THE LIBATION-BEARERSDRAMATIS PERSONAEORESTESCHORUS OF CAPTIVE WOMENELECTRAA NURSECLYTEMNESTRAAEGISTHUSAN ATTENDANTPYLADESThe Scene is the Tomb of Agamemnon at Mycenae; afterwards, the Palace of Atreus, hard by the Tomb.OrestesLord of the shades and patron of the realmThat erst my father swayed, list now my prayer,Hermes, and save me with thine aiding arm,Me who from banishment returning standOn this my country; lo, my foot is setOn this grave-mound, and herald-like, as thou,Once and again, I bid my father hear.And these twin locks, from mine head shorn, I bring,And one to Inachus the river-god,My young life’s nurturer, I dedicate,And one in sign of mourning unfulfilledI lay, though late, on this my father’s grave.For O my father, not beside thy corseStood I to wail thy death, nor was my handStretched out to bear thee forth to burial.What sight is yonder? what this woman-throngHitherward coming, by their sable garbMade manifest as mourners? What hath chanced?Doth some new sorrow hap within the home?Or rightly may I deem that they draw nearBearing libations, such as soothe the ireOf dead men angered, to my father’s grave?Nay, such they are indeed; for I descryElectra mine own sister pacing hither,In moody grief conspicuous. Grant, O Zeus,Grant me my father’s murder to avenge—Be thou my willing champion!Pylades,Pass we aside, till rightly I discernWherefore these women throng in suppliance.[Exeunt Pylades and Orestes; enter the Chorus bearing vessels for libation; Electra follows them; they pace slowly towards the tomb of Agamemnon.CHORUSForth from the royal halls by high commandI bear libations for the dead.Rings on my smitten breast my smiting hand,And all my cheek is rent and red,Fresh-furrowed by my nails, and all my soulThis many a day doth feed on cries of dole.And trailing tatters of my vest,In looped and windowed raggedness forlorn,Hang rent around my breast,Even as I, by blows of Fate most sternSaddened and torn.Oracular thro’ visions, ghastly clear,Bearing a blast of wrath from realms below,And stiffening each rising hair with dread,Came out of dream-land Fear,And, loud and awful, badeThe shriek ring out at midnight’s witching hour,And brooded, stern with woe,Above the inner house, the woman’s bower.And seers inspired did read the dream on oath,Chanting aloudIn realms belowThe dead are wroth;Against their slayers yet their ire doth glow.Therefore to bear this gift of graceless worth—O Earth, my nursing mother!—The woman god-accurs’d doth send me forthLest one crime bring another.Ill is the very word to speak, for noneCan ransom or atoneFor blood once shed and darkening the plain.O hearth of woe and bane,O state that low doth lie!Sunless, accursed of men, the shadows broodAbove the home of murdered majesty.Rumour of might, unquestioned, unsubdued,Pervading ears and soul of lesser men,Is silent now and dead.Yet rules a viler dread;For bliss and power, however won,As gods, and more than gods, dazzle our mortal ken.Justice doth mark, with scales that swiftly sway,Some that are yet in light;Others in interspace of day and night,Till Fate arouse them, stay;And some are lapped in night, where all things are undone.On the life-giving lap of EarthBlood hath flowed forth;And now, the seed of vengeance, clots the plain—Unmelting, uneffaced the stain.And Atè tarries long, but at the lastThe sinner’s heart is castInto pervading, waxing pangs of pain.Lo, when man’s force doth opeThe virgin doors, there is nor cure nor hopeFor what is lost,—even so, I deem,Though in one channel ran Earth’s every stream,Laving the hand defiled from murder’s stain,It were vain.And upon me—ah me!—the gods have laidThe woe that wrapped round Troy,What time they led down from home and kinUnto a slave’s employ—The doom to bow the headAnd watch our master’s willWork deeds of good and ill—To see the headlong sway of force and sin,And hold restrained the spirit’s bitter hate,Wailing the monarch’s fruitless fate,Hiding my face within my robe, and fainOf tears, and chilled with frost of hidden pain.ELECTRAHand maidens, orderers of the palace-halls,Since at my side ye come, a suppliant train,Companions of this offering, counsel meAs best befits the time: for I, who pourUpon the grave these streams funereal,With what fair word can I invoke my sire?Shall I aver,Behold, I bear these giftsFrom well-beloved wife unto her well-beloved lord,When ’tis from her, my mother, that they come?I dare not say it: of all words I failWherewith to consecrate unto my sireThese sacrificial honours on his grave.Or shall I speak this word, as mortals use—Give back, to those who send these coronalsFull recompense—of ills for acts malign?Or shall I pour this draught for Earth to drink,Sans word or reverence, as my sire was slain,And homeward pass with unreverted eyes,Casting the bowl away, as one who flingsThe household cleansings to the common road?Be art and part, O friends, in this my doubt,Even as ye are in that one common hateWhereby we live attended: fear ye notThe wrath of any man, nor hide your wordWithin your breast: the day of death and doomAwaits alike the freeman and the slave.Speak, then, if aught thou know’st to aid us more.CHORUSThou biddest; I will speak my soul’s thought out,Revering as a shrine thy father’s grave.ELECTRASay then thy say, as thou his tomb reverest.CHORUSSpeak solemn words to them that love, and pour.ELECTRAAnd of his kin whom dare I name as kind?CHORUSThyself; and next, whoe’er Aegisthus scorns.ELECTRAThen ’tis myself and thou, my prayer must name.CHORUSWhoe’er they be, ’tis thine to know and name them.ELECTRAIs there no other we may claim as ours?CHORUSThink of Orestes, though far-off he be.ELECTRARight well in this too hast thou schooled my thought.CHORUSMindfully, next, on those who shed the blood—ELECTRAPray on them what? expound, instruct my doubt.CHORUSThis;Upon them some god or mortal come——ELECTRAAs judge or as avenger? speak thy thought.CHORUSPray in set terms,Who shall the slayer slay.ELECTRABeseemeth it to ask such boon of heaven?CHORUSHow not, to wreak a wrong upon a foe?ELECTRAO mighty Hermes, warder of the shades,Herald of upper and of under world,Proclaim and usher down my prayer’s appealUnto the gods below, that they with eyesWatchful behold these halls, my sire’s of old—And unto Earth, the mother of all things,And foster-nurse, and womb that takes their seed.Lo, I that pour these draughts for men now dead,Call on my father, who yet holds in ruthMe and mine own Orestes,Father, speak—How shall thy children rule thine halls again?Homeless we are and sold; and she who soldIs she who bore us; and the price she tookIs he who joined with her to work thy death,Aegisthus, her new lord. Behold me hereBrought down to slave’s estate, and far awayWanders Orestes, banished from the wealthThat once was thine, the profit of thy care,Whereon these revel in a shameful joy.Father, my prayer is said; ’tis thine to hear—Grant that some fair fate bring Orestes home,And unto me grant these—a purer soulThan is my mother’s, a more stainless hand.These be my prayers for us; for thee, O sire,I cry that one may come to smite thy foes,And that the slayers may in turn be slain.Cursed is their prayer, and thus I bar its path,Praying mine own, a counter-curse on them.And thou, send up to us the righteous boonFor which we pray: thine aids be heaven and earth,And justice guide the right to victory,[To the Chorus.Thus have I prayed, and thus I shed these streams,And follow ye the wont, and as with flowersCrown ye with many a tear and cry the dirge,Your lips ring out above the dead man’s grave.[She pours the libations.CHORUSWoe, woe, woe!Let the teardrop fall, plashing on the groundWhere our lord lies low:Fall and cleanse away the cursed libation’s stain,Shed on this grave-mound,Fenced wherein together, gifts of good or baneFrom the dead are found.Lord of Argos, hearken!Though around thee darkenMist of death and hell, arise and hear!Hearken and awaken to our cry of woe!Who with might of spearShall our home deliver?Who like Ares bend until it quiver,Bend the northern bow?Who with hand upon the hilt himself will thrust with glaive,Thrust and slay and save?ELECTRALo! the earth drinks them, to my sire they pass—Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange.CHORUSSpeak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear.ELECTRAI see upon the tomb a curl new shorn.CHORUSShorn from what man or what deep-girded maid?ELECTRAThat may he guess who will; the sign is plain.CHORUSLet me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.ELECTRANone is there here but I, to clip such gift.CHORUSFor they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.ELECTRAAnd lo! in truth the hair exceeding like—CHORUSLike to what locks and whose? instruct me that.ELECTRALike unto those my father’s children wear.CHORUSThen is this lock Orestes’ secret gift?ELECTRAMost like it is unto the curls he wore,CHORUSYet how dared he to come unto his home?ELECTRAHe hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire.CHORUSIt is a sorrow grievous as his death,That he should live yet never dare return.ELECTRAYea, and my heart o’erflows with gall of grief,And I am pierced as with a cleaving dart;Like to the first drops after drought, my tearsFall down at will, a bitter bursting tide,As on this lock I gaze; I cannot deemThat any Argive save Orestes’ selfWas ever lord thereof; nor, well I wot,Hath she, the murd’ress, shorn and laid this lockTo mourn him whom she slew—my mother she,Bearing no mother’s heart, but to her raceA loathing spirit, loathed itself of heaven!Yet to affirm, as utterly made sure,That this adornment cometh of the handOf mine Orestes, brother of my soul,I may not venture, yet hope flatters fair!Ah well-a-day, that this dumb hair had voiceTo glad mine ears, as might a messenger,Bidding me sway no more ’twixt fear and hope,Clearly commanding,Cast me hence away,Clipped was I from some head thou lovest not;Or,I am kin to thee, and here, as thou,I come to weep and deck our father’s grave.Aid me, ye gods! for well indeed ye knowHow in the gale and counter-gale of doubt,Like to the seaman’s bark, we whirl and stray.But, if God will our life, how strong shall spring,From seed how small, the new tree of our home!—Lo ye, a second sign—these footsteps, look,—Like to my own, a corresponsive print;And look, another footmark,—this his own,And that the foot of one who walked with him.Mark, how the heel and tendons’ print combine,Measured exact, with mine coincident!Alas! for doubt and anguish rack my mind.ORESTES(approaching suddenly)Pray thou, in gratitude for prayers fulfilled,Fair fall the rest of what I ask of heaven.ELECTRAWherefore? what win I from the gods by prayer?ORESTESThis, that thine eyes behold thy heart’s desire.ELECTRAOn whom of mortals know’st thou that I call?ORESTESI know thy yearning for Orestes deep.ELECTRASay then, wherein event hath crowned my prayer?ORESTESI, I am he; seek not one more akin.ELECTRASome fraud, O stranger, weavest thou for me?ORESTESAgainst myself I weave it, if I weave.ELECTRAAh, thou hast mind to mock me in my woe!ORESTES’Tis at mine own I mock then, mocking thine.ELECTRASpeak I with thee then as Orestes’ self?ORESTESMy very face thou see’st and know’st me not,And yet but now, when thou didst see the lockShorn for my father’s grave, and when thy questWas eager on the footprints I had made,Even I, thy brother, shaped and sized as thou,Fluttered thy spirit, as at sight of me!Lay now this ringlet whence ’twas shorn, and judge,And look upon this robe, thine own hands’ work,The shuttle-prints, the creature wrought thereon—Refrain thyself, nor prudence lose in joy,For well I wot, our kin are less than kind.ELECTRAO thou that art unto our father’s homeLove, grief and hope, for thee the tears ran down,For thee, the son, the saviour that should be;Trust thou thine arm and win thy father’s halls!O aspect sweet of fourfold love to me,Whom upon thee the heart’s constraint bids callAs on my father, and the claim of loveFrom me unto my mother turns to thee,For she is very hate; to thee too turnsWhat of my heart went out to her who diedA ruthless death upon the altar-stone;And for myself I love thee—thee that wastA brother leal, sole stay of love to me.Now by thy side be strength and right, and ZeusSaviour almighty, stand to aid the twain!ORESTESZeus, Zeus! look down on our estate and us,The orphaned brood of him, our eagle-sire,Whom to his death a fearful serpent broughtEnwinding him in coils; and we, bereftAnd foodless, sink with famine, all too weakTo bear unto the eyrie, as he bore,Such quarry as he slew. Lo! I and she,Electra, stand before thee, fatherless,And each alike cast out and homeless made.ELECTRAAnd if thou leave to death the brood of himWhose altar blazed for thee, whose reverenceWas thine, all thine,—whence, in the after years,Shall any hand like his adorn thy shrineWith sacrifice of flesh? the eaglets slain,Thou wouldst not have a messenger to bearThine omens, once so clear, to mortal men;So, if this kingly stock be withered all,None on high festivals will fend thy shrineStoop thou to raise us! strong the race shall show,Though puny now it seem, and fallen low.CHORUSO children, saviours of your father’s home,Beware ye of your words, lest one should hearAnd bear them, for the tongue hath lust to tell,Unto our masters—whom God grant to meIn pitchy reek of fun’ral flame to see!ORESTESNay, mighty is Apollo’s oracleAnd shall not fail me, whom it bade to passThro’ all this peril; clear the voice rang outWith many warnings, sternly threateningTo my hot heart the wintry chill of pain,Unless upon the slayers of my sireI pressed for vengeance: this the god’s command—That I, in ire for home and wealth despoiled,Should with a craft like theirs the slayers slay:Else with my very life I should atoneThis deed undone, in many a ghastly wiseFor he proclaimed unto the ears of menThat offerings, poured to angry power of death,Exude again, unless their will be done,As grim disease on those that poured them forth—As leprous ulcers mounting on the fleshAnd with fell fangs corroding what of oldWore natural form; and on the brow ariseWhite poisoned hairs, the crown of this disease.He spake moreover of assailing fiendsEmpowered to quit on me my father’s blood,Wreaking their wrath on me, what time in nightBeneath shut lids the spirit’s eye sees clear.The dart that flies in darkness, sped from hellBy spirits of the murdered dead who callUnto their kin for vengeance, formless fear,The night-tide’s visitant, and madness’ curseShould drive and rack me; and my tortured frameShould be chased forth from man’s communityAs with the brazen scorpions of the scourge.For me and such as me no lustral bowlShould stand, no spilth of wine be poured to GodFor me, and wrath unseen of my dead sireShould drive me from the shrine; no man should dareTo take me to his hearth, nor dwell with me:Slow, friendless, cursed of all should be mine end,And pitiless horror wind me for the grave,This spake the god—this dare I disobey?Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done;For to that end diverse desires combine,—The god’s behest, deep grief for him who died,And last, the grievous blank of wealth despoiled—All these weigh on me, urge that Argive men,Minions of valour, who with soul of fireDid make of fencèd Troy a ruinous heap,Be not left slaves to two and each a woman!For he, the man, wears woman’s heart; if notSoon shall he know, confronted by a man.[Orestes, Electra, and the Chorus gather round the tomb of Agamemnon for the invocation which follows.CHORUSMighty Fates, on you we call!Bid the will of Zeus ordainPower to those, to whom againJustice turns with hand and aid!Grievous was the prayer one made—Grievous let the answer fall!Where the mighty doom is set,Justice claims aloud her debtWho in blood hath dipped the steel,Deep in blood her meed shall feel!List an immemorial word—Whosoe’er shall take the swordShall perish by the sword.ORESTESFather, unblest in death, O father mine!What breath of word or deedCan I waft on thee from this far confineUnto thy lowly bed,—Waft upon thee, in midst of darkness lying,Hope’s counter-gleam of fire?Yet the loud dirge of praise brings grace undyingUnto each parted sire.CHORUSO child, the spirit of the dead,Altho’ upon his flesh have fedThe grim teeth of the flame,Is quelled not; after many daysThe sting of wrath his soul shall raise,A vengeance to reclaim!To the dead rings loud our cry—Plain the living’s treachery—Swelling, shrilling, urged on high,The vengeful dirge, for parents slain,Shall strive and shall attain.ELECTRAHear me too, even me, O father, hear!Not by one child alone these groans, these tears are shedUpon thy sepulchre.Each, each, where thou art lowly laid,Stands, a suppliant, homeless made:Ah, and all is full of ill,Comfort is there none to say!Strive and wrestle as we may,Still stands doom invincible.CHORUSNay, if so he will, the godStill our tears to joy can turnHe can bid a triumph-odeDrown the dirge beside this urn;He to kingly halls can greetThe child restored, the homeward-guided feet.ORESTESAh my father! hadst thou lainUnder Ilion’s wall,By some Lycian spearman slain,Thou hadst left in this thine hallHonour; thou hadst wrought for usFame and life most glorious.Over-seas if thou had’st died,Heavily had stood thy tomb,Heaped on high; but, quenched in pride,Grief were light unto thy home.CHORUSLoved and honoured hadst thou lainBy the dead that nobly fell,In the under-world again,Where are throned the kings of hell,Full of sway adorableThou hadst stood at their right hand—Thou that wert, in mortal land,By Fate’s ordinance and law,King of kings who bear the crownAnd the staff, to which in aweMortal men bow down.ELECTRANay O father, I were fainOther fate had fallen on thee.Ill it were if thou hadst lainOne among the common slain,Fallen by Scamander’s side—Those who slew thee there should be!Then, untouched by slavery,We had heard as from afarDeaths of those who should have died’Mid the chance of war.CHORUSO child, forbear! things all too high thou sayest.Easy, but vain, thy cry!A boon above all gold is that thou prayest,An unreached destiny,As of the blessèd land that far aloofBeyond the north wind lies;Yet doth your double prayer ring loud reproof;A double scourge of sighsAwakes the dead; th’ avengers rise, though late;Blood stains the guilty prideOf the accursed who rule on earth, and FateStands on the children’s side.ELECTRAThat hath sped thro’ mine ear, like a shaft from a bow!Zeus, Zeus! it is thou who dost send from belowA doom on the desperate doer—ere longOn a mother a father shall visit his wrong.CHORUSBe it mine to upraise thro’ the reek of the pyreThe chant of delight, while the funeral fireDevoureth the corpse of a man that is slainAnd a woman laid low!For who bids me conceal it! out-rending control,Blows ever stern blast of hate thro’ my soul,And before me a vision of wrath and of baneFlits and waves to and fro.ORESTESZeus, thou alone to us art parent now.Smite with a rending blowUpon their heads, and bid the land be well:Set right where wrong hath stood; and thou give ear,O Earth, unto my prayer—Yea, hear O mother Earth, and monarchy of hell!CHORUSNay, the law is sternly set—Blood-drops shed upon the groundPlead for other bloodshed yet;Loud the call of death doth sound,Calling guilt of olden time,A Fury, crowning crime with crime.ELECTRAWhere, where are ye, avenging powers,Puissant Furies of the slain?Behold the relics of the raceOf Atreus, thrust from pride of place!O Zeus, what home henceforth is ours,What refuge to attain?CHORUSLo, at your wail my heart throbs, wildly stirred;Now am I lorn with sadness,Darkened in all my soul, to hear your sorrow’s word.Anon to hope, the seat of strength, I rise,—She, thrusting grief away, lifts up mine eyesTo the new dawn of gladness.ORESTESSkills it to tell of aught save wrong on wrong,Wrought by our mother’s deed?Though now she fawn for pardon, sternly strongStandeth our wrath, and will nor hear nor heed;Her children’s soul is wolfish, born from hers,And softens not by prayers.CHORUSI dealt upon my breast the blowThat Asian mourning women know;Wails from my breast the fun’ral cry,The Cissian weeping melody;Stretched rendingly forth, to tatter and tear,My clenched hands wander, here and there,From head to breast; distraught with blowsThrob dizzily my brows.ELECTRAAweless in hate, O mother, sternly brave!As in a foeman’s graveThou laid’st in earth a king, but to the bierNo citizen drew near,—Thy husband, thine, yet for his obsequies,Thou bad’st no wail arise!ORESTESAlas the shameful burial thou dost speak!Yet I the vengeance of his shame will wreak—That do the gods command!That shall achieve mine hand!Grant me to thrust her life away, and IWill dare to die!CHORUSList thou the deed! Hewn down and foully torn,He to the tomb was borne;Yea, by her hand, the deed who wrought,With like dishonour to the grave was brought,And by her hand she strove, with strong desire,Thy life to crush, O child, by murder of thy sire:Bethink thee, hearing, of the shame, the painWherewith that sire was slain!ELECTRAYea, such was the doom of my sire; well-a-day,I was thrust from his side,—As a dog from the chamber they thrust me away,And in place of my laughter rose sobbing and tears,As in darkness I lay.O father, if this word can pass to thine ears,To thy soul let it reach and abide!CHORUSLet it pass, let it pierce, through the sense of thine ear,To thy soul, where in silence it waiteth the hour!The past is accomplished; but rouse thee to hearWhat the future prepareth; awake and appear,Our champion, in wrath and in power!ORESTESO father, to thy loved ones come in aid.ELECTRAWith tears I call on thee.CHORUSListen and rise to light!Be thou with us, be thou against the foe!Swiftly this cry arises—even soPray we, the loyal band, as we have prayed!ORESTESLet their might meet with mine, and their right with my right.ELECTRAO ye Gods, it is yours to decree.CHORUSYe call unto the dead; I quake to hear.Fate is ordained of old, and shall fulfil your prayer.ELECTRAAlas, the inborn curse that haunts our home,Of Atè’s bloodstained scourge the tuneless sound!Alas, the deep insufferable doom,The stanchless wound!ORESTESIt shall be stanched, the task is ours,—Not by a stranger’s, but by kindred hand,Shall be chased forth the blood-fiend of our land.Be this our spoken spell, to call Earth’s nether powers!CHORUSLords of a dark eternity,To you has come the children’s cry,Send up from hell, fulfil your aidTo them who prayed.ORESTESO father, murdered in unkingly wise,Fulfil my prayer, grant me thine halls to sway.ELECTRATo me too, grant this boon—dark death to dealUnto Aegisthus, and to ’scape my doom.ORESTESSo shall the rightful feasts that mortals payBe set for thee; else, not for thee shall riseThe scented reek of altars fed with flesh,But thou shall lie dishonoured: hear thou me!ELECTRAI too, from my full heritage restored,Will pour the lustral streams, what time I passForth as a bride from these paternal halls,And honour first, beyond all graves, thy tomb.ORESTESEarth, send my sire to fend me in the fight!ELECTRAGive fair-faced fortune, O Persephone!ORESTESBethink thee, father, in the laver slain—ELECTRABethink thee of the net they handselled for thee!ORESTESBonds not of brass ensnared thee, father mine.ELECTRAYea, the ill craft of an enfolding robe.ORESTESBy this our bitter speech arise, O sire!ELECTRARaise thou thine head at love’s last, dearest call!ORESTESYea, speed forth Right to aid thy kinsmen’s cause;Grip for grip, let them grasp the foe, if thouWillest in triumph to forget thy fall.ELECTRAHear me, O father, once again hear me.Lo! at thy tomb, two fledglings of thy brood—A man-child and a maid; hold them in ruth,Nor wipe them out, the last of Pelops’ line.For while they live, thou livest from the dead;Children are memory’s voices, and preserveThe dead from wholly dying: as a netIs ever by the buoyant corks upheld,Which save the flex-mesh, in the depth submerged.Listen, this wail of ours doth rise for thee,And as thou heedest it thyself art saved.CHORUSIn sooth, a blameless prayer ye spake at length—The tomb’s requital for its dirge denied:Now, for the rest, as thou art fixed to do,Take fortune by the hand and work thy will.ORESTESThe doom is set; and yet I fain would ask—Not swerving from the course of my resolve,—Wherefore she sent these offerings, and whyShe softens all too late her cureless deed?An idle boon it was, to send them hereUnto the dead who recks not of such gifts.I cannot guess her thought, but well I weenSuch gifts are skilless to atone such crime.Be blood once spilled, an idle strife he strivesWho seeks with other wealth or wine outpouredTo atone the deed. So stands the word, nor fails.Yet would I know her thought; speak, if thou knowest.CHORUSI know it, son; for at her side I stood.’Twas the night-wandering terror of a dreamThat flung her shivering from her couch, and bade her—Her, the accursed of God—these offerings send.ORESTESHeard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright?CHORUSYea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare.ORESTESWhat then the sum and issue of the tale?CHORUSEven as a swaddled child, she lull’d the thing.ORESTESWhat suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged?CHORUSYet in her dreams she proffered it the breast.ORESTESHow? did the hateful thing not bite her teat?CHORUSYea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk.ORESTESNot vain this dream—it bodes a man’s revenge.CHORUSThen out of sleep she started with a cry,And thro’ the palace for their mistress’ aidFull many lamps, that erst lay blind with night,Flared into light; then, even as mourners use,She sends these offerings, in hope to winA cure to cleave and sunder sin from doom.ORESTESEarth and my father’s grave, to you I call—Give this her dream fulfilment, and thro’ me.I read it in each part coincident,With what shall be; for mark, that serpent sprangFrom the same womb as I, in swaddling bandsBy the same hands was swathed, lipped the same breast,And sucking forth the same sweet mother’s-milkInfused a clot of blood; and in alarmShe cried upon her wound the cry of pain.The rede is clear: the thing of dread she nursed,The death of blood she dies; and I, ’tis I,In semblance of a serpent, that must slay her.Thou art my seer, and thus I read the dream.CHORUSSo do; yet ere thou doest, speak to us,Siding some act, some, by not acting, aid.ORESTESBrief my command: I bid my sister passIn silence to the house, and all I bidThis my design with wariness conceal,That they who did by craft a chieftain slayMay by like craft and in like noose be ta’enDying the death which Loxias foretold—Apollo, king and prophet undisproved.I with this warrior Pylades will comeIn likeness of a stranger, full equiptAs travellers come, and at the palace gatesWill stand, as stranger yet in friendship’s bondUnto this house allied; and each of usWill speak the tongue that round Parnassus sounds,Feigning such speech as Phocian voices use.And what if none of those that tend the gatesShall welcome us with gladness, since the houseWith ills divine is haunted? if this hap,We at the gate will bide, till, passing by,Some townsman make conjecture and proclaim,How? is Aegisthus here, and knowinglyKeeps suppliants aloof, by bolt and bar?Then shall I win my way; and if I crossThe threshold of the gate, the palace’ guard,And find him throned where once my father sat—Or if he come anon, and face to faceConfronting, drop his eyes from mine—I swearHe shall not utter,Who art thou and whence?Ere my steel leap, and compassed round with deathLow he shall lie: and thus, full-fed with doom,The Fury of the house shall drain once moreA deep third draught of rich unmingled blood.But thou, O sister, look that all withinBe well prepared to give these things event.And ye—I say ’twere well to bear a tongueFull of fair silence and of fitting speechAs each beseems the time; and last, do thou,Hermes the warder-god, keep watch and ward,And guide to victory my striving sword.[Exit with Pylades.CHORUSMany and marvellous the things of fearEarth’s breast doth bear;And the sea’s lap with many monsters teems,And windy levin-bolts and meteor gleamsBreed many deadly things—Unknown and flying forms, with fear upon their wings,And in their tread is death;And rushing whirlwinds, of whose blasting breathMan’s tongue can tell.But who can tell aright the fiercer thing,The aweless soul, within man’s breast inhabiting?Who tell, how, passion-fraught and love-distraughtThe woman’s eager, craving thoughtDoth wed mankind to woe and ruin fell?Yea, how the loveless love that doth possessThe woman, even as the lioness,Doth rend and wrest apart, with eager strife,The link of wedded life?Let him be the witness, whose thought is not borne on light wings thro’ the air,But abideth with knowledge, what thing was wrought by Althea’s despair;For she marr’d the life-grace of her son, with ill counsel rekindled the flameThat was quenched as it glowed on the brand, what time from his mother he came,With the cry of a new-born child; and the brand from the burning she won,For the Fates had foretold it coeval, in life and in death, with her son.Yea, and man’s hate tells of another, even Scylla of murderous guile,Who slew for an enemy’s sake her father, won o’er by the wileAnd the gifts of Cretan Minos, the gauds of the high-wrought gold;For she clipped from her father’s head the lock that should never wax old,As he breathed in the silence of sleep, and knew not her craft and her crime—But Hermes, the guard of the dead, doth grasp her, in fulness of time.And since of the crimes of the cruel I tell, let my singing recordThe bitter wedlock and loveless, the curse on these halls outpoured,The crafty device of a woman, whereby did a chieftain fall,A warrior stern in his wrath; the fear of his enemies all,—A song of dishonour, untimely! and cold is the hearth that was warmAnd ruled by the cowardly spear, the woman’s unwomanly arm.But the summit and crown of all crimes is that which in Lemnos befell;A woe and a mourning it is, a shame and a spitting to tell;And he that in after time doth speak of his deadliest thought,Doth say,It is like to the deed that of old time in Lemnos was wrought;And loathed of men were the doers, and perished, they and their seed,For the gods brought hate upon them; none loveth the impious deed.It is well of these tales to tell; for the sword in the grasp of RightWith a cleaving, a piercing blow to the innermost heart doth smite,And the deed unlawfully done is not trodden down nor forgot,When the sinner out-steppeth the law and heedeth the high God not;But Justice hath planted the anvil, and Destiny forgeth the swordThat shall smite in her chosen time; by her is the child restored;And, darkly devising, the Fiend of the house, world-cursed, will repayThe price of the blood of the slain that was shed in the bygone day.[Enter Orestes and Pylades, in guise of travellers.ORESTES(knocking at the palace gate)What ho! slave, ho! I smite the palace gateIn vain, it seems; what ho, attend within,—Once more, attend; come forth and ope the halls,If yet Aegisthus holds them hospitable.SLAVE(from within)Anon, anon![Opens the door.Speak, from what land art thou, and sent from whom?ORESTESGo, tell to them who rule the palace-halls,Since ’tis to them I come with tidings new—(Delay not—Night’s dark car is speeding on,And time is now for wayfarers to castAnchor in haven, wheresoe’er a houseDoth welcome strangers)—that there now come forthSome one who holds authority within—The queen, or, if some man, more seemly were it;For when man standeth face to face with man,No stammering modesty confounds their speech,But each to each doth tell his meaning clear.[Enter Clytemnestra.CLYTEMNESTRASpeak on, O strangers; have ye need of aught?Here is whate’er beseems a house like this—Warm bath and bed, tired Nature’s soft restorer,And courteous eyes to greet you; and if aughtOf graver import needeth act as well,That, as man’s charge, I to a man will tell.ORESTESA Daulian man am I, from Phocis bound,And as with mine own travel-scrip self-ladenI went toward Argos, parting hitherwardWith travelling foot, there did encounter meOne whom I knew not and who knew not me,But asked my purposed way nor hid his own,And, as we talked together, told his name—Strophius of Phocis; then he said, “Good sir,Since in all case thou art to Argos bound,Forget not this my message, heed it well,Tell to his own,Orestes is no more.And—whatsoe’er his kinsfolk shall resolve,Whether to bear his dust unto his home,Or lay him here, in death as erst in lifeExiled for aye, a child of banishment—Bring me their hest, upon thy backward road;For now in brazen compass of an urnHis ashes lie, their dues of weeping paid.”So much I heard, and so much tell to thee,Not knowing if I speak unto his kinWho rule his home; but well, I deem, it were,Such news should earliest reach a parent’s ear.CLYTEMNESTRAAh woe is me! thy word our ruin tells;From roof-tree unto base are we despoiled.—O thou whom nevermore we wrestle down,Thou Fury of this home, how oft and oftThou dost descry what far aloof is laid,Yea, from afar dost bend th’ unerring bowAnd rendest from my wretchedness its friends;As now Orestes—who, a brief while since,Safe from the mire of death stood warily,—Was the home’s hope to cure th’ exulting wrong;Now thou ordainest,Let the ill abide.ORESTESTo host and hostess thus with fortune blest,Lief had I come with better news to bearUnto your greeting and acquaintanceship;For what goodwill lies deeper than the bondOf guest and host? and wrong abhorred it were,As well I deem, if I, who pledged my faithTo one, and greetings from the other had,Bore not aright the tidings ’twixt the twain.CLYTEMNESTRAWhate’er thy news, thou shalt not welcome lack,Meet and deserved, nor scant our grace shall be.Hadst them thyself not come, such tale to tell,Another, sure, had borne it to our ears.But lo! the hour is here when travelling guests,Fresh from the daylong labour of the road,Should win their rightful due. Take him within[To the slave.To the man-chamber’s hospitable rest—Him and these fellow-farers at his side;Give them such guest-right as beseems our halls;I bid thee do as thou shalt answer for it.And I unto the prince who rules our homeWill tell the tale, and, since we lack not friends,With them will counsel how this hap to bear[Exit Clytemnestra.CHORUSSo be it done—Sister-servants, when draws nighTime for us aloud to cryOrestes and his victory?O holy earth and holy tombOver the grave-pit heaped on high,Where low doth Agamemnon lie,The king of ships, the army’s lord!Now is the hour—give ear and come,For now doth Craft her aid afford,And Hermes, guard of shades in hell,Stands o’er their strife, to sentinelThe dooming of the sword.I wot the stranger worketh woe within—For lo! I see come forth, suffused with tears,Orestes’ nurse. What ho, Kilissa—thouBeyond the doors? Where goest thou? MethinksSome grief unbidden walketh at thy side.[Enter Kilissa, a nurse.KILISSAMy mistress bids me, with what speed I may,Call in Aegisthus to the stranger guests,That he may come, and standing face to face,A man with men, may thus more clearly learnThis rumour new. Thus speaking, to her slavesShe hid beneath the glance of fictive griefLaughter for what is wrought—to her desireToo well; but ill, ill, ill besets the house,Brought by the tale these guests have told so clear.And he, God wot, will gladden all his heartHearing this rumour. Woe and well-a-day!The bitter mingled cup of ancient woes,Hard to be borne, that here in Atreus’ houseBefel, was grievous to mine inmost heart,But never yet did I endure such pain.All else I bore with set soul patiently;But now—alack, alack!—Orestes dear,The day and night-long travail of my soul!Whom from his mother’s womb, a new-born child,I clasped and cherished! Many a time and oftToilsome and profitless my service was,When his shrill outcry called me from my couch!For the young child, before the sense is born,Hath but a dumb thing’s life, must needs be nursedAs its own nature bids. The swaddled thingHath nought of speech, whate’er discomfort come—Hunger or thirst or lower weakling need,—For the babe’s stomach works its own relief.Which knowing well before, yet oft surprised,’Twas mine to cleanse the swaddling clothes—poor IWas nurse to tend and fuller to make white;Two works in one, two handicrafts I took,When in mine arms the father laid the boy.And now he’s dead—alack and well-a-day!Yet must I go to him whose wrongful powerPollutes this house—fair tidings these to him!CHORUSSay then, with what array she bids him come?KILISSAWhat say’st thou! Speak more clearly for mine ear.CHORUSBids she bring henchmen, or to come alone?KlLISSAShe bids him bring a spear-armed body-guard.CHORUSNay, tell not that unto our loathèd lord,But speed to him, put on the mien of joy,Say,Come along, fear nought, the news is good:A bearer can tell straight a twisted tale.KILISSADoes then thy mind in this new tale find joy?CHORUSWhat if Zeus bid our ill wind veer to fair?KILISSAAnd how? the home’s hope with Orestes dies.CHORUSNot yet—a seer, though feeble, this might see.KILISSAWhat say’st thou? Know’st thou aught, this tale belying?CHORUSGo, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,—What the gods will, themselves can well provide.KILISSAWell, I will go, herein obeying thee;And luck fall fair, with favour sent from heaven.[Exit.CHORUSZeus, sire of them who on Olympus dwell,Hear thou, O hear my prayer!Grant to my rightful lords to prosper wellEven as their zeal is fair!For right, for right goes up aloud my cry—Zeus, aid him, stand anigh!Into his father’s hall he goesTo smite his father’s foes.Bid him prevail! by thee on throne of triumph set,Twice, yea and thrice with joy shall he acquit the debt.Bethink thee, the young steed, the orphan foalOf sire beloved by thee, unto the carOf doom is harnessed fast.Guide him aright, plant firm a lasting goal,Speed thou his pace,—O that no chance may marThe homeward course, the last!And ye who dwell within the inner chamberWhere shines the storèd joy of gold—Gods of one heart, O hear ye, and remember;Up and avenge the blood shed forth of old,With sudden rightful blow;Then let the old curse die, nor be renewedWith progeny of blood,—Once more, and not again, be latter guilt laid low!O thou who dwell’st in Delphi’s mighty cave,Grant us to see this home once more restoredUnto its rightful lord!Let it look forth, from veils of death, with joyous eyeUnto the dawning light of liberty;And Hermes, Maia’s child, lend hand to save,Willing the right, and guideOur state with Fortune’s breeze adown the favouring tide.Whate’er in darkness hidden lies,He utters at his will;He at his will throws darkness on our eyeBy night and eke by day inscrutable.Then, then shall wealth atoneThe ills that here were done.Then, then will we unbind,Fling free on wafting windOf joy, the woman’s voice that waileth nowIn piercing accents for a chief laid low;And this our song shall be—Hail to the commonwealth restored!Hail to the freedom won to me!All hail! for doom hath passed from him, my well-loved lord!And thou, O child, when Time and Chance agree,Up to the deed that for thy sire is done!And if she wail unto thee,Spare, O son—Cry,Aid, O father—and achieve the deed,The horror of man’s tongue, the gods’ great need!Hold in thy breast such heart as Perseus had,The bitter woe work forth,Appease the summons of the dead,The wrath of friends on earth;Yea, set within a sign of blood and doom,And do to utter death him that pollutes thy home.[Enter Aegisthus.AEGISTHUSHither and not unsummoned have I come;For a new rumour, borne by stranger menArriving hither, hath attained mine ears,Of hap unwished-for, even Orestes’ death.This were new sorrow, a blood-bolter’d loadLaid on the house that doth already bowBeneath a former wound that festers deep.Dare I opine these words have truth and life?Or are they tales, of woman’s terror born,That fly in the void air, and die disproved?Canst thou tell aught, and prove it to my soul?CHORUSWhat we have heard, we heard; go thou withinThyself to ask the strangers of their tale.Strengthless are tidings, thro’ another heard;Question is his, to whom the tale is brought.AEGISTHUSI too will meet and test the messenger,Whether himself stood witness of the death,Or tells it merely from dim rumour learnt:None shall cheat me, whose soul hath watchful eyes.[Exit.CHORUSZeus, Zeus! what word to me is given?What cry or prayer, invoking heaven,Shall first by me be utterèd?What speech of craft? nor all revealing,Nor all too warily concealing—Ending my speech, shall aid the deed?For lo! in readiness is laidThe dark emprise, the rending blade;Blood-dropping daggers shall achieveThe dateless doom of Atreus’ name,Or—kindling torch and joyful flameIn sign of new-won liberty—Once more Orestes shall retrieveHis father’s wealth, and, throned on high,Shall hold the city’s fealty.So mighty is the grasp whereby,Heaven-holpen, he shall trip and throw,Unseconded, a double foeHo for the victory![A loud cry within.VOICE OF AEGISTHUSHelp, help, alas!CHORUSHo there, ho! how is’t within?Is’t done? is’t over? Stand we here aloofWhile it is wrought, that guiltless we may seemOf this dark deed; with death is strife fulfilled.[Enter a slaveSLAVEO woe, O woe, my lord is done to death!Woe, woe, and woe again, AEgisthus gone!Hasten, fling wide the doors, unloose the boltsOf the queen’s chamber. O for some young strengthTo match the need! but aid availeth noughtTo him laid low for ever. Help, help, help!Sure to deaf ears I shout, and call in vainTo slumber ineffectual. What ho!The queen! how fareth Clytemnestra’s self?Her neck too, hers, is close upon the steel,And soon shall sink, hewn thro’ as justice wills.[Enter Clytemnestra.CLYTEMNESTRAWhat ails thee, raising this ado for us?SLAVEI say the dead are come to slay the living.CLYTEMNESTRAAlack, I read thy riddles all too clear—We slew by craft and by like craft shall die.Swift, bring the axe that slew my lord of old;I’ll know anon or death or victory—So stands the curse, so I confront it here.[Enter Orestes, his sword dropping with blood.ORESTESThee too I seek: for him what’s done will serve.CLYTEMNESTRAWoe, woe! Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain!ORESTESWhat lov’st the man? then in his grave lie down,Be his in death, desert him nevermore!CLYTEMNESTSAStay, child, and fear to strike. O son, this breastPillowed thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep,Thy toothless mouth drew mother’s milk from me.ORESTESCan I my mother spare? speak, Pylades,PYLADESWhere then would fall the hest Apollo gaveAt Delphi, where the solemn compact sworn?Choose thou the hate of all men, not of gods.ORESTESThou dost prevail; I hold thy counsel good.[To Clytemnestra.Follow; I will slay thee at his side.With him whom in his life thou lovedst moreThan Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meedFor hate where love, and love where hate was due!CLYTEMNESTRAI nursed thee young; must I forego mine eld?ORESTESThou slew’st my father; shalt thou dwell with me?CLYTEMNESTRAFate bore a share in these things, O my child!ORESTESFate also doth provide this doom for thee.CLYTEMNESTRABeware, O my child, a parent’s dying curse.ORESTESA parent who did cast me out to ill!CLYTEMNESTRANot cast thee out, but to a friendly home.ORESTESBorn free, I was by twofold bargain sold.CLYTEMNESTRAWhere then the price that I received for thee?ORESTESThe price of shame; I taunt thee not more plainly.CLYTEMNESTRANay, but recount thy father’s lewdness too.ORESTESHome-keeping, chide not him who toils without.CLYTEMNESTRA’Tis hard for wives to live as widows, child.ORESTESThe absent husband toils for them at home.CLYTEMNESTRAThou growest fain to slay thy mother, childORESTESNay, ’tis thyself wilt slay thyself, not I.CLYTEMNESTRABeware thy mother’s vengeful hounds from hell.ORESTESHow shall I ’scape my father’s, sparing thee?CLYTEMNESTRALiving, I cry as to a tomb, unheard.ORESTESMy father’s fate ordains this doom for thee.CLYTEMNESTRAAh, me! this snake it was I bore and nursed.ORESTESAy, right prophetic was thy visioned fear.Shameful thy deed was—die the death of shame![Exit, driving Clytemnestra before him.CHORUSLo, even for these I mourn, a double death:Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom,Thus crowns the height of murders manifold,I say, ’tis well—that not in night and deathShould sink the eye and light of this our home.There came on Priam’s race and nameA vengeance; though it tarried long,With heavy doom it came.Came, too, on Agamemnon’s hallA lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong.And last, the heritage doth fallTo him, to whom from Pythian caveThe god his deepest counsel gave.Cry out, rejoice! our kingly hallHath ’scaped from ruin—ne’er againIts ancient wealth be wasted allBy two usurpers, sin-defiled—An evil path of woe and bane!On him who dealt the dastard blowComes Craft, Revenge’s scheming child.And hand in hand with him doth go,Eager for fight,The child of Zeus, whom men belowCall Justice, naming her aright.And on her foes her breathIs as the blast of death;For her the god who dwells in deep recessBeneath Parnassus’ brow,Summons with loud acclaimTo rise, though late and lame,And come with craft that worketh righteousness.For even o’er Powers divine this law is strong—Thou shalt not serve the wrong.To that which ruleth heaven beseems it that we bow.Lo, freedom’s light hath come!Lo, now is rent awayThe grim and curbing bit that held us dumb.Up to the light, ye halls! this many a dayToo low on earth ye lay.And Time, the great Accomplisher,Shall cross the threshold, whensoe’erHe choose with purging hand to cleanseThe palace, driving all pollution thence.And fair the cast of Fortune’s dieBefore our state’s new lords shall lie,Not as of old, but bringing fairer doomLo, freedom’s light hath come![The scene opens, disclosing Orestes standing over the corpses of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; in one hand he holds his sword, in the other the robe in which Agamemnon was entangled and slain.ORESTESThere lies our country’s twofold tyranny,My father’s slayers, spoilers of my home.Erst were they royal, sitting on the throne,And loving are they yet,—their common fateTells the tale truly, shows their trothplight firm.They swore to work mine ill-starred father’s death,They swore to die together; ’tis fulfilled.O ye who stand, this great doom’s witnesses,Behold this too, the dark device which boundMy sire unhappy to his death,—beholdThe mesh which trapped his hands, enwound his feet!Stand round, unfold it—’tis the trammel-netThat wrapped a chieftain; holds it that he see,The father—not my sire, but he whose eyeIs judge of all things, the all-seeing Sun!Let him behold my mother’s damnèd deed,Then let him stand, when need shall be to me,Witness that justly I have sought and slainMy mother; blameless was Aegisthus’ doom—He died the death law bids adulterers die.But she who plotted this accursèd thingTo slay her lord, by whom she bare beneathHer girdle once the burden of her babes,Beloved erewhile, now turned to hateful foes—What deem ye of her? or what venomed thing,Sea-snake or adder, had more power than sheTo poison with a touch the flesh unscarred?So great her daring, such her impious will.How name her, if I may not speak a curse?A lion-springe! a laver’s swathing cloth,Wrapping a dead man, twining round his feet—A net, a trammel, an entangling robe?Such were the weapon of some strangling thief,The terror of the road, a cut-purse hound—With such device full many might he kill,Full oft exult in heat of villainy.Ne’er have my house so cursed an indweller—Heaven send me, rather, childless to be slain!CHORUSWoe for each desperate deed!Woe for the queen, with shame of life bereft!And ah, for him who still is left,Madness, dark blossom of a bloody seed!ORESTESDid she the deed or not? this robe gives proof,Imbrued with blood that bathed Aegisthus’ sword:Look, how the spurted stain combines with timeTo blur the many dyes that once adornedIts pattern manifold! I now stand here,Made glad, made sad with blood, exulting, wailing—Hear, O thou woven web that slew my sire!I grieve for deed and death and all my home—Victor, pollution’s damnèd stain for prize.CHORUSAlas, that none of mortal menCan pass his life untouched by pain!Behold, one woe is here—Another loometh near.ORESTESHark ye and learn—for what the end shall beFor me I know not: breaking from the curbMy spirit whirls me off, a conquered prey,Borne as a charioteer by steeds distraughtFar from the course, and madness in my breastBurneth to chant its song, and leap, and rave—Hark ye and learn, friends, ere my reason goes!I say that rightfully I slew my mother,A thing God-scorned, that foully slew my sireAnd chiefest wizard of the spell that bound meUnto this deed I name the Pythian seerApollo, who foretold that if I slew,The guilt of murder done should pass from me;But if I spared, the fate that should be mineI dare not blazon forth—the bow of speechCan reach not to the mark, that doom to tell.And now behold me, how with branch and crownI pass, a suppliant made meet to goUnto Earth’s midmost shrine, the holy groundOf Loxias, and that renownèd lightOf ever-burning fire, to ’scape the doomOf kindred murder: to no other shrine(So Loxias bade) may I for refuge turn.Bear witness, Argives, in the after time,How came on me this dread fatality.Living, I pass a banished wanderer hence,To leave in death the memory of this cry.CHORUSNay, but the deed is well; link not thy lipsTo speech ill-starred, nor vent ill-boding words—Who hast to Argos her full freedom given,Lopping two serpents’ heads with timely blow.ORESTESLook, look, alas!Handmaidens, see—what Gorgon shapes throng up;Dusky their robes and all their hair enwound—Snakes coiled with snakes—off, off, I must away!CHORUSMost loyal of all sons unto thy sire,What visions thus distract thee? Hold, abide;Great was thy victory, and shalt thou fear?ORESTESThese are no dreams, void shapes of haunting ill,But clear to sight my mother’s hell-hounds come!CHORUSNay, the fresh bloodshed still imbrues thine hands,And thence distraction sinks into thy soul.ORESTESO king Apollo—see, they swarm and throng—Black blood of hatred dripping from their eyes!CHORUSOne remedy thou hast; go, touch the shrineOf Loxias, and rid thee of these woes.ORESTESYe can behold them not, but I behold them.Up and away! I dare abide no more.[ExitCHORUSFarewell then as thou mayst,—the god thy friendGuard thee and aid with chances favouring.Behold, the storm of woe divineThat the raves and beats on Atreus’ lineIts great third blast hath blown.First was Thyestes’ loathly woe—The rueful feast of long ago,On children’s flesh, unknown.And next the kingly chief’s despite,When he who led the Greeks to fightWas in the bath hewn down.And now the offspring of the raceStands in the third, the saviour’s place,To save—or to consume?O whither, ere it be fulfilled,Ere its fierce blast be hushed and stilled,Shall blow the wind of doom?[Exeunt.
ORESTESCHORUS OF CAPTIVE WOMENELECTRAA NURSECLYTEMNESTRAAEGISTHUSAN ATTENDANTPYLADES
The Scene is the Tomb of Agamemnon at Mycenae; afterwards, the Palace of Atreus, hard by the Tomb.
Orestes
Lord of the shades and patron of the realmThat erst my father swayed, list now my prayer,Hermes, and save me with thine aiding arm,Me who from banishment returning standOn this my country; lo, my foot is setOn this grave-mound, and herald-like, as thou,Once and again, I bid my father hear.And these twin locks, from mine head shorn, I bring,And one to Inachus the river-god,My young life’s nurturer, I dedicate,And one in sign of mourning unfulfilledI lay, though late, on this my father’s grave.For O my father, not beside thy corseStood I to wail thy death, nor was my handStretched out to bear thee forth to burial.
What sight is yonder? what this woman-throngHitherward coming, by their sable garbMade manifest as mourners? What hath chanced?Doth some new sorrow hap within the home?Or rightly may I deem that they draw nearBearing libations, such as soothe the ireOf dead men angered, to my father’s grave?Nay, such they are indeed; for I descryElectra mine own sister pacing hither,In moody grief conspicuous. Grant, O Zeus,Grant me my father’s murder to avenge—Be thou my willing champion!Pylades,Pass we aside, till rightly I discernWherefore these women throng in suppliance.
[Exeunt Pylades and Orestes; enter the Chorus bearing vessels for libation; Electra follows them; they pace slowly towards the tomb of Agamemnon.
CHORUSForth from the royal halls by high commandI bear libations for the dead.Rings on my smitten breast my smiting hand,And all my cheek is rent and red,Fresh-furrowed by my nails, and all my soulThis many a day doth feed on cries of dole.And trailing tatters of my vest,In looped and windowed raggedness forlorn,Hang rent around my breast,Even as I, by blows of Fate most sternSaddened and torn.
Oracular thro’ visions, ghastly clear,Bearing a blast of wrath from realms below,And stiffening each rising hair with dread,Came out of dream-land Fear,And, loud and awful, badeThe shriek ring out at midnight’s witching hour,And brooded, stern with woe,Above the inner house, the woman’s bower.And seers inspired did read the dream on oath,Chanting aloudIn realms belowThe dead are wroth;Against their slayers yet their ire doth glow.
Therefore to bear this gift of graceless worth—O Earth, my nursing mother!—The woman god-accurs’d doth send me forthLest one crime bring another.Ill is the very word to speak, for noneCan ransom or atoneFor blood once shed and darkening the plain.O hearth of woe and bane,O state that low doth lie!Sunless, accursed of men, the shadows broodAbove the home of murdered majesty.
Rumour of might, unquestioned, unsubdued,Pervading ears and soul of lesser men,Is silent now and dead.Yet rules a viler dread;For bliss and power, however won,As gods, and more than gods, dazzle our mortal ken.
Justice doth mark, with scales that swiftly sway,Some that are yet in light;Others in interspace of day and night,Till Fate arouse them, stay;And some are lapped in night, where all things are undone.
On the life-giving lap of EarthBlood hath flowed forth;And now, the seed of vengeance, clots the plain—Unmelting, uneffaced the stain.And Atè tarries long, but at the lastThe sinner’s heart is castInto pervading, waxing pangs of pain.
Lo, when man’s force doth opeThe virgin doors, there is nor cure nor hopeFor what is lost,—even so, I deem,Though in one channel ran Earth’s every stream,Laving the hand defiled from murder’s stain,It were vain.
And upon me—ah me!—the gods have laidThe woe that wrapped round Troy,What time they led down from home and kinUnto a slave’s employ—The doom to bow the headAnd watch our master’s willWork deeds of good and ill—To see the headlong sway of force and sin,And hold restrained the spirit’s bitter hate,Wailing the monarch’s fruitless fate,Hiding my face within my robe, and fainOf tears, and chilled with frost of hidden pain.
ELECTRAHand maidens, orderers of the palace-halls,Since at my side ye come, a suppliant train,Companions of this offering, counsel meAs best befits the time: for I, who pourUpon the grave these streams funereal,With what fair word can I invoke my sire?Shall I aver,Behold, I bear these giftsFrom well-beloved wife unto her well-beloved lord,When ’tis from her, my mother, that they come?I dare not say it: of all words I failWherewith to consecrate unto my sireThese sacrificial honours on his grave.Or shall I speak this word, as mortals use—Give back, to those who send these coronalsFull recompense—of ills for acts malign?Or shall I pour this draught for Earth to drink,Sans word or reverence, as my sire was slain,And homeward pass with unreverted eyes,Casting the bowl away, as one who flingsThe household cleansings to the common road?Be art and part, O friends, in this my doubt,Even as ye are in that one common hateWhereby we live attended: fear ye notThe wrath of any man, nor hide your wordWithin your breast: the day of death and doomAwaits alike the freeman and the slave.Speak, then, if aught thou know’st to aid us more.
CHORUSThou biddest; I will speak my soul’s thought out,Revering as a shrine thy father’s grave.
ELECTRASay then thy say, as thou his tomb reverest.
CHORUSSpeak solemn words to them that love, and pour.
ELECTRAAnd of his kin whom dare I name as kind?
CHORUSThyself; and next, whoe’er Aegisthus scorns.
ELECTRAThen ’tis myself and thou, my prayer must name.
CHORUSWhoe’er they be, ’tis thine to know and name them.
ELECTRAIs there no other we may claim as ours?
CHORUSThink of Orestes, though far-off he be.
ELECTRARight well in this too hast thou schooled my thought.
CHORUSMindfully, next, on those who shed the blood—
ELECTRAPray on them what? expound, instruct my doubt.
CHORUSThis;Upon them some god or mortal come——
ELECTRAAs judge or as avenger? speak thy thought.
CHORUSPray in set terms,Who shall the slayer slay.
ELECTRABeseemeth it to ask such boon of heaven?
CHORUSHow not, to wreak a wrong upon a foe?
ELECTRAO mighty Hermes, warder of the shades,Herald of upper and of under world,Proclaim and usher down my prayer’s appealUnto the gods below, that they with eyesWatchful behold these halls, my sire’s of old—And unto Earth, the mother of all things,And foster-nurse, and womb that takes their seed.
Lo, I that pour these draughts for men now dead,Call on my father, who yet holds in ruthMe and mine own Orestes,Father, speak—How shall thy children rule thine halls again?Homeless we are and sold; and she who soldIs she who bore us; and the price she tookIs he who joined with her to work thy death,Aegisthus, her new lord. Behold me hereBrought down to slave’s estate, and far awayWanders Orestes, banished from the wealthThat once was thine, the profit of thy care,Whereon these revel in a shameful joy.Father, my prayer is said; ’tis thine to hear—Grant that some fair fate bring Orestes home,And unto me grant these—a purer soulThan is my mother’s, a more stainless hand.
These be my prayers for us; for thee, O sire,I cry that one may come to smite thy foes,And that the slayers may in turn be slain.Cursed is their prayer, and thus I bar its path,Praying mine own, a counter-curse on them.And thou, send up to us the righteous boonFor which we pray: thine aids be heaven and earth,And justice guide the right to victory,
[To the Chorus.
Thus have I prayed, and thus I shed these streams,And follow ye the wont, and as with flowersCrown ye with many a tear and cry the dirge,Your lips ring out above the dead man’s grave.
[She pours the libations.
CHORUSWoe, woe, woe!Let the teardrop fall, plashing on the groundWhere our lord lies low:Fall and cleanse away the cursed libation’s stain,Shed on this grave-mound,Fenced wherein together, gifts of good or baneFrom the dead are found.Lord of Argos, hearken!Though around thee darkenMist of death and hell, arise and hear!Hearken and awaken to our cry of woe!Who with might of spearShall our home deliver?Who like Ares bend until it quiver,Bend the northern bow?Who with hand upon the hilt himself will thrust with glaive,Thrust and slay and save?
ELECTRALo! the earth drinks them, to my sire they pass—Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange.
CHORUSSpeak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear.
ELECTRAI see upon the tomb a curl new shorn.
CHORUSShorn from what man or what deep-girded maid?
ELECTRAThat may he guess who will; the sign is plain.
CHORUSLet me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.
ELECTRANone is there here but I, to clip such gift.
CHORUSFor they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.
ELECTRAAnd lo! in truth the hair exceeding like—
CHORUSLike to what locks and whose? instruct me that.
ELECTRALike unto those my father’s children wear.
CHORUSThen is this lock Orestes’ secret gift?
ELECTRAMost like it is unto the curls he wore,
CHORUSYet how dared he to come unto his home?
ELECTRAHe hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire.
CHORUSIt is a sorrow grievous as his death,That he should live yet never dare return.
ELECTRAYea, and my heart o’erflows with gall of grief,And I am pierced as with a cleaving dart;Like to the first drops after drought, my tearsFall down at will, a bitter bursting tide,As on this lock I gaze; I cannot deemThat any Argive save Orestes’ selfWas ever lord thereof; nor, well I wot,Hath she, the murd’ress, shorn and laid this lockTo mourn him whom she slew—my mother she,Bearing no mother’s heart, but to her raceA loathing spirit, loathed itself of heaven!Yet to affirm, as utterly made sure,That this adornment cometh of the handOf mine Orestes, brother of my soul,I may not venture, yet hope flatters fair!Ah well-a-day, that this dumb hair had voiceTo glad mine ears, as might a messenger,Bidding me sway no more ’twixt fear and hope,Clearly commanding,Cast me hence away,Clipped was I from some head thou lovest not;Or,I am kin to thee, and here, as thou,I come to weep and deck our father’s grave.Aid me, ye gods! for well indeed ye knowHow in the gale and counter-gale of doubt,Like to the seaman’s bark, we whirl and stray.But, if God will our life, how strong shall spring,From seed how small, the new tree of our home!—Lo ye, a second sign—these footsteps, look,—Like to my own, a corresponsive print;And look, another footmark,—this his own,And that the foot of one who walked with him.Mark, how the heel and tendons’ print combine,Measured exact, with mine coincident!Alas! for doubt and anguish rack my mind.
ORESTES(approaching suddenly)Pray thou, in gratitude for prayers fulfilled,Fair fall the rest of what I ask of heaven.
ELECTRAWherefore? what win I from the gods by prayer?
ORESTESThis, that thine eyes behold thy heart’s desire.
ELECTRAOn whom of mortals know’st thou that I call?
ORESTESI know thy yearning for Orestes deep.
ELECTRASay then, wherein event hath crowned my prayer?
ORESTESI, I am he; seek not one more akin.
ELECTRASome fraud, O stranger, weavest thou for me?
ORESTESAgainst myself I weave it, if I weave.
ELECTRAAh, thou hast mind to mock me in my woe!
ORESTES’Tis at mine own I mock then, mocking thine.
ELECTRASpeak I with thee then as Orestes’ self?
ORESTESMy very face thou see’st and know’st me not,And yet but now, when thou didst see the lockShorn for my father’s grave, and when thy questWas eager on the footprints I had made,Even I, thy brother, shaped and sized as thou,Fluttered thy spirit, as at sight of me!Lay now this ringlet whence ’twas shorn, and judge,And look upon this robe, thine own hands’ work,The shuttle-prints, the creature wrought thereon—Refrain thyself, nor prudence lose in joy,For well I wot, our kin are less than kind.
ELECTRAO thou that art unto our father’s homeLove, grief and hope, for thee the tears ran down,For thee, the son, the saviour that should be;Trust thou thine arm and win thy father’s halls!O aspect sweet of fourfold love to me,Whom upon thee the heart’s constraint bids callAs on my father, and the claim of loveFrom me unto my mother turns to thee,For she is very hate; to thee too turnsWhat of my heart went out to her who diedA ruthless death upon the altar-stone;And for myself I love thee—thee that wastA brother leal, sole stay of love to me.Now by thy side be strength and right, and ZeusSaviour almighty, stand to aid the twain!
ORESTESZeus, Zeus! look down on our estate and us,The orphaned brood of him, our eagle-sire,Whom to his death a fearful serpent broughtEnwinding him in coils; and we, bereftAnd foodless, sink with famine, all too weakTo bear unto the eyrie, as he bore,Such quarry as he slew. Lo! I and she,Electra, stand before thee, fatherless,And each alike cast out and homeless made.
ELECTRAAnd if thou leave to death the brood of himWhose altar blazed for thee, whose reverenceWas thine, all thine,—whence, in the after years,Shall any hand like his adorn thy shrineWith sacrifice of flesh? the eaglets slain,Thou wouldst not have a messenger to bearThine omens, once so clear, to mortal men;So, if this kingly stock be withered all,None on high festivals will fend thy shrineStoop thou to raise us! strong the race shall show,Though puny now it seem, and fallen low.
CHORUSO children, saviours of your father’s home,Beware ye of your words, lest one should hearAnd bear them, for the tongue hath lust to tell,Unto our masters—whom God grant to meIn pitchy reek of fun’ral flame to see!
ORESTESNay, mighty is Apollo’s oracleAnd shall not fail me, whom it bade to passThro’ all this peril; clear the voice rang outWith many warnings, sternly threateningTo my hot heart the wintry chill of pain,Unless upon the slayers of my sireI pressed for vengeance: this the god’s command—That I, in ire for home and wealth despoiled,Should with a craft like theirs the slayers slay:Else with my very life I should atoneThis deed undone, in many a ghastly wiseFor he proclaimed unto the ears of menThat offerings, poured to angry power of death,Exude again, unless their will be done,As grim disease on those that poured them forth—As leprous ulcers mounting on the fleshAnd with fell fangs corroding what of oldWore natural form; and on the brow ariseWhite poisoned hairs, the crown of this disease.He spake moreover of assailing fiendsEmpowered to quit on me my father’s blood,Wreaking their wrath on me, what time in nightBeneath shut lids the spirit’s eye sees clear.The dart that flies in darkness, sped from hellBy spirits of the murdered dead who callUnto their kin for vengeance, formless fear,The night-tide’s visitant, and madness’ curseShould drive and rack me; and my tortured frameShould be chased forth from man’s communityAs with the brazen scorpions of the scourge.For me and such as me no lustral bowlShould stand, no spilth of wine be poured to GodFor me, and wrath unseen of my dead sireShould drive me from the shrine; no man should dareTo take me to his hearth, nor dwell with me:Slow, friendless, cursed of all should be mine end,And pitiless horror wind me for the grave,This spake the god—this dare I disobey?Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done;For to that end diverse desires combine,—The god’s behest, deep grief for him who died,And last, the grievous blank of wealth despoiled—All these weigh on me, urge that Argive men,Minions of valour, who with soul of fireDid make of fencèd Troy a ruinous heap,Be not left slaves to two and each a woman!For he, the man, wears woman’s heart; if notSoon shall he know, confronted by a man.
[Orestes, Electra, and the Chorus gather round the tomb of Agamemnon for the invocation which follows.
CHORUSMighty Fates, on you we call!Bid the will of Zeus ordainPower to those, to whom againJustice turns with hand and aid!Grievous was the prayer one made—Grievous let the answer fall!Where the mighty doom is set,Justice claims aloud her debtWho in blood hath dipped the steel,Deep in blood her meed shall feel!List an immemorial word—Whosoe’er shall take the swordShall perish by the sword.
ORESTESFather, unblest in death, O father mine!What breath of word or deedCan I waft on thee from this far confineUnto thy lowly bed,—Waft upon thee, in midst of darkness lying,Hope’s counter-gleam of fire?Yet the loud dirge of praise brings grace undyingUnto each parted sire.
CHORUSO child, the spirit of the dead,Altho’ upon his flesh have fedThe grim teeth of the flame,Is quelled not; after many daysThe sting of wrath his soul shall raise,A vengeance to reclaim!To the dead rings loud our cry—Plain the living’s treachery—Swelling, shrilling, urged on high,The vengeful dirge, for parents slain,Shall strive and shall attain.
ELECTRAHear me too, even me, O father, hear!Not by one child alone these groans, these tears are shedUpon thy sepulchre.Each, each, where thou art lowly laid,Stands, a suppliant, homeless made:Ah, and all is full of ill,Comfort is there none to say!Strive and wrestle as we may,Still stands doom invincible.
CHORUSNay, if so he will, the godStill our tears to joy can turnHe can bid a triumph-odeDrown the dirge beside this urn;He to kingly halls can greetThe child restored, the homeward-guided feet.
ORESTESAh my father! hadst thou lainUnder Ilion’s wall,By some Lycian spearman slain,Thou hadst left in this thine hallHonour; thou hadst wrought for usFame and life most glorious.Over-seas if thou had’st died,Heavily had stood thy tomb,Heaped on high; but, quenched in pride,Grief were light unto thy home.
CHORUSLoved and honoured hadst thou lainBy the dead that nobly fell,In the under-world again,Where are throned the kings of hell,Full of sway adorableThou hadst stood at their right hand—Thou that wert, in mortal land,By Fate’s ordinance and law,King of kings who bear the crownAnd the staff, to which in aweMortal men bow down.
ELECTRANay O father, I were fainOther fate had fallen on thee.Ill it were if thou hadst lainOne among the common slain,Fallen by Scamander’s side—Those who slew thee there should be!Then, untouched by slavery,We had heard as from afarDeaths of those who should have died’Mid the chance of war.
CHORUSO child, forbear! things all too high thou sayest.Easy, but vain, thy cry!A boon above all gold is that thou prayest,An unreached destiny,As of the blessèd land that far aloofBeyond the north wind lies;Yet doth your double prayer ring loud reproof;A double scourge of sighsAwakes the dead; th’ avengers rise, though late;Blood stains the guilty prideOf the accursed who rule on earth, and FateStands on the children’s side.
ELECTRAThat hath sped thro’ mine ear, like a shaft from a bow!Zeus, Zeus! it is thou who dost send from belowA doom on the desperate doer—ere longOn a mother a father shall visit his wrong.
CHORUSBe it mine to upraise thro’ the reek of the pyreThe chant of delight, while the funeral fireDevoureth the corpse of a man that is slainAnd a woman laid low!For who bids me conceal it! out-rending control,Blows ever stern blast of hate thro’ my soul,And before me a vision of wrath and of baneFlits and waves to and fro.
ORESTESZeus, thou alone to us art parent now.Smite with a rending blowUpon their heads, and bid the land be well:Set right where wrong hath stood; and thou give ear,O Earth, unto my prayer—Yea, hear O mother Earth, and monarchy of hell!
CHORUSNay, the law is sternly set—Blood-drops shed upon the groundPlead for other bloodshed yet;Loud the call of death doth sound,Calling guilt of olden time,A Fury, crowning crime with crime.
ELECTRAWhere, where are ye, avenging powers,Puissant Furies of the slain?Behold the relics of the raceOf Atreus, thrust from pride of place!O Zeus, what home henceforth is ours,What refuge to attain?
CHORUSLo, at your wail my heart throbs, wildly stirred;Now am I lorn with sadness,Darkened in all my soul, to hear your sorrow’s word.Anon to hope, the seat of strength, I rise,—She, thrusting grief away, lifts up mine eyesTo the new dawn of gladness.
ORESTESSkills it to tell of aught save wrong on wrong,Wrought by our mother’s deed?Though now she fawn for pardon, sternly strongStandeth our wrath, and will nor hear nor heed;Her children’s soul is wolfish, born from hers,And softens not by prayers.
CHORUSI dealt upon my breast the blowThat Asian mourning women know;Wails from my breast the fun’ral cry,The Cissian weeping melody;Stretched rendingly forth, to tatter and tear,My clenched hands wander, here and there,From head to breast; distraught with blowsThrob dizzily my brows.
ELECTRAAweless in hate, O mother, sternly brave!As in a foeman’s graveThou laid’st in earth a king, but to the bierNo citizen drew near,—Thy husband, thine, yet for his obsequies,Thou bad’st no wail arise!
ORESTESAlas the shameful burial thou dost speak!Yet I the vengeance of his shame will wreak—That do the gods command!That shall achieve mine hand!Grant me to thrust her life away, and IWill dare to die!
CHORUSList thou the deed! Hewn down and foully torn,He to the tomb was borne;Yea, by her hand, the deed who wrought,With like dishonour to the grave was brought,And by her hand she strove, with strong desire,Thy life to crush, O child, by murder of thy sire:Bethink thee, hearing, of the shame, the painWherewith that sire was slain!
ELECTRAYea, such was the doom of my sire; well-a-day,I was thrust from his side,—As a dog from the chamber they thrust me away,And in place of my laughter rose sobbing and tears,As in darkness I lay.O father, if this word can pass to thine ears,To thy soul let it reach and abide!
CHORUSLet it pass, let it pierce, through the sense of thine ear,To thy soul, where in silence it waiteth the hour!The past is accomplished; but rouse thee to hearWhat the future prepareth; awake and appear,Our champion, in wrath and in power!
ORESTESO father, to thy loved ones come in aid.
ELECTRAWith tears I call on thee.
CHORUSListen and rise to light!Be thou with us, be thou against the foe!Swiftly this cry arises—even soPray we, the loyal band, as we have prayed!
ORESTESLet their might meet with mine, and their right with my right.
ELECTRAO ye Gods, it is yours to decree.
CHORUSYe call unto the dead; I quake to hear.Fate is ordained of old, and shall fulfil your prayer.
ELECTRAAlas, the inborn curse that haunts our home,Of Atè’s bloodstained scourge the tuneless sound!Alas, the deep insufferable doom,The stanchless wound!
ORESTESIt shall be stanched, the task is ours,—Not by a stranger’s, but by kindred hand,Shall be chased forth the blood-fiend of our land.Be this our spoken spell, to call Earth’s nether powers!
CHORUSLords of a dark eternity,To you has come the children’s cry,Send up from hell, fulfil your aidTo them who prayed.
ORESTESO father, murdered in unkingly wise,Fulfil my prayer, grant me thine halls to sway.
ELECTRATo me too, grant this boon—dark death to dealUnto Aegisthus, and to ’scape my doom.
ORESTESSo shall the rightful feasts that mortals payBe set for thee; else, not for thee shall riseThe scented reek of altars fed with flesh,But thou shall lie dishonoured: hear thou me!
ELECTRAI too, from my full heritage restored,Will pour the lustral streams, what time I passForth as a bride from these paternal halls,And honour first, beyond all graves, thy tomb.
ORESTESEarth, send my sire to fend me in the fight!
ELECTRAGive fair-faced fortune, O Persephone!
ORESTESBethink thee, father, in the laver slain—
ELECTRABethink thee of the net they handselled for thee!
ORESTESBonds not of brass ensnared thee, father mine.
ELECTRAYea, the ill craft of an enfolding robe.
ORESTESBy this our bitter speech arise, O sire!
ELECTRARaise thou thine head at love’s last, dearest call!
ORESTESYea, speed forth Right to aid thy kinsmen’s cause;Grip for grip, let them grasp the foe, if thouWillest in triumph to forget thy fall.
ELECTRAHear me, O father, once again hear me.Lo! at thy tomb, two fledglings of thy brood—A man-child and a maid; hold them in ruth,Nor wipe them out, the last of Pelops’ line.For while they live, thou livest from the dead;Children are memory’s voices, and preserveThe dead from wholly dying: as a netIs ever by the buoyant corks upheld,Which save the flex-mesh, in the depth submerged.Listen, this wail of ours doth rise for thee,And as thou heedest it thyself art saved.
CHORUSIn sooth, a blameless prayer ye spake at length—The tomb’s requital for its dirge denied:Now, for the rest, as thou art fixed to do,Take fortune by the hand and work thy will.
ORESTESThe doom is set; and yet I fain would ask—Not swerving from the course of my resolve,—Wherefore she sent these offerings, and whyShe softens all too late her cureless deed?An idle boon it was, to send them hereUnto the dead who recks not of such gifts.I cannot guess her thought, but well I weenSuch gifts are skilless to atone such crime.Be blood once spilled, an idle strife he strivesWho seeks with other wealth or wine outpouredTo atone the deed. So stands the word, nor fails.Yet would I know her thought; speak, if thou knowest.
CHORUSI know it, son; for at her side I stood.’Twas the night-wandering terror of a dreamThat flung her shivering from her couch, and bade her—Her, the accursed of God—these offerings send.
ORESTESHeard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright?
CHORUSYea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare.
ORESTESWhat then the sum and issue of the tale?
CHORUSEven as a swaddled child, she lull’d the thing.
ORESTESWhat suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged?
CHORUSYet in her dreams she proffered it the breast.
ORESTESHow? did the hateful thing not bite her teat?
CHORUSYea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk.
ORESTESNot vain this dream—it bodes a man’s revenge.
CHORUSThen out of sleep she started with a cry,And thro’ the palace for their mistress’ aidFull many lamps, that erst lay blind with night,Flared into light; then, even as mourners use,She sends these offerings, in hope to winA cure to cleave and sunder sin from doom.
ORESTESEarth and my father’s grave, to you I call—Give this her dream fulfilment, and thro’ me.I read it in each part coincident,With what shall be; for mark, that serpent sprangFrom the same womb as I, in swaddling bandsBy the same hands was swathed, lipped the same breast,And sucking forth the same sweet mother’s-milkInfused a clot of blood; and in alarmShe cried upon her wound the cry of pain.The rede is clear: the thing of dread she nursed,The death of blood she dies; and I, ’tis I,In semblance of a serpent, that must slay her.Thou art my seer, and thus I read the dream.
CHORUSSo do; yet ere thou doest, speak to us,Siding some act, some, by not acting, aid.
ORESTESBrief my command: I bid my sister passIn silence to the house, and all I bidThis my design with wariness conceal,That they who did by craft a chieftain slayMay by like craft and in like noose be ta’enDying the death which Loxias foretold—Apollo, king and prophet undisproved.I with this warrior Pylades will comeIn likeness of a stranger, full equiptAs travellers come, and at the palace gatesWill stand, as stranger yet in friendship’s bondUnto this house allied; and each of usWill speak the tongue that round Parnassus sounds,Feigning such speech as Phocian voices use.And what if none of those that tend the gatesShall welcome us with gladness, since the houseWith ills divine is haunted? if this hap,We at the gate will bide, till, passing by,Some townsman make conjecture and proclaim,How? is Aegisthus here, and knowinglyKeeps suppliants aloof, by bolt and bar?Then shall I win my way; and if I crossThe threshold of the gate, the palace’ guard,And find him throned where once my father sat—Or if he come anon, and face to faceConfronting, drop his eyes from mine—I swearHe shall not utter,Who art thou and whence?Ere my steel leap, and compassed round with deathLow he shall lie: and thus, full-fed with doom,The Fury of the house shall drain once moreA deep third draught of rich unmingled blood.But thou, O sister, look that all withinBe well prepared to give these things event.And ye—I say ’twere well to bear a tongueFull of fair silence and of fitting speechAs each beseems the time; and last, do thou,Hermes the warder-god, keep watch and ward,And guide to victory my striving sword.
[Exit with Pylades.
CHORUSMany and marvellous the things of fearEarth’s breast doth bear;And the sea’s lap with many monsters teems,And windy levin-bolts and meteor gleamsBreed many deadly things—Unknown and flying forms, with fear upon their wings,And in their tread is death;And rushing whirlwinds, of whose blasting breathMan’s tongue can tell.But who can tell aright the fiercer thing,The aweless soul, within man’s breast inhabiting?Who tell, how, passion-fraught and love-distraughtThe woman’s eager, craving thoughtDoth wed mankind to woe and ruin fell?Yea, how the loveless love that doth possessThe woman, even as the lioness,Doth rend and wrest apart, with eager strife,The link of wedded life?
Let him be the witness, whose thought is not borne on light wings thro’ the air,But abideth with knowledge, what thing was wrought by Althea’s despair;For she marr’d the life-grace of her son, with ill counsel rekindled the flameThat was quenched as it glowed on the brand, what time from his mother he came,With the cry of a new-born child; and the brand from the burning she won,For the Fates had foretold it coeval, in life and in death, with her son.
Yea, and man’s hate tells of another, even Scylla of murderous guile,Who slew for an enemy’s sake her father, won o’er by the wileAnd the gifts of Cretan Minos, the gauds of the high-wrought gold;For she clipped from her father’s head the lock that should never wax old,As he breathed in the silence of sleep, and knew not her craft and her crime—But Hermes, the guard of the dead, doth grasp her, in fulness of time.
And since of the crimes of the cruel I tell, let my singing recordThe bitter wedlock and loveless, the curse on these halls outpoured,The crafty device of a woman, whereby did a chieftain fall,A warrior stern in his wrath; the fear of his enemies all,—A song of dishonour, untimely! and cold is the hearth that was warmAnd ruled by the cowardly spear, the woman’s unwomanly arm.
But the summit and crown of all crimes is that which in Lemnos befell;A woe and a mourning it is, a shame and a spitting to tell;And he that in after time doth speak of his deadliest thought,Doth say,It is like to the deed that of old time in Lemnos was wrought;And loathed of men were the doers, and perished, they and their seed,For the gods brought hate upon them; none loveth the impious deed.
It is well of these tales to tell; for the sword in the grasp of RightWith a cleaving, a piercing blow to the innermost heart doth smite,And the deed unlawfully done is not trodden down nor forgot,When the sinner out-steppeth the law and heedeth the high God not;But Justice hath planted the anvil, and Destiny forgeth the swordThat shall smite in her chosen time; by her is the child restored;And, darkly devising, the Fiend of the house, world-cursed, will repayThe price of the blood of the slain that was shed in the bygone day.
[Enter Orestes and Pylades, in guise of travellers.
ORESTES(knocking at the palace gate)What ho! slave, ho! I smite the palace gateIn vain, it seems; what ho, attend within,—Once more, attend; come forth and ope the halls,If yet Aegisthus holds them hospitable.
SLAVE(from within)Anon, anon!
[Opens the door.
Speak, from what land art thou, and sent from whom?
ORESTESGo, tell to them who rule the palace-halls,Since ’tis to them I come with tidings new—(Delay not—Night’s dark car is speeding on,And time is now for wayfarers to castAnchor in haven, wheresoe’er a houseDoth welcome strangers)—that there now come forthSome one who holds authority within—The queen, or, if some man, more seemly were it;For when man standeth face to face with man,No stammering modesty confounds their speech,But each to each doth tell his meaning clear.
[Enter Clytemnestra.
CLYTEMNESTRASpeak on, O strangers; have ye need of aught?Here is whate’er beseems a house like this—Warm bath and bed, tired Nature’s soft restorer,And courteous eyes to greet you; and if aughtOf graver import needeth act as well,That, as man’s charge, I to a man will tell.
ORESTESA Daulian man am I, from Phocis bound,And as with mine own travel-scrip self-ladenI went toward Argos, parting hitherwardWith travelling foot, there did encounter meOne whom I knew not and who knew not me,But asked my purposed way nor hid his own,And, as we talked together, told his name—Strophius of Phocis; then he said, “Good sir,Since in all case thou art to Argos bound,Forget not this my message, heed it well,Tell to his own,Orestes is no more.And—whatsoe’er his kinsfolk shall resolve,Whether to bear his dust unto his home,Or lay him here, in death as erst in lifeExiled for aye, a child of banishment—Bring me their hest, upon thy backward road;For now in brazen compass of an urnHis ashes lie, their dues of weeping paid.”So much I heard, and so much tell to thee,Not knowing if I speak unto his kinWho rule his home; but well, I deem, it were,Such news should earliest reach a parent’s ear.
CLYTEMNESTRAAh woe is me! thy word our ruin tells;From roof-tree unto base are we despoiled.—O thou whom nevermore we wrestle down,Thou Fury of this home, how oft and oftThou dost descry what far aloof is laid,Yea, from afar dost bend th’ unerring bowAnd rendest from my wretchedness its friends;As now Orestes—who, a brief while since,Safe from the mire of death stood warily,—Was the home’s hope to cure th’ exulting wrong;Now thou ordainest,Let the ill abide.
ORESTESTo host and hostess thus with fortune blest,Lief had I come with better news to bearUnto your greeting and acquaintanceship;For what goodwill lies deeper than the bondOf guest and host? and wrong abhorred it were,As well I deem, if I, who pledged my faithTo one, and greetings from the other had,Bore not aright the tidings ’twixt the twain.
CLYTEMNESTRAWhate’er thy news, thou shalt not welcome lack,Meet and deserved, nor scant our grace shall be.Hadst them thyself not come, such tale to tell,Another, sure, had borne it to our ears.But lo! the hour is here when travelling guests,Fresh from the daylong labour of the road,Should win their rightful due. Take him within
[To the slave.
To the man-chamber’s hospitable rest—Him and these fellow-farers at his side;Give them such guest-right as beseems our halls;I bid thee do as thou shalt answer for it.And I unto the prince who rules our homeWill tell the tale, and, since we lack not friends,With them will counsel how this hap to bear
[Exit Clytemnestra.
CHORUSSo be it done—Sister-servants, when draws nighTime for us aloud to cryOrestes and his victory?
O holy earth and holy tombOver the grave-pit heaped on high,Where low doth Agamemnon lie,The king of ships, the army’s lord!Now is the hour—give ear and come,For now doth Craft her aid afford,And Hermes, guard of shades in hell,Stands o’er their strife, to sentinelThe dooming of the sword.I wot the stranger worketh woe within—For lo! I see come forth, suffused with tears,Orestes’ nurse. What ho, Kilissa—thouBeyond the doors? Where goest thou? MethinksSome grief unbidden walketh at thy side.
[Enter Kilissa, a nurse.
KILISSAMy mistress bids me, with what speed I may,Call in Aegisthus to the stranger guests,That he may come, and standing face to face,A man with men, may thus more clearly learnThis rumour new. Thus speaking, to her slavesShe hid beneath the glance of fictive griefLaughter for what is wrought—to her desireToo well; but ill, ill, ill besets the house,Brought by the tale these guests have told so clear.And he, God wot, will gladden all his heartHearing this rumour. Woe and well-a-day!The bitter mingled cup of ancient woes,Hard to be borne, that here in Atreus’ houseBefel, was grievous to mine inmost heart,But never yet did I endure such pain.All else I bore with set soul patiently;But now—alack, alack!—Orestes dear,The day and night-long travail of my soul!Whom from his mother’s womb, a new-born child,I clasped and cherished! Many a time and oftToilsome and profitless my service was,When his shrill outcry called me from my couch!For the young child, before the sense is born,Hath but a dumb thing’s life, must needs be nursedAs its own nature bids. The swaddled thingHath nought of speech, whate’er discomfort come—Hunger or thirst or lower weakling need,—For the babe’s stomach works its own relief.Which knowing well before, yet oft surprised,’Twas mine to cleanse the swaddling clothes—poor IWas nurse to tend and fuller to make white;Two works in one, two handicrafts I took,When in mine arms the father laid the boy.And now he’s dead—alack and well-a-day!Yet must I go to him whose wrongful powerPollutes this house—fair tidings these to him!
CHORUSSay then, with what array she bids him come?
KILISSAWhat say’st thou! Speak more clearly for mine ear.
CHORUSBids she bring henchmen, or to come alone?
KlLISSAShe bids him bring a spear-armed body-guard.
CHORUSNay, tell not that unto our loathèd lord,But speed to him, put on the mien of joy,Say,Come along, fear nought, the news is good:A bearer can tell straight a twisted tale.
KILISSADoes then thy mind in this new tale find joy?
CHORUSWhat if Zeus bid our ill wind veer to fair?
KILISSAAnd how? the home’s hope with Orestes dies.
CHORUSNot yet—a seer, though feeble, this might see.
KILISSAWhat say’st thou? Know’st thou aught, this tale belying?
CHORUSGo, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,—What the gods will, themselves can well provide.
KILISSAWell, I will go, herein obeying thee;And luck fall fair, with favour sent from heaven.
[Exit.
CHORUSZeus, sire of them who on Olympus dwell,Hear thou, O hear my prayer!Grant to my rightful lords to prosper wellEven as their zeal is fair!For right, for right goes up aloud my cry—Zeus, aid him, stand anigh!
Into his father’s hall he goesTo smite his father’s foes.Bid him prevail! by thee on throne of triumph set,Twice, yea and thrice with joy shall he acquit the debt.
Bethink thee, the young steed, the orphan foalOf sire beloved by thee, unto the carOf doom is harnessed fast.Guide him aright, plant firm a lasting goal,Speed thou his pace,—O that no chance may marThe homeward course, the last!
And ye who dwell within the inner chamberWhere shines the storèd joy of gold—Gods of one heart, O hear ye, and remember;Up and avenge the blood shed forth of old,With sudden rightful blow;Then let the old curse die, nor be renewedWith progeny of blood,—Once more, and not again, be latter guilt laid low!
O thou who dwell’st in Delphi’s mighty cave,Grant us to see this home once more restoredUnto its rightful lord!Let it look forth, from veils of death, with joyous eyeUnto the dawning light of liberty;And Hermes, Maia’s child, lend hand to save,Willing the right, and guideOur state with Fortune’s breeze adown the favouring tide.Whate’er in darkness hidden lies,He utters at his will;He at his will throws darkness on our eyeBy night and eke by day inscrutable.
Then, then shall wealth atoneThe ills that here were done.Then, then will we unbind,Fling free on wafting windOf joy, the woman’s voice that waileth nowIn piercing accents for a chief laid low;And this our song shall be—Hail to the commonwealth restored!Hail to the freedom won to me!All hail! for doom hath passed from him, my well-loved lord!
And thou, O child, when Time and Chance agree,Up to the deed that for thy sire is done!And if she wail unto thee,Spare, O son—Cry,Aid, O father—and achieve the deed,The horror of man’s tongue, the gods’ great need!Hold in thy breast such heart as Perseus had,The bitter woe work forth,Appease the summons of the dead,The wrath of friends on earth;Yea, set within a sign of blood and doom,And do to utter death him that pollutes thy home.
[Enter Aegisthus.
AEGISTHUSHither and not unsummoned have I come;For a new rumour, borne by stranger menArriving hither, hath attained mine ears,Of hap unwished-for, even Orestes’ death.This were new sorrow, a blood-bolter’d loadLaid on the house that doth already bowBeneath a former wound that festers deep.Dare I opine these words have truth and life?Or are they tales, of woman’s terror born,That fly in the void air, and die disproved?Canst thou tell aught, and prove it to my soul?
CHORUSWhat we have heard, we heard; go thou withinThyself to ask the strangers of their tale.Strengthless are tidings, thro’ another heard;Question is his, to whom the tale is brought.
AEGISTHUSI too will meet and test the messenger,Whether himself stood witness of the death,Or tells it merely from dim rumour learnt:None shall cheat me, whose soul hath watchful eyes.
[Exit.
CHORUSZeus, Zeus! what word to me is given?What cry or prayer, invoking heaven,Shall first by me be utterèd?What speech of craft? nor all revealing,Nor all too warily concealing—Ending my speech, shall aid the deed?For lo! in readiness is laidThe dark emprise, the rending blade;Blood-dropping daggers shall achieveThe dateless doom of Atreus’ name,Or—kindling torch and joyful flameIn sign of new-won liberty—Once more Orestes shall retrieveHis father’s wealth, and, throned on high,Shall hold the city’s fealty.So mighty is the grasp whereby,Heaven-holpen, he shall trip and throw,Unseconded, a double foeHo for the victory!
[A loud cry within.
VOICE OF AEGISTHUSHelp, help, alas!
CHORUSHo there, ho! how is’t within?Is’t done? is’t over? Stand we here aloofWhile it is wrought, that guiltless we may seemOf this dark deed; with death is strife fulfilled.
[Enter a slave
SLAVEO woe, O woe, my lord is done to death!Woe, woe, and woe again, AEgisthus gone!Hasten, fling wide the doors, unloose the boltsOf the queen’s chamber. O for some young strengthTo match the need! but aid availeth noughtTo him laid low for ever. Help, help, help!Sure to deaf ears I shout, and call in vainTo slumber ineffectual. What ho!The queen! how fareth Clytemnestra’s self?Her neck too, hers, is close upon the steel,And soon shall sink, hewn thro’ as justice wills.
[Enter Clytemnestra.
CLYTEMNESTRAWhat ails thee, raising this ado for us?
SLAVEI say the dead are come to slay the living.
CLYTEMNESTRAAlack, I read thy riddles all too clear—We slew by craft and by like craft shall die.Swift, bring the axe that slew my lord of old;I’ll know anon or death or victory—So stands the curse, so I confront it here.
[Enter Orestes, his sword dropping with blood.
ORESTESThee too I seek: for him what’s done will serve.
CLYTEMNESTRAWoe, woe! Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain!
ORESTESWhat lov’st the man? then in his grave lie down,Be his in death, desert him nevermore!
CLYTEMNESTSAStay, child, and fear to strike. O son, this breastPillowed thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep,Thy toothless mouth drew mother’s milk from me.
ORESTESCan I my mother spare? speak, Pylades,
PYLADESWhere then would fall the hest Apollo gaveAt Delphi, where the solemn compact sworn?Choose thou the hate of all men, not of gods.
ORESTESThou dost prevail; I hold thy counsel good.
[To Clytemnestra.
Follow; I will slay thee at his side.With him whom in his life thou lovedst moreThan Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meedFor hate where love, and love where hate was due!
CLYTEMNESTRAI nursed thee young; must I forego mine eld?
ORESTESThou slew’st my father; shalt thou dwell with me?
CLYTEMNESTRAFate bore a share in these things, O my child!
ORESTESFate also doth provide this doom for thee.
CLYTEMNESTRABeware, O my child, a parent’s dying curse.
ORESTESA parent who did cast me out to ill!
CLYTEMNESTRANot cast thee out, but to a friendly home.
ORESTESBorn free, I was by twofold bargain sold.
CLYTEMNESTRAWhere then the price that I received for thee?
ORESTESThe price of shame; I taunt thee not more plainly.
CLYTEMNESTRANay, but recount thy father’s lewdness too.
ORESTESHome-keeping, chide not him who toils without.
CLYTEMNESTRA’Tis hard for wives to live as widows, child.
ORESTESThe absent husband toils for them at home.
CLYTEMNESTRAThou growest fain to slay thy mother, child
ORESTESNay, ’tis thyself wilt slay thyself, not I.
CLYTEMNESTRABeware thy mother’s vengeful hounds from hell.
ORESTESHow shall I ’scape my father’s, sparing thee?
CLYTEMNESTRALiving, I cry as to a tomb, unheard.
ORESTESMy father’s fate ordains this doom for thee.
CLYTEMNESTRAAh, me! this snake it was I bore and nursed.
ORESTESAy, right prophetic was thy visioned fear.Shameful thy deed was—die the death of shame!
[Exit, driving Clytemnestra before him.
CHORUSLo, even for these I mourn, a double death:Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom,Thus crowns the height of murders manifold,I say, ’tis well—that not in night and deathShould sink the eye and light of this our home.
There came on Priam’s race and nameA vengeance; though it tarried long,With heavy doom it came.Came, too, on Agamemnon’s hallA lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong.And last, the heritage doth fallTo him, to whom from Pythian caveThe god his deepest counsel gave.Cry out, rejoice! our kingly hallHath ’scaped from ruin—ne’er againIts ancient wealth be wasted allBy two usurpers, sin-defiled—An evil path of woe and bane!On him who dealt the dastard blowComes Craft, Revenge’s scheming child.And hand in hand with him doth go,Eager for fight,The child of Zeus, whom men belowCall Justice, naming her aright.And on her foes her breathIs as the blast of death;For her the god who dwells in deep recessBeneath Parnassus’ brow,Summons with loud acclaimTo rise, though late and lame,And come with craft that worketh righteousness.
For even o’er Powers divine this law is strong—Thou shalt not serve the wrong.To that which ruleth heaven beseems it that we bow.Lo, freedom’s light hath come!Lo, now is rent awayThe grim and curbing bit that held us dumb.Up to the light, ye halls! this many a dayToo low on earth ye lay.And Time, the great Accomplisher,Shall cross the threshold, whensoe’erHe choose with purging hand to cleanseThe palace, driving all pollution thence.And fair the cast of Fortune’s dieBefore our state’s new lords shall lie,Not as of old, but bringing fairer doomLo, freedom’s light hath come!
[The scene opens, disclosing Orestes standing over the corpses of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; in one hand he holds his sword, in the other the robe in which Agamemnon was entangled and slain.
ORESTESThere lies our country’s twofold tyranny,My father’s slayers, spoilers of my home.Erst were they royal, sitting on the throne,And loving are they yet,—their common fateTells the tale truly, shows their trothplight firm.They swore to work mine ill-starred father’s death,They swore to die together; ’tis fulfilled.O ye who stand, this great doom’s witnesses,Behold this too, the dark device which boundMy sire unhappy to his death,—beholdThe mesh which trapped his hands, enwound his feet!Stand round, unfold it—’tis the trammel-netThat wrapped a chieftain; holds it that he see,The father—not my sire, but he whose eyeIs judge of all things, the all-seeing Sun!Let him behold my mother’s damnèd deed,Then let him stand, when need shall be to me,Witness that justly I have sought and slainMy mother; blameless was Aegisthus’ doom—He died the death law bids adulterers die.But she who plotted this accursèd thingTo slay her lord, by whom she bare beneathHer girdle once the burden of her babes,Beloved erewhile, now turned to hateful foes—What deem ye of her? or what venomed thing,Sea-snake or adder, had more power than sheTo poison with a touch the flesh unscarred?So great her daring, such her impious will.How name her, if I may not speak a curse?A lion-springe! a laver’s swathing cloth,Wrapping a dead man, twining round his feet—A net, a trammel, an entangling robe?Such were the weapon of some strangling thief,The terror of the road, a cut-purse hound—With such device full many might he kill,Full oft exult in heat of villainy.Ne’er have my house so cursed an indweller—Heaven send me, rather, childless to be slain!
CHORUSWoe for each desperate deed!Woe for the queen, with shame of life bereft!And ah, for him who still is left,Madness, dark blossom of a bloody seed!
ORESTESDid she the deed or not? this robe gives proof,Imbrued with blood that bathed Aegisthus’ sword:Look, how the spurted stain combines with timeTo blur the many dyes that once adornedIts pattern manifold! I now stand here,Made glad, made sad with blood, exulting, wailing—Hear, O thou woven web that slew my sire!I grieve for deed and death and all my home—Victor, pollution’s damnèd stain for prize.
CHORUSAlas, that none of mortal menCan pass his life untouched by pain!Behold, one woe is here—Another loometh near.
ORESTESHark ye and learn—for what the end shall beFor me I know not: breaking from the curbMy spirit whirls me off, a conquered prey,Borne as a charioteer by steeds distraughtFar from the course, and madness in my breastBurneth to chant its song, and leap, and rave—Hark ye and learn, friends, ere my reason goes!I say that rightfully I slew my mother,A thing God-scorned, that foully slew my sireAnd chiefest wizard of the spell that bound meUnto this deed I name the Pythian seerApollo, who foretold that if I slew,The guilt of murder done should pass from me;But if I spared, the fate that should be mineI dare not blazon forth—the bow of speechCan reach not to the mark, that doom to tell.And now behold me, how with branch and crownI pass, a suppliant made meet to goUnto Earth’s midmost shrine, the holy groundOf Loxias, and that renownèd lightOf ever-burning fire, to ’scape the doomOf kindred murder: to no other shrine(So Loxias bade) may I for refuge turn.Bear witness, Argives, in the after time,How came on me this dread fatality.Living, I pass a banished wanderer hence,To leave in death the memory of this cry.
CHORUSNay, but the deed is well; link not thy lipsTo speech ill-starred, nor vent ill-boding words—Who hast to Argos her full freedom given,Lopping two serpents’ heads with timely blow.
ORESTESLook, look, alas!Handmaidens, see—what Gorgon shapes throng up;Dusky their robes and all their hair enwound—Snakes coiled with snakes—off, off, I must away!
CHORUSMost loyal of all sons unto thy sire,What visions thus distract thee? Hold, abide;Great was thy victory, and shalt thou fear?
ORESTESThese are no dreams, void shapes of haunting ill,But clear to sight my mother’s hell-hounds come!
CHORUSNay, the fresh bloodshed still imbrues thine hands,And thence distraction sinks into thy soul.
ORESTESO king Apollo—see, they swarm and throng—Black blood of hatred dripping from their eyes!
CHORUSOne remedy thou hast; go, touch the shrineOf Loxias, and rid thee of these woes.
ORESTESYe can behold them not, but I behold them.Up and away! I dare abide no more.
[Exit
CHORUSFarewell then as thou mayst,—the god thy friendGuard thee and aid with chances favouring.
Behold, the storm of woe divineThat the raves and beats on Atreus’ lineIts great third blast hath blown.First was Thyestes’ loathly woe—The rueful feast of long ago,On children’s flesh, unknown.And next the kingly chief’s despite,When he who led the Greeks to fightWas in the bath hewn down.And now the offspring of the raceStands in the third, the saviour’s place,To save—or to consume?O whither, ere it be fulfilled,Ere its fierce blast be hushed and stilled,Shall blow the wind of doom?
[Exeunt.