in ruin sinks the kingly hall;Nor swift device nor shift of thought have I,To ’scape its fall.A little while the gentler rain-drops fail;I stand distraught—a ghastly interval,Till on the roof-tree rings the bursting hailOf blood and doom. Even now fate whets the steelOn whetstones new and deadlier than of old,The steel that smites, in Justice’ hold,Another death to deal.O Earth! that I had lain at restAnd lapped for ever in thy breast,Ere I had seen my chieftain fallWithin the laver’s silver wall,Low-lying on dishonoured bier!And who shall give him sepulchre,And who the wail of sorrow pour?Woman, ’tis thine no more!A graceless gift unto his shadeSuch tribute, by his murd’ress paid!Strive not thus wrongly to atoneThe impious deed thy hand hath done.Ah who above the god-like chiefShall weep the tears of loyal grief?Who speak above his lowly graveThe last sad praises of the brave?CLYTEMNESTRAPeace! for such task is none of thine.By me he fell, by me he died,And now his burial rites be mine!Yet from these halls no mourners’ trainShall celebrate his obsequies;Only by Acheron’s rolling tideHis child shall spring unto his side,And in a daughter’s loving wiseShall clasp and kiss him once again!CHORUSLo! sin by sin and sorrow dogg’d by sorrow—And who the end can know?The slayer of to-day shall die to-morrow—The wage of wrong is woe.While Time shall be, while Zeus in heaven is lord,His law is fixed and stern;On him that wrought shall vengeance be outpoured—The tides of doom return.The children of the curse abide withinThese halls of high estate—And none can wrench from off the home of sinThe clinging grasp of fate.CLYTEMNESTRANow walks thy word aright, to tellThis ancient truth of oracle;But I with vows of sooth will prayTo him, the power that holdeth swayO’er all the race of Pleisthenes—Tho’ dark the deed and deep the guilt,With this last blood, my hands have spilt,I pray thee let thine anger cease!I pray thee pass from us awayTo some new race in other lands,There, if thou wilt, to wrong and slayThe lives of men by kindred hands.For me ’tis all sufficient meed,Tho’ little wealth or power were won,So I can say,’Tis past and done.The bloody lust and murderous,The inborn frenzy of our house,Is ended, by my deed![Enter Aegisthus.AEGISTHUSDawn of the day of rightful vengeance, hail!I dare at length aver that gods aboveHave care of men and heed of earthly wrongs.I, I who stand and thus exult to seeThis man lie wound in robes the Furies wove,Slain in requital of his father’s craft.Take ye the truth, that Atreus, this man’s sire,The lord and monarch of this land of old,Held with my sire Thyestes deep dispute,Brother with brother, for the prize of sway,And drave him from his home to banishment.Thereafter, the lorn exile homeward stoleAnd clung a suppliant to the hearth divine,And for himself won this immunity—Not with his own blood to defile the landThat gave him birth. But Atreus, godless sireOf him who here lies dead, this welcome planned—With zeal that was not love he feigned to holdIn loyal joy a day of festal cheer,And bade my father to his board, and setBefore him flesh that was his children once.First, sitting at the upper board alone,He hid the fingers and the feet, but gaveThe rest—and readily Thyestes tookWhat to his ignorance no semblance woreOf human flesh, and ate: behold what curseThat eating brought upon our race and name!For when he knew what all unhallowed thingHe thus had wrought, with horror’s bitter cryBack-starting, spewing forth the fragments foul,On Pelops’ house a deadly curse he spake—As darkly as I spurn this damnèd food,So perish all the race of Pleisthenes!Thus by that curse fell he whom here ye see,And I—who else?—this murder wove and planned;For me, an infant yet in swaddling bands,Of the three children youngest, Atreus sentTo banishment by my sad father’s side:But Justice brought me home once more, grown nowTo manhood’s years; and stranger tho’ I was,My right hand reached unto the chieftain’s life,Plotting and planning all that malice bade.And death itself were honour now to me,Beholding him in Justice’ ambush ta’en.CHORUSAegisthus, for this insolence of thineThat vaunts itself in evil, take my scorn.Of thine own will, thou sayest, thou hast slainThe chieftain, by thine own unaided plotDevised the piteous death: I rede thee well,Think not thy head shall ’scape, when right prevails,The people’s ban, the stones of death and doom.AEGISTHUSThis word from thee, this word from one who rowsLow at the oars beneath, what time we rule,We of the upper tier? Thou’lt know anon,’Tis bitter to be taught again in age,By one so young, submission at the word.But iron of the chain and hunger’s throesCan minister unto an o’erswoln prideMarvellous well, ay, even in the old.Hast eyes, and seest not this? Peace—kick not thusAgainst the pricks, unto thy proper pain!CHORUSThou womanish man, waiting till war did cease,Home-watcher and defiler of the couch,And arch-deviser of the chieftain’s doom!AEGISTHUSBold words again! but they shall end in tears.The very converse, thine, of Orpheus’ tongue:He roused and led in ecstasy of joyAll things that heard his voice melodious;But thou as with the futile cry of cursWilt draw men wrathfully upon thee. Peace!Or strong subjection soon shall tame thy tongue.CHORUSAy, thou art one to hold an Argive down—Thou, skilled to plan the murder of the king,But not with thine own hand to smite the blow!AEGISTHUSThat fraudful force was woman’s very part,Not mine, whom deep suspicion from of oldWould have debarred. Now by his treasure’s aidMy purpose holds to rule the citizens.But whoso will not bear my guiding hand,Him for his corn-fed mettle I will driveNot as a trace-horse, light-caparisoned,But to the shafts with heaviest harness bound.Famine, the grim mate of the dungeon dark,Shall look on him and shall behold him tame.CHORUSThou losel soul, was then thy strength too slightTo deal in murder, while a woman’s hand,Staining and shaming Argos and its gods,Availed to slay him? Ho, if anywhereThe light of life smite on Orestes’ eyes,Let him, returning by some guardian fate,Hew down with force her paramour and her!AEGISTHUSHow thy word and act shall issue, thou shalt shortly understand.CHORUSUp to action, O my comrades! for the fight is hard at hand. Swift, your right hands to the sword hilt! bare the weapon as for strife—AEGISTHUSLo! I too am standing ready, hand on hilt for death or life.CHORUS’Twas thy word and we accept it: onward to the chance of war!CLYTEMNESTRANay, enough, enough, my champion! we will smite and slay no more.Already have we reaped enough the harvest-field of guilt:Enough of wrong and murder, let no other blood be spilt.Peace, old men! and pass away unto the homes by Fate decreed,Lest ill valour meet our vengeance—’twas a necessary deed.But enough of toils and troubles—be the end, if ever, now,Ere thy talon, O Avenger, deal another deadly blow.’Tis a woman’s word of warning, and let who will list thereto.AEGISTHUSBut that these should loose and lavish reckless blossoms of the tongue,And in hazard of their fortune cast upon me words of wrong,And forget the law of subjects, and revile their ruler’s word—CHORUSRuler? but ’tis not for Argives, thus to own a dastard lord!AEGISTHUSI will follow to chastise thee in my coming days of sway.CHORUSNot if Fortune guide Orestes safely on his homeward way.AEGISTHUSAh, well I know how exiles feed on hopes of their return.CHORUSFare and batten on pollution of the right, while ’tis thy turn.AEGISTHUSThou shalt pay, be well assurèd, heavy quittance for thy prideCHORUSCrow and strut, with her to watch thee, like a cock, his mate beside!CLYTEMNESTRAHeed not thou too highly of them—let the cur-pack growl and yell:I and thou will rule the palace and will order all things well.[Exeunt.
CHORUSYet how should oath—how loyally soe’erI swear it—aught avail thee? In good sooth,My wonder meets thy claim: I stand amazedThat thou, a maiden born beyond the seas,Dost as a native know and tell arightTales of a city of an alien tongue.
CASSANDRAThat is my power—a boon Apollo gave.
CHORUSGod though he were, yearning for mortal maid?
CASSANDRAAy! what seemed shame of old is shame no more.
CHORUSSuch finer sense suits not with slavery.
CASSANDRAHe strove to win me, panting for my love.
CHORUSCame ye by compact unto bridal joys?
CASSANDRANay—for I plighted troth, then foiled the god.
CHORUSWert thou already dowered with prescience?
CASSANDRAYea—prophetess to Troy of all her doom.
CHORUSHow left thee then Apollo’s wrath unscathed?
CASSANDRAI, false to him, seemed prophet false to all.
CHORUSNot so—to us at least thy words seem sooth.
CASSANDRAWoe for me, woe! Again the agony—Dread pain that sees the future all too wellWith ghastly preludes whirls and racks my soul.Behold ye—yonder on the palace roofThe spectre-children sitting—look, such thingsAs dreams are made on, phantoms as of babes,Horrible shadows, that a kinsman’s handHath marked with murder, and their arms are full—A rueful burden—see, they hold them up,The entrails upon which their father fed!
For this, for this, I say there plots revengeA coward lion, couching in the lair—Guarding the gate against my master’s foot—My master—mine—I bear the slave’s yoke now,And he, the lord of ships, who trod down Troy,Knows not the fawning treachery of tongueOf this thing false and dog-like—how her speechGlozes and sleeks her purpose, till she winBy ill fate’s favour the desired chance,Moving like Atè to a secret end.O aweless soul! the woman slays her lord—Woman? what loathsome monster of the earthWere fit comparison? The double snake—Or Scylla, where she dwells, the seaman’s bane,Girt round about with rocks? some hag of hell,Raving a truceless curse upon her kin?Hark—even now she cries exultinglyThe vengeful cry that tells of battle turned—How fain, forsooth, to greet her chief restored!Nay then, believe me not: what skills beliefOr disbelief? Fate works its will—and thouWilt see and say in ruth,Her tale was true.
CHORUSAh—’tis Thyestes’ feast on kindred flesh—I guess her meaning and with horror thrill,Hearing no shadow’d hint of th’ o’er-true tale,But its full hatefulness: yet, for the rest,Far from the track I roam, and know no more.
CASSANDRA’Tis Agamemnon’s doom thou shalt behold.
CHORUSPeace, hapless woman, to thy boding words!
CASSANDRAFar from my speech stands he who sains and saves.
CHORUSAy—were such doom at hand—which God forbid!
CASSANDRAThou prayest idly—these move swift to slay.
CHORUSWhat man prepares a deed of such despite?
CASSANDRAFool! thus to read amiss mine oracles.
CHORUSDeviser and device are dark to me.
CASSANDRADark! all too well I speak the Grecian tongue.
CHORUSAy—but in thine, as in Apollo’s strains,Familiar is the tongue, but dark the thought.
CASSANDRAAh ah the fire! it waxes, nears me now—Woe, woe for me, Apollo of the dawn!
Lo, how the woman-thing, the lionessCouched with the wolf—her noble mate afar—Will slay me, slave forlorn! Yea, like some witch,She drugs the cup of wrath, that slays her lordWith double death—his recompense for me!Ay, ’tis for me, the prey he bore from Troy,That she hath sworn his death, and edged the steel!Ye wands, ye wreaths that cling around my neck,Ye showed me prophetess yet scorned of all—I stamp you into death, or e’er I die—Down, to destruction!Thus I stand revenged—Go, crown some other with a prophet’s woe.Look! it is he, it is Apollo’s selfRending from me the prophet-robe he gave.God! while I wore it yet, thou saw’st me mockedThere at my home by each malicious mouth—To all and each, an undivided scorn.The name alike and fate of witch and cheat—Woe, poverty, and famine—all I bore;And at this last the god hath brought me hereInto death’s toils, and what his love had made,His hate unmakes me now: and I shall standNot now before the altar of my home,But me a slaughter-house and block of bloodShall see hewn down, a reeking sacrifice.Yet shall the gods have heed of me who die,For by their will shall one requite my doom.He, to avenge his father’s blood outpoured,Shall smite and slay with matricidal hand.Ay, he shall come—tho’ far away he roam,A banished wanderer in a stranger’s land—To crown his kindred’s edifice of ill,Called home to vengeance by his father’s fall:Thus have the high gods sworn, and shall fulfil.
And now why mourn I, tarrying on earth,Since first mine Ilion has found its fateAnd I beheld, and those who won the wallPass to such issue as the gods ordain?I too will pass and like them dare to die!
[Turns and looks upon the palace door.
Portal of Hades, thus I bid thee hail!Grant me one boon—a swift and mortal stroke,That all unwrung by pain, with ebbing bloodShed forth in quiet death, I close mine eyes.
CHORUSMaid of mysterious woes, mysterious lore,Long was thy prophecy: but if arightThou readest all thy fate, how, thus unscared,Dost thou approach the altar of thy doom,As fronts the knife some victim, heaven-controlled?
CASSANDRAFriends, there is no avoidance in delay.
CHORUSYet who delays the longest, his the gain.
CASSANDRAThe day is come—flight were small gain to me!
CHORUSO brave endurance of a soul resolved!
CASSANDRAThat were ill praise, for those of happier doom.
CHORUSAll fame is happy, even famous death.
CASSANDRAAh sire, ah brethren, famous once were ye!
[She moves to enter the house, then starts back.
CHORUSWhat fear is this that scares thee from the house?
CASSANDRAPah!
CHORUSWhat is this cry? some dark despair of soul?
CASSANDRAPah! the house fumes with stench and spilth of blood.
CHORUSHow? ’tis the smell of household offerings.
CASSANDRA’Tis rank as charnel-scent from open graves.
CHORUSThou canst not mean this scented Syrian nard?
CASSANDRANay, let me pass within to cry aloudThe monarch’s fate and mine—enough of life.Ah friends!Bear to me witness, since I fall in death,That not as birds that shun the bush and screamI moan in idle terror. This attestWhen for my death’s revenge another dies,A woman for a woman, and a manFalls, for a man ill-wedded to his curse.Grant me this boon—the last before I die.
CHORUSBrave to the last! I mourn thy doom foreseen.
CASSANDRAOnce more one utterance, but not of wail,Though for my death—and then I speak no more.
Sun! thou whose beam I shall not see again,To thee I cry, Let those whom vengeance callsTo slay their kindred’s slayers, quit withalThe death of me, the slave, the fenceless prey.
Ah state of mortal man! in time of weal,A line, a shadow! and if ill fate fall,One wet sponge-sweep wipes all our trace away—And this I deem less piteous, of the twain.
[Exit into the palace.
CHORUSToo true it is! our mortal stateWith bliss is never satiate,And none, before the palace highAnd stately of prosperity,Cries to us with a voice of fear,Away! ’tis ill to enter here!
Lo! this our lord hath trodden down,By grace of heaven, old Priam’s town,And praised as god he stands once moreOn Argos’ shore!Yet now—if blood shed long agoCries out that other blood shall flow—His life-blood, his, to pay againThe stern requital of the slain—Peace to that braggart’s vaunting vain,Who, having heard the chieftain’s tale,Yet boasts of bliss untouched by bale!
[A loud cry from within.
VOICE OF AGAMEMNONO I am sped—a deep, a mortal blow.
CHORUSListen, listen! who is screaming as in mortal agony?
VOICE OF AGAMEMNONO! O! again, another, another blow!
CHORUSThe bloody act is over—I have heard the monarch’s cry—Let us swiftly take some counsel, lest we too be doomed to die.
ONE OF THE CHORUS’Tis best, I judge, aloud for aid to call,“Ho! loyal Argives! to the palace, all!”
ANOTHERBetter, I deem, ourselves to bear the aid,And drag the deed to light, while drips the blade.
ANOTHERSuch will is mine, and what thou say’st I say:Swiftly to act! the time brooks no delay.
ANOTHERAy, for ’tis plain, this prelude of their songForetells its close in tyranny and wrong.
ANOTHERBehold, we tarry—but thy name, Delay,They spurn, and press with sleepless hand to slay.
ANOTHERI know not what ’twere well to counsel now—Who wills to act, ’tis his to counsel how.
ANOTHERThy doubt is mine: for when a man is slain,I have no words to bring his life again.
ANOTHERWhat? e’en for life’s sake, bow us to obeyThese house-defilers and their tyrant sway?
ANOTHERUnmanly doom! ’twere better far to die—Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.
ANOTHERThink well—must cry or sign of woe or painFix our conclusion that the chief is slain?
ANOTHERSuch talk befits us when the deed we see—Conjecture dwells afar from certainty.
LEADER OF THE CHORUSI read one will from many a diverse word,To know aright, how stands it with our lord!
[The scene opens, disclosing Clytemnestra, who comes forward. The body of Agamemnon lies, muffled in a long robe, within a silver-sided laver; the corpse of Cassandra is laid beside him.
CLYTEMNESTRAHo, ye who heard me speak so long and oftThe glozing word that led me to my will—Hear how I shrink not to unsay it all!How else should one who willeth to requiteEvil for evil to an enemyDisguised as friend, weave the mesh straitly round him,Not to be overleaped, a net of doom?This is the sum and issue of old strife,Of me deep-pondered and at length fulfilled.All is avowed, and as I smote I standWith foot set firm upon a finished thing!I turn not to denial: thus I wroughtSo that he could nor flee nor ward his doom,Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal,I trapped him with inextricable toils,The ill abundance of a baffling robe;Then smote him, once, again—and at each woundHe cried aloud, then as in death relaxedEach limb and sank to earth; and as he lay,Once more I smote him, with the last third blow,Sacred to Hades, saviour of the dead.And thus he fell, and as he passed away,Spirit with body chafed; each dying breathFlung from his breast swift bubbling jets of gore,And the dark sprinklings of the rain of bloodFell upon me; and I was fain to feelThat dew—not sweeter is the rain of heavenTo cornland, when the green sheath teems with grain,
Elders of Argos—since the thing stands so,I bid you to rejoice, if such your will:Rejoice or not, I vaunt and praise the deed,And well I ween, if seemly it could be,’Twere not ill done to pour libations here,Justly—ay, more than justly—on his corpseWho filled his home with curses as with wine,And thus returned to drain the cup he filled.
CHORUSI marvel at thy tongue’s audacity,To vaunt thus loudly o’er a husband slain.
CLYTEMNESTRAYe hold me as a woman, weak of will,And strive to sway me: but my heart is stout,Nor fears to speak its uttermost to you,Albeit ye know its message. Praise or blame,Even as ye list,—I reck not of your words.Lo! at my feet lies Agamemnon slain,My husband once—and him this hand of mine,A right contriver, fashioned for his death.Behold the deed!
CHORUSWoman, what deadly birth,What venomed essence of the earthOr dark distilment of the wave,To thee such passion gave,Nerving thine handTo set upon thy brow this burning crown,The curses of thy land?Our king by thee cut off, hewn down!Go forth—they cry—accursèd and forlorn,To hate and scorn!
CLYTEMNESTRAO ye just men, who speak my sentence now,The city’s hate, the ban of all my realm!Ye had no voice of old to launch such doomOn him, my husband, when he held as lightMy daughter’s life as that of sheep or goat,One victim from the thronging fleecy fold!Yea, slew in sacrifice his child and mine,The well-loved issue of my travail-pangs,To lull and lay the gales that blew from Thrace.That deed of his, I say, that stain and shame,Had rightly been atoned by banishment;But ye, who then were dumb, are stern to judgeThis deed of mine that doth affront your ears.Storm out your threats, yet knowing this for sooth,That I am ready, if your hand prevailAs mine now doth, to bow beneath your sway:If God say nay, it shall be yours to learnBy chastisement a late humility.
CHORUSBold is thy craft, and proudThy confidence, thy vaunting loud;Thy soul, that chose a murd’ress’ fate,Is all with blood elate—Maddened to knowThe blood not yet avenged, the damnèd spotCrimson upon thy brow.But Fate prepares for thee thy lot—Smitten as thou didst smite, without a friend,To meet thine end!
CLYTEMNESTRAHear then the sanction of the oath I swear—By the great vengeance for my murdered child,By Atè, by the Fury unto whomThis man lies sacrificed by hand of mine,I do not look to tread the hall of Fear,While in this hearth and home of mine there burnsThe light of love—Aegisthus—as of oldLoyal, a stalwart shield of confidence—As true to me as this slain man was false,Wronging his wife with paramours at Troy,Fresh from the kiss of each Chryseis there!Behold him dead—behold his captive prize,Seeress and harlot—comfort of his bed,True prophetess, true paramour—I wotThe sea-bench was not closer to the flesh,Full oft, of every rower, than was she.See, ill they did, and ill requites them now.His death ye know: she as a dying swanSang her last dirge, and lies, as erst she lay,Close to his side, and to my couch has leftA sweet new taste of joys that know no fear.
CHORUSAh woe and well-a-day! I would that Fate—Not bearing agony too great,Nor stretching me too long on couch of pain—Would bid mine eyelids keepThe morningless and unawakening sleep!For life is weary, now my lord is slain,The gracious among kings!Hard fate of old he bore and many grievous things,And for a woman’s sake, on Ilian land—Now is his life hewn down, and by a woman’s hand.O Helen, O infatuate soul,Who bad’st the tides of battle roll,O’erwhelming thousands, life on life,’Neath Ilion’s wall!And now lies dead the lord of all.The blossom of thy storied sinBears blood’s inexpiable stain,O thou that erst, these halls within,Wert unto all a rock of strife,A husband’s bane!
CLYTEMNESTRAPeace! pray not thou for death as thoughThine heart was whelmed beneath this woe,Nor turn thy wrath aside to banThe name of Helen, nor recallHow she, one bane of many a man,Sent down to death the Danaan lords,To sleep at Troy the sleep of swords,And wrought the woe that shattered all.
CHORUSFiend of the race! that swoopest fellUpon the double stock of Tantalus,Lording it o’er me by a woman’s will,Stern, manful, and imperious—A bitter sway to me!Thy very form I see,Like some grim raven, perched upon the slain,Exulting o’er the crime, aloud, in tuneless strain!
CLYTEMNESTRARight was that word—thou namest wellThe brooding race-fiend, triply fell!From him it is that murder’s thirst,Blood-lapping, inwardly is nursed—Ere time the ancient scar can sain,New blood comes welling forth again.
CHORUSGrim is his wrath and heavy on our home,That fiend of whom thy voice has cried,Alas, an omened cry of woe unsatisfied,An all-devouring doom!
Ah woe, ah Zeus! from Zeus all things befall—Zeus the high cause and finisher of all!—Lord of our mortal state, by him are willedAll things, by him fulfilled!
Yet ah my king, my king no more!What words to say, what tears to pourCan tell my love for thee?The spider-web of treacheryShe wove and wound, thy life around,And lo! I see thee lie,And thro’ a coward, impious woundPant forth thy life and die!A death of shame—ah woe on woe!A treach’rous hand, a cleaving blow!
CLYTEMNESTRAMy guilt thou harpest, o’er and o’er!I bid thee reckon me no moreAs Agamemnon’s spouse.The old Avenger, stern of moodFor Atreus and his feast of blood,Hath struck the lord of Atreus’ house,And in the semblance of his wifeThe king hath slain.—Yea, for the murdered children’s life,A chieftain’s in requital ta’en.
CHORUSThou guiltless of this murder, thou!Who dares such thought avow?Yet it may be, wroth for the parent’s deed,The fiend hath holpen thee to slay the son.Dark Ares, god of death, is pressing onThro’ streams of blood by kindred shed,Exacting the accompt for children dead,For clotted blood, for flesh on which their sire did feed.
Yet ah my king, my king no more!What words to say, what tears to pourCan tell my love for thee?The spider-web of treacheryShe wove and wound, thy life around,And lo! I see thee lie,And thro’ a coward, impious woundPant forth thy life and die!A death of shame—ah woe on woe!A treach’rous hand, a cleaving blow!
CLYTEMNESTRAI deem not that the death he diedHad overmuch of shame:For this was he who did provideFoul wrong unto his house and name:His daughter, blossom of my womb,He gave unto a deadly doom,Iphigenia, child of tears!And as he wrought, even so he fares.Nor be his vaunt too loud in hell;For by the sword his sin he wrought,And by the sword himself is broughtAmong the dead to dwell.
CHORUSAh whither shall I fly?For all in ruin sinks the kingly hall;Nor swift device nor shift of thought have I,To ’scape its fall.A little while the gentler rain-drops fail;I stand distraught—a ghastly interval,Till on the roof-tree rings the bursting hailOf blood and doom. Even now fate whets the steelOn whetstones new and deadlier than of old,The steel that smites, in Justice’ hold,Another death to deal.O Earth! that I had lain at restAnd lapped for ever in thy breast,Ere I had seen my chieftain fallWithin the laver’s silver wall,Low-lying on dishonoured bier!And who shall give him sepulchre,And who the wail of sorrow pour?Woman, ’tis thine no more!A graceless gift unto his shadeSuch tribute, by his murd’ress paid!Strive not thus wrongly to atoneThe impious deed thy hand hath done.Ah who above the god-like chiefShall weep the tears of loyal grief?Who speak above his lowly graveThe last sad praises of the brave?
CLYTEMNESTRAPeace! for such task is none of thine.By me he fell, by me he died,And now his burial rites be mine!Yet from these halls no mourners’ trainShall celebrate his obsequies;Only by Acheron’s rolling tideHis child shall spring unto his side,And in a daughter’s loving wiseShall clasp and kiss him once again!
CHORUSLo! sin by sin and sorrow dogg’d by sorrow—And who the end can know?The slayer of to-day shall die to-morrow—The wage of wrong is woe.While Time shall be, while Zeus in heaven is lord,His law is fixed and stern;On him that wrought shall vengeance be outpoured—The tides of doom return.The children of the curse abide withinThese halls of high estate—And none can wrench from off the home of sinThe clinging grasp of fate.
CLYTEMNESTRANow walks thy word aright, to tellThis ancient truth of oracle;But I with vows of sooth will prayTo him, the power that holdeth swayO’er all the race of Pleisthenes—Tho’ dark the deed and deep the guilt,With this last blood, my hands have spilt,I pray thee let thine anger cease!I pray thee pass from us awayTo some new race in other lands,There, if thou wilt, to wrong and slayThe lives of men by kindred hands.
For me ’tis all sufficient meed,Tho’ little wealth or power were won,So I can say,’Tis past and done.The bloody lust and murderous,The inborn frenzy of our house,Is ended, by my deed!
[Enter Aegisthus.
AEGISTHUSDawn of the day of rightful vengeance, hail!I dare at length aver that gods aboveHave care of men and heed of earthly wrongs.I, I who stand and thus exult to seeThis man lie wound in robes the Furies wove,Slain in requital of his father’s craft.Take ye the truth, that Atreus, this man’s sire,The lord and monarch of this land of old,Held with my sire Thyestes deep dispute,Brother with brother, for the prize of sway,And drave him from his home to banishment.Thereafter, the lorn exile homeward stoleAnd clung a suppliant to the hearth divine,And for himself won this immunity—Not with his own blood to defile the landThat gave him birth. But Atreus, godless sireOf him who here lies dead, this welcome planned—With zeal that was not love he feigned to holdIn loyal joy a day of festal cheer,And bade my father to his board, and setBefore him flesh that was his children once.First, sitting at the upper board alone,He hid the fingers and the feet, but gaveThe rest—and readily Thyestes tookWhat to his ignorance no semblance woreOf human flesh, and ate: behold what curseThat eating brought upon our race and name!For when he knew what all unhallowed thingHe thus had wrought, with horror’s bitter cryBack-starting, spewing forth the fragments foul,On Pelops’ house a deadly curse he spake—As darkly as I spurn this damnèd food,So perish all the race of Pleisthenes!Thus by that curse fell he whom here ye see,And I—who else?—this murder wove and planned;For me, an infant yet in swaddling bands,Of the three children youngest, Atreus sentTo banishment by my sad father’s side:But Justice brought me home once more, grown nowTo manhood’s years; and stranger tho’ I was,My right hand reached unto the chieftain’s life,Plotting and planning all that malice bade.And death itself were honour now to me,Beholding him in Justice’ ambush ta’en.
CHORUSAegisthus, for this insolence of thineThat vaunts itself in evil, take my scorn.Of thine own will, thou sayest, thou hast slainThe chieftain, by thine own unaided plotDevised the piteous death: I rede thee well,Think not thy head shall ’scape, when right prevails,The people’s ban, the stones of death and doom.
AEGISTHUSThis word from thee, this word from one who rowsLow at the oars beneath, what time we rule,We of the upper tier? Thou’lt know anon,’Tis bitter to be taught again in age,By one so young, submission at the word.But iron of the chain and hunger’s throesCan minister unto an o’erswoln prideMarvellous well, ay, even in the old.Hast eyes, and seest not this? Peace—kick not thusAgainst the pricks, unto thy proper pain!
CHORUSThou womanish man, waiting till war did cease,Home-watcher and defiler of the couch,And arch-deviser of the chieftain’s doom!
AEGISTHUSBold words again! but they shall end in tears.The very converse, thine, of Orpheus’ tongue:He roused and led in ecstasy of joyAll things that heard his voice melodious;But thou as with the futile cry of cursWilt draw men wrathfully upon thee. Peace!Or strong subjection soon shall tame thy tongue.
CHORUSAy, thou art one to hold an Argive down—Thou, skilled to plan the murder of the king,But not with thine own hand to smite the blow!
AEGISTHUSThat fraudful force was woman’s very part,Not mine, whom deep suspicion from of oldWould have debarred. Now by his treasure’s aidMy purpose holds to rule the citizens.But whoso will not bear my guiding hand,Him for his corn-fed mettle I will driveNot as a trace-horse, light-caparisoned,But to the shafts with heaviest harness bound.Famine, the grim mate of the dungeon dark,Shall look on him and shall behold him tame.
CHORUSThou losel soul, was then thy strength too slightTo deal in murder, while a woman’s hand,Staining and shaming Argos and its gods,Availed to slay him? Ho, if anywhereThe light of life smite on Orestes’ eyes,Let him, returning by some guardian fate,Hew down with force her paramour and her!
AEGISTHUSHow thy word and act shall issue, thou shalt shortly understand.
CHORUSUp to action, O my comrades! for the fight is hard at hand. Swift, your right hands to the sword hilt! bare the weapon as for strife—
AEGISTHUSLo! I too am standing ready, hand on hilt for death or life.
CHORUS’Twas thy word and we accept it: onward to the chance of war!
CLYTEMNESTRANay, enough, enough, my champion! we will smite and slay no more.Already have we reaped enough the harvest-field of guilt:Enough of wrong and murder, let no other blood be spilt.Peace, old men! and pass away unto the homes by Fate decreed,Lest ill valour meet our vengeance—’twas a necessary deed.But enough of toils and troubles—be the end, if ever, now,Ere thy talon, O Avenger, deal another deadly blow.’Tis a woman’s word of warning, and let who will list thereto.
AEGISTHUSBut that these should loose and lavish reckless blossoms of the tongue,And in hazard of their fortune cast upon me words of wrong,
And forget the law of subjects, and revile their ruler’s word—
CHORUSRuler? but ’tis not for Argives, thus to own a dastard lord!
AEGISTHUSI will follow to chastise thee in my coming days of sway.
CHORUSNot if Fortune guide Orestes safely on his homeward way.
AEGISTHUSAh, well I know how exiles feed on hopes of their return.
CHORUSFare and batten on pollution of the right, while ’tis thy turn.
AEGISTHUSThou shalt pay, be well assurèd, heavy quittance for thy pride
CHORUSCrow and strut, with her to watch thee, like a cock, his mate beside!
CLYTEMNESTRAHeed not thou too highly of them—let the cur-pack growl and yell:I and thou will rule the palace and will order all things well.
[Exeunt.