but aid
availeth
nought
To him laid low for ever.
To him laid low for ever.
Aeschylus
That shall achieve mine hand!
Grant me to thrust her life away, and I
Will dare to die!
CHORUS
List 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 pain
Wherewith that sire was slain!
ELECTRA
Yea, 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!
CHORUS
Let 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 hear
What the future prepareth; awake and appear,
Our champion, in wrath and in power!
ORESTES
O father, to thy loved ones come in aid.
ELECTRA
With tears I call on thee.
CHORUS
Listen and rise to light!
Be thou with us, be thou against the foe!
Swiftly this cry arises--even so
Pray we, the loyal band, as we have prayed!
ORESTES
Let their might meet with mine, and their right with my right.
ELECTRA
O ye Gods, it is yours to decree.
CHORUS
Ye call unto the dead; I quake to hear.
Fate is ordained of old, and shall fulfil your prayer.
ELECTRA
Alas, the inborn curse that haunts our home,
Of Ate's bloodstained scourge the tuneless sound!
Alas, the deep insufferable doom,
The stanchless wound!
ORESTES
It 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!
CHORUS
Lords of a dark eternity,
To you has come the children's cry,
Send up from hell, fulfil your aid
To them who prayed.
ORESTES
O father, murdered in unkingly wise,
Fulfil my prayer, grant me thine halls to sway.
ELECTRA
To me too, grant this boon--dark death to deal
Unto Aegisthus, and to 'scape my doom.
ORESTES
So shall the rightful feasts that mortals pay
Be set for thee; else, not for thee shall rise
The scented reek of altars fed with flesh,
But thou shall lie dishonoured: hear thou me!
ELECTRA
I too, from my full heritage restored,
Will pour the lustral streams, what time I pass
Forth as a bride from these paternal halls,
And honour first, beyond all graves, thy tomb.
ORESTES
Earth, send my sire to fend me in the fight!
ELECTRA
Give fair-faced fortune, O Persephone!
ORESTES
Bethink thee, father, in the laver slain--
ELECTRA
Bethink thee of the net they handselled for thee!
ORESTES
Bonds not of brass ensnared thee, father mine.
ELECTRA
Yea, the ill craft of an enfolding robe.
ORESTES
By this our bitter speech arise, O sire!
ELECTRA
Raise thou thine head at love's last, dearest call!
ORESTES
Yea, speed forth Right to aid thy kinsmen's cause;
Grip for grip, let them grasp the foe, if thou
Willest in triumph to forget thy fall.
ELECTRA
Hear 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 preserve
The dead from wholly dying: as a net
Is 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.
CHORUS
In 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.
ORESTES
The doom is set; and yet I fain would ask--
Not swerving from the course of my resolve,--
Wherefore she sent these offerings, and why
She softens all too late her cureless deed?
An idle boon it was, to send them here
Unto the dead who recks not of such gifts.
I cannot guess her thought, but well I ween
Such gifts are skilless to atone such crime.
Be blood once spilled, an idle strife he strives
Who seeks with other wealth or wine outpoured
To atone the deed. So stands the word, nor fails.
Yet would I know her thought; speak, if thou knowest.
CHORUS
I know it, son; for at her side I stood.
'Twas the night-wandering terror of a dream
That flung her shivering from her couch, and bade her--
Her, the accursed of God--these offerings send.
ORESTES
Heard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright?
CHORUS
Yea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare.
ORESTES
What then the sum and issue of the tale?
CHORUS
Even as a swaddled child, she lull'd the thing.
ORESTES
What suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged?
CHORUS
Yet in her dreams she proffered it the breast.
ORESTES
How? did the hateful thing not bite her teat?
CHORUS
Yea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk.
ORESTES
Not vain this dream--it bodes a man's revenge.
CHORUS
Then out of sleep she started with a cry,
And thro' the palace for their mistress' aid
Full many lamps, that erst lay blind with night
Flared into light; then, even as mourners use,
She sends these offerings, in hope to win
A cure to cleave and sunder sin from doom.
ORESTES
Earth 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 sprang
From the same womb as I, in swaddling bands
By the same hands was swathed, lipped the same breast.
And sucking forth the same sweet mother's-milk
Infused a clot of blood; and in alarm
She 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.
CHORUS
So do; yet ere thou doest, speak to us,
Siding some act, some, by not acting, aid.
ORESTES
Brief my command: I bid my sister pass
In silence to the house, and all I bid
This my design with wariness conceal,
That they who did by craft a chieftain slay
May by like craft and in like noose be ta'en
Dying the death which Loxias foretold--
Apollo, king and prophet undisproved.
I with this warrior Pylades will come
In likeness of a stranger, full equipt
As travellers come, and at the palace gates
Will stand, as stranger yet in friendship's bond
Unto this house allied; and each of us
Will speak the tongue that round Parnassus sounds,
Feigning such speech as Phocian voices use.
And what if none of those that tend the gates
Shall welcome us with gladness, since the house
With ills divine is haunted? if this hap,
We at the gate will bide, till, passing by,
Some townsman make conjecture and proclaim,
_How? is Aegisthus here, and knowingly
Keeps suppliants aloof, by bolt and bar? _
Then shall I win my way; and if I cross
The threshold of the gate, the palace' guard,
And find him throned where once my father sat--
Or if he come anon, and face to face
Confronting, drop his eyes from mine--I swear
He shall not utter, _Who art thou and whence? _
Ere my steel leap, and compassed round with death
Low he shall lie: and thus, full-fed with doom,
The Fury of the house shall drain once more
A deep third draught of rich unmingled blood.
But thou, O sister, look that all within
Be well prepared to give these things event.
And ye--I say 'twere well to bear a tongue
Full of fair silence and of fitting speech
As each beseems the time; and last, do thou,
Hermes the warder-god, keep watch and ward,
And guide to victory my striving sword.
[_Exit with Pylades. _
CHORUS
Many and marvellous the things of fear
Earth's breast doth bear;
And the sea's lap with many monsters teems,
And windy levin-bolts and meteor gleams
Breed many deadly things--
Unknown and flying forms, with fear upon their wings,
And in their tread is death;
And rushing whirlwinds, of whose blasting breath
Man's tongue can tell.
But who can tell aright the fiercer thing,
The aweless soul, within man's breast inhabiting?
Who tell, how, passion-fraught and love-distraught
The woman's eager, craving thought
Doth wed mankind to woe and ruin fell?
Yea, how the loveless love that doth possess
The woman, even as the lioness,
Doth rend and wrest apart, with eager strife,
The link of wedded life?
Let him be the witness, whose thought is not borne on light wings
thro' the air,
But abideth with knowledge, what thing was wrought by Althea's
despair;
For she marr'd the life-grace of her son, with ill counsel rekindled
the flame
That was quenched as it glowed on the brand, what time from his mother
he came,
With the cry of a new-born child; and the brand from the burning she
won,
For the Fates had foretold it coeval, in life and in death, with her
son.
Yea, and man's hate tells of another, even Scylla of murderous guile,
Who slew for an enemy's sake her father, won o'er by the wile
And the gifts of Cretan Minos, the gauds of the high-wrought gold;
For she clipped from her father's head the lock that should never
wax old,
As he breathed in the silence of sleep, and knew not her craft and
her crime--
But Hermes, the guard of the dead, doth grasp her, in fulness of
time.
And since of the crimes of the cruel I tell, let my singing record
The bitter wedlock and loveless, the curse on these halls outpoured,
The crafty device of a woman, whereby did a chieftain fall,
A warrior stern in his wrath; the fear of his enemies all,--
A song of dishonour, untimely! and cold is the hearth that was warm
And ruled by the cowardly spear, the woman's unwomanly arm.
But the summit and crown of all crimes is that which in Lemnos befell;
A woe and a mourning it is, a shame and a spitting to tell;
And he that in after time doth speak of his deadliest thought,
Doth say, _It is like to the deed that of old time in Lemnos was
wrought_;
And loathed of men were the doers, and perished, they and their seed,
For the gods brought hate upon them; none loveth the impious deed.
It is well of these tales to tell; for the sword in the grasp of Right
With a cleaving, a piercing blow to the innermost heart doth smite,
And the deed unlawfully done is not trodden down nor forgot,
When the sinner out-steppeth the law and heedeth the high God not;
But Justice hath planted the anvil, and Destiny forgeth the sword
That shall smite in her chosen time; by her is the child restored;
And, darkly devising, the Fiend of the house, world-cursed, will repay
The price of the blood of the slain that was shed in the bygone day.
[_Enter Orestes and Pylades, in guise of travellers_.
ORESTES (_knocking at the palace gate_)
What ho! slave, ho! I smite the palace gate
In vain, it seems; what ho, attend within,--
Once more, attend; come forth and ope the halls
If yet Aegisthus holds them hospitable.
SLAVE (_from within_)
Anon, anon!
[_Opens the door. _
Speak, from what land art thou, and sent from whom?
ORESTES
Go, tell to them who rule the palace-halls,
Since 'tis to them I come with tidings new--
(Delay not--Night's dark car is speeding on,
And time is now for wayfarers to cast
Anchor in haven, wheresoe'er a house
Doth welcome strangers)--that there now come forth
Some one who holds authority within--
The queen, or, if some man, more seemly were it;
For when man standeth face to face with man,
No stammering modesty confounds their speech,
But each to each doth tell his meaning clear.
[_Enter Clytemnestra_,
CLYTEMNESTRA
Speak on, O strangers; have ye need of aught?
Here is whate'er beseems a house like this--
Warm bath and bed, tired Nature's soft restorer,
And courteous eyes to greet you; and if aught
Of graver import needeth act as well,
That, as man's charge, I to a man will tell.
ORESTES
A Daulian man am I, from Phocis bound,
And as with mine own travel-scrip self-laden
I went toward Argos, parting hitherward
With travelling foot, there did encounter me
One whom I knew not and who knew not me,
But asked my purposed way nor hid his own,
And, as we talked together, told his name--
Strophius of Phocis; then he said, "Good sir,
Since in all case thou art to Argos bound,
Forget not this my message, heed it well,
Tell to his own, _Orestes is no more_.
And--whatsoe'er his kinsfolk shall resolve,
Whether to bear his dust unto his home,
Or lay him here, in death as erst in life
Exiled for aye, a child of banishment--
Bring me their hest, upon thy backward road;
For now in brazen compass of an urn
His ashes lie, their dues of weeping paid. "
So much I heard, and so much tell to thee,
Not knowing if I speak unto his kin
Who rule his home; but well, I deem, it were,
Such news should earliest reach a parent's ear.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ah woe is me! thy word our ruin tells;
From roof-tree unto base are we despoiled. --
O thou whom nevermore we wrestle down,
Thou Fury of this home, how oft and oft
Thou dost descry what far aloof is laid,
Yea, from afar dost bend th' unerring bow
And rendest from my wretchedness its friends;
As now Orestes--who, a brief while since,
Safe from the mire of death stood warily,--
Was the home's hope to cure th' exulting wrong;
Now thou ordainest, _Let the ill abide_.
ORESTES
To host and hostess thus with fortune blest,
Lief had I come with better news to bear
Unto your greeting and acquaintanceship;
For what goodwill lies deeper than the bond
Of guest and host? and wrong abhorred it were,
As well I deem, if I, who pledged my faith
To one, and greetings from the other had,
Bore not aright the tidings 'twixt the twain.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Whate'er thy news, thou shalt not welcome lack,
Meet and deserved, nor scant our grace shall be.
Hadst them thyself not come, such tale to tell
Another, sure, had borne it to our ears.
But lo! the hour is here when travelling guests
Fresh from the daylong labour of the road,
Should win their rightful due. Take him within
[_To the slave. _
To the man-chamber's hospitable rest--
Him and these fellow-farers at his side
Give them such guest-right as beseems our halls;
I bid thee do as thou shalt answer for it
And I unto the prince who rules our home
Will tell the tale, and, since we lack not friends,
With them will counsel how this hap to bear
[_Exit Clytemnestra. _
CHORUS
So be it done--
Sister-servants, when draws nigh
Time for us aloud to cry
_Orestes and his victory? _
O holy earth and holy tomb
Over the grave-pit heaped on high,
Where low doth Agamemnon lie,
The king of ships, the army's lord!
Now is the hour--give ear and come,
For now doth Craft her aid afford,
And Hermes, guard of shades in hell,
Stands o'er their strife, to sentinel
The dooming of the sword.
I wot the stranger worketh woe within--
For lo! I see come forth, suffused with tears,
Orestes' nurse. What ho, Kilissa--thou
Beyond the doors? Where goest thou? Methinks
Some grief unbidden walketh at thy side.
[_Enter Kilissa, a nurse. _
KILISSA
My mistress bids me, with what speed I may,
Call in Aegisthus to the stranger guests,
That he may come, and standing face to face,
A man with men, may thus more clearly learn
This rumour new. Thus speaking, to her slaves
She hid beneath the glance of fictive grief
Laughter for what is wrought--to her desire
Too well; but ill, ill, ill besets the house,
Brought by the tale these guests have told so clear.
And he, God wot, will gladden all his heart
Hearing this rumour. Woe and well-a-day!
The bitter mingled cup of ancient woes,
Hard to be borne, that here in Atreus' house
Befel, was grievous to mine inmost heart,
But never yet did I endure such pain.
All else I bore with set soul patiently;
But now--alack, alack! --Orestes dear,
The day and night-long travail of my soul!
Whom from his mother's womb, a new-born child,
I clasped and cherished! Many a time and oft
Toilsome and profitless my service was,
When his shrill outcry called me from my couch!
For the young child, before the sense is born,
Hath but a dumb thing's life, must needs be nursed
As its own nature bids. The swaddled thing
Hath nought of speech, whate'er discomfort come--
Hunger or thirst or lower weakling need,--
For the babe's stomach works its own relief.
Which knowing well before, yet oft surprised,
'Twas mine to cleanse the swaddling clothes--poor I
Was nurse to tend and fuller to make white;
Two works in one, two handicrafts I took,
When in mine arms the father laid the boy.
And now he's dead--alack and well-a-day!
Yet must I go to him whose wrongful power
Pollutes this house--fair tidings these to him!
CHORUS
Say then, with what array she bids him come?
KILISSA
What say'st thou! Speak more clearly for mine ear.
CHORUS
Bids she bring henchmen, or to come alone?
KlLISSA
She bids him bring a spear-armed body-guard.
CHORUS
Nay, tell not that unto our loathed lord,
But speed to him, put on the mien of joy,
Say, _Come along, fear nought, the news is good:_
A bearer can tell straight a twisted tale.
KILISSA
Does then thy mind in this new tale find joy?
CHORUS
What if Zeus bid our ill wind veer to fair?
KILISSA
And how? the home's hope with Orestes dies.
CHORUS
Not yet-a seer, though feeble, this might see.
KILISSA
What say'st thou? Know'st thou aught, this tale belying?
CHORUS
Go, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,--
What the gods will, themselves can well provide.
KILISSA
Well, I will go, herein obeying thee;
And luck fall fair, with favour sent from heaven.
[_Exit. _
CHORUS
Zeus, sire of them who on Olympus dwell,
Hear thou, O hear my prayer!
Grant to my rightful lords to prosper well
Even as their zeal is fair!
For right, for right goes up aloud my cry--
Zeus, aid him, stand anigh!
Into his father's hall he goes
To smite his father's foes.
Bid him prevail! by thee on throne of triumph set,
Twice, yea and thrice with joy shall he acquit the debt.
Bethink thee, the young steed, the orphan foal
Of sire beloved by thee, unto the car
Of doom is harnessed fast.
Guide him aright, plant firm a lasting goal,
Speed thou his pace,--O that no chance may mar
The homeward course, the last!
And ye who dwell within the inner chamber
Where shines the stored joy of gold--
Gods of one heart, O hear ye, and remember;
Up and avenge the blood shed forth of old,
With sudden rightful blow;
Then let the old curse die, nor be renewed
With progeny of blood,--
Once more, and not again, be latter guilt laid low!
O thou who dwell'st in Delphi's mighty cave,
Grant us to see this home once more restored
Unto its rightful lord!
Let it look forth, from veils of death, with joyous eye
Unto the dawning light of liberty;
And Hermes, Maia's child, lend hand to save,
Willing the right, and guide
Our state with Fortune's breeze adown the favouring
tide.
Whate'er in darkness hidden lies,
He utters at his will;
He at his will throws darkness on our eye
By night and eke by day inscrutable.
Then, then shall wealth atone
The ills that here were done.
Then, then will we unbind,
Fling free on wafting wind
Of joy, the woman's voice that waileth now
In piercing accents for a chief laid low;
And this our song shall be--
_Hail to the commonwealth restored!
Hail to the freedom won to me!
All hail! for doom hath passed from him, my well--
loved lord! _
And thou, O child, when Time and Chance agree,
Up to the deed that for thy sire is done!
And if she wail unto thee, _Spare, O son_--
Cry, _Aid, O father_--and achieve the deed,
The horror of man's tongue, the gods' great need!
Hold in thy breast such heart as Perseus had,
The bitter woe work forth,
Appease the summons of the dead,
The wrath of friends on earth;
Yea, set within a sign of blood and doom,
And do to utter death him that pollutes thy home.
[_Enter Aegisthus_.
AEGISTHUS
Hither and not unsummoned have I come;
For a new rumour, borne by stranger men
Arriving hither, hath attained mine ears,
Of hap unwished-for, even Orestes' death.
This were new sorrow, a blood-bolter'd load
Laid on the house that doth already bow
Beneath a former wound that festers deep.
Dare I opine these words have truth and life?
Or are they tales, of woman's terror born,
That fly in the void air, and die disproved?
Canst thou tell aught, and prove it to my soul?
CHORUS
What we have heard, we heard; go thou within
Thvself to ask the strangers of their tale.
Strengthless are tidings, thro' another heard;
Question is his, to whom the tale is brought.
AEGISTHUS
I too will meet and test the messenger,
Whether himself stood witness of the death,
Or tells it merely from dim rumour learnt:
None shall cheat me, whose soul hath watchful eyes.
[_Exit. _
CHORUS
Zeus, Zeus! what word to me is given?
What cry or prayer, invoking heaven,
Shall first by me be uttered?
What speech of craft? nor all revealing,
Nor all too warily concealing?
Ending my speech, shall aid the deed?
For lo! in readiness is laid
The dark emprise, the rending blade;
Blood-dropping daggers shall achieve
The dateless doom of Atreus' name,
Or? kindling torch and joyful flame
In sign of new-won liberty?
Once more Orestes shall retrieve
His father's wealth, and, throned on high,
Shall hold the city's fealty.
So mighty is the grasp whereby,
Heaven-holpen, he shall trip and throw,
Unseconded, a double foe
Ho for the victory!
[_A loud cry within. _
VOICE OF AEGISTHUS
Help, help, alas!
CHORUS
Ho there, ho! how is't within?
Is't done? is't over? Stand we here aloof
While it is wrought, that guiltless we may seem
Of this dark deed; with death is strife fulfilled.
[_Enter a slave_
SLAVE
O woe, O woe, my lord is done to death!
Woe, woe, and woe again, AEgisthus gone!
Hasten, fling wide the doors, unloose the bolts
Of the queen's chamber. O for some young strength
To match the need!
but aid availeth nought
To him laid low for ever. Help, help, help!
Sure to deaf ears I shout, and call in vain
To slumber ineffectual. What ho!
The queen! how fareth Clytemnestra's self?
Her neck too, hers, is close upon the steel,
And soon shall sink, hewn thro' as justice wills.
[_Enter Clytemnestra. _
CLYTEMNESTRA
What ails thee, raising this ado for us?
SLAVE
I say the dead are come to slay the living.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Alack, I read thy riddles all too clear?
We slew by craft and by like craft shall die.
Swift, bring the axe that slew my lord of old;
I'll know anon or death or victory?
So stands the curse, so I confront it here.
[_Enter Orestes, his sword dropping with blood,_
ORESTES
Thee too I seek: for him what's done will serve.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Woe, woe! Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain!
ORESTES
What lov'st the man? then in his grave lie down,
Be his in death, desert him nevermore!
CLYTEMNESTSA
Stay, child, and fear to strike. O son, this breast
Pillowed thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep,
Thy toothless mouth drew mother's milk from me.
ORESTES
Can I my mother spare? speak, Pylades,
PYLADES
Where then would fall the hest Apollo gave
At Delphi, where the solemn compact sworn?
Choose thou the hate of all men, not of gods.
ORESTES
Thou dost prevail; I hold thy counsel good.
[_To Clytemnestra_.
Follow; I will slay thee at his side.
With him whom in his life thou lovedst more
Than Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meed
For hate where love, and love where hate was due!
CLYTEMNESTRA
I nursed thee young; must I forego mine eld?
ORESTES
Thou slew'st my father; shalt thou dwell with me?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Fate bore a share in these things, O my child!
ORESTES
Fate also doth provide this doom for thee.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Beware, O my child, a parent's dying curse.
ORESTES
A parent who did cast me out to ill!
CLYTEMNESTRA
Not cast thee out, but to a friendly home.
ORESTES
Born free, I was by twofold bargain sold.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Where then the price that I received for thee?
ORESTES
The price of shame; I taunt thee not more plainly.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Nay, but recount thy father's lewdness too.
ORESTES
Home-keeping, chide not him who toils without.
CLYTEMNESTRA
'Tis hard for wives to live as widows, child.
ORESTES
The absent husband toils for them at home.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Thou growest fain to slay thy mother, child
ORESTES
Nay, 'tis thyself wilt slay thyself, not I.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Beware thy mother's vengeful hounds from hell.
ORESTES
How shall I 'scape my father's, sparing thee?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Living, I cry as to a tomb, unheard.
ORESTES
My father's fate ordains this doom for thee.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ah, me! this snake it was I bore and nursed.
ORESTES
Ay, right prophetic was thy visioned fear.
Shameful thy deed was--die the death of shame!
[_Exit, driving Clytemnestra before him. _
CHORUS
Lo, even for these I mourn, a double death:
Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom,
Thus crowns the height of murders manifold,
I say, 'tis well--that not in night and death
Should sink the eye and light of this our home.
There came on Priam's race and name
A vengeance; though it tarried long,
With heavy doom it came.
Came, too, on Agamemnon's hall
A lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong.
And last, the heritage doth fall
To him, to whom from Pythian cave
The god his deepest counsel gave.
Cry out, rejoice! our kingly hall
Hath 'scaped from ruin--ne'er again
Its ancient wealth be wasted all
By two usurpers, sin-defiled--
An evil path of woe and bane!
On him who dealt the dastard blow
Comes Craft, Revenge's scheming child.
And hand in hand with him doth go,
Eager for fight,
The child of Zeus, whom men below
Call Justice, naming her aright.
And on her foes her breath
Is as the blast of death;
For her the god who dwells in deep recess
Beneath Parnassus' brow,
Summons with loud acclaim
To rise, though late and lame,
And come with craft that worketh righteousness.
For even o'er Powers divine this law is strong--
_Thou shalt not serve the wrong_.
To that which ruleth heaven beseems it that we bow.
Lo, freedom's light hath come!
Lo, now is rent away
The grim and curbing bit that held us dumb.
Up to the light, ye halls! this many a day
Too low on earth ye lay.
And Time, the great Accomplisher,
Shall cross the threshold, whensoe'er
He choose with purging hand to cleanse
The palace, driving all pollution thence.
And fair the cast of Fortune's die
Before our state's new lords shall lie,
Not as of old, but bringing fairer doom
Lo, freedom's light hath come!
[_The scene opens, disclosing Orestes standing over the corpses of
Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; in one hand he holds his sword, in the
other the robe in which Agamemnon was entangled and slain_.
ORESTES
There lies our country's twofold tyranny,
My father's slayers, spoilers of my home.
Erst were they royal, sitting on the throne,
And loving are they yet,--their common fate
Tells the tale truly, shows their trothplight firm.
They swore to work mine ill-starred father's death,
They swore to die together; 'tis fulfilled.
O ye who stand, this great doom's witnesses,
Behold this too, the dark device which bound
My sire unhappy to his death,--behold
The mesh which trapped his hands, enwound his feet!
Stand round, unfold it--'tis the trammel-net
That wrapped a chieftain; holds it that he see,
The father--not my sire, but he whose eye
Is judge of all things, the all-seeing Sun!
Let him behold my mother's damned deed,
Then let him stand, when need shall be to me,
Witness that justly I have sought and slain
My mother; blameless was Aegisthus' doom--
He died the death law bids adulterers die.
But she who plotted this accursed thing
To slay her lord, by whom she bare beneath
Her girdle once the burden of her babes,
Beloved erewhile, now turned to hateful foes--
What deem ye of her? or what venomed thing,
Sea-snake or adder, had more power than she
To poison with a touch the flesh unscarred?
So great her daring, such her impious will.
How name her, if I may not speak a curse?
A lion-springe! a laver's swathing cloth,
Wrapping a dead man, twining round his feet--
A net, a trammel, an entangling robe?
Such were the weapon of some strangling thief,
The terror of the road, a cut-purse hound--
With such device full many might he kill,
Full oft exult in heat of villainy.
Ne'er have my house so cursed an indweller--
Heaven send me, rather, childless to be slain!
CHORUS
Woe for each desperate deed!
Woe for the queen, with shame of life bereft!
And ah, for him who still is left,
Madness, dark blossom of a bloody seed!
ORESTES
Did she the deed or not? this robe gives proof,
Imbrued with blood that bathed Aegisthus' sword;
Look, how the spurted stain combines with time
To blur the many dyes that once adorned
Its pattern manifold! I now stand here,
Made glad, made sad with blood, exulting, wailing--
Hear, O thou woven web that slew my sire!
I grieve for deed and death and all my home--
Victor, pollution's damned stain for prize.
CHORUS
Alas, that none of mortal men
Can pass his life untouched by pain!
Behold, one woe is here--
Another loometh near.
ORESTES
Hark ye and learn--for what the end shall be
For me I know not: breaking from the curb
My spirit whirls me off, a conquered prey,
Borne as a charioteer by steeds distraught
Far from the course, and madness in my breast
Burneth 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 sire
And chiefest wizard of the spell that bound me
Unto this deed I name the Pythian seer
Apollo, who foretold that if I slew,
The guilt of murder done should pass from me;
But if I spared, the fate that should be mine
I dare not blazon forth--the bow of speech
Can reach not to the mark, that doom to tell.
And now behold me, how with branch and crown
I pass, a suppliant made meet to go
Unto Earth's midmost shrine, the holy ground
Of Loxias, and that renowned light
Of ever-burning fire, to 'scape the doom
Of 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.
CHORUS
Nay, but the deed is well; link not thy lips
To speech ill-starred, nor vent ill-boding words--
Who hast to Argos her full freedom given,
Lopping two serpents' heads with timely blow.
ORESTES
Look, 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!
CHORUS
Most loyal of all sons unto thy sire,
What visions thus distract thee? Hold, abide;
Great was thy victory, and shalt thou fear?
ORESTES
These are no dreams, void shapes of haunting ill,
But clear to sight my mother's hell-hounds come!
CHORUS
Nay, the fresh bloodshed still imbrues thine hands,
And thence distraction sinks into thy soul.
ORESTES
O king Apollo--see, they swarm and throng--
Black blood of hatred dripping from their eyes!
CHORUS
One remedy thou hast; go, touch the shrine
Of Loxias, and rid thee of these woes.
ORESTES
Ye can behold them not, but I behold them.
Up and away! I dare abide no more.
[_Exit_
CHORUS
Farewell then as thou mayst,--the god thy friend
Guard thee and aid with chances favouring.
Behold, the storm of woe divine
That the raves and beats on Atreus' line
Its 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 fight
Was in the bath hewn down.
And now the offspring of the race
Stands 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_.
* * * * *
THE HOUSE OF ATREUS
BEING
THE AGAMEMNON, THE LIBATION-BEARERS,
AND THE FURIES OF AESCHYLUS
THE FURIES
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE PYTHIAN PRIESTESS
APOLLO
ORESTES
THE GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA
CHORUS OF FURIES
ATHENA
ATTENDANTS OF ATHENA
TWELVE ATHENIAN CITIZENS
_The Scene of the Drama is the Temple of Apollo, at Delphi:
afterwards the Temple of Athena, on the Acropolis of Athens, and the
adjoining Areopagus. _
_The Temple at Delphi_
_The Pythian Priestess_
First, in this prayer, of all the gods I name
The prophet mother Earth; and Themis next,
Second who sat--for so with truth is said--
On this her mother's shrine oracular.
Then by her grace, who unconstrained allowed,
There sat thereon another child of Earth--
Titanian Phoebe. She, in after time,
Gave o'er the throne, as birthgift to a god,
Phoebus, who in his own bears Phoebe's name.
He from the lake and ridge of Delos' isle
Steered to the port of Pallas' Attic shores,
The home of ships; and thence he passed and came
Unto this land and to Parnassus' shrine.
And at his side, with awe revering him,
There went the children of Hephaestus' seed,
The hewers of the sacred way, who tame
The stubborn tract that erst was wilderness.
And all this folk, and Delphos, chieftain-king
Of this their land, with honour gave him home;
And in his breast Zeus set a prophet's soul,
And gave to him this throne, whereon he sits,
Fourth prophet of the shrine, and, Loxias hight,
Gives voice to that which Zeus his sire decrees.
Such gods I name in my preluding prayer,
And after them, I call with honour due
On Pallas, wardress of the fane, and Nymphs
Who dwell around the rock Corycian,
Where in the hollow cave, the wild birds' haunt,
Wander the feet of lesser gods; and there,
Right well I know it, Bromian Bacchus dwells,
Since he in godship led his Maenad host,
Devising death for Pentheus, whom they rent
Piecemeal, as hare among the hounds. And last,
I call on Pleistus' springs, Poseidon's might,
And Zeus most high, the great Accomplisher.
Then as a seeress to the sacred chair
I pass and sit; and may the powers divine
Make this mine entrance fruitful in response
Beyond each former advent, triply blest.
And if there stand without, from Hellas bound,
Men seeking oracles, let each pass in
In order of the lot, as use allows;
For the god guides whate'er my tongue proclaims.
[_She goes into the interior of the temple; after a short interval,
she returns in great fear_.
Things fell to speak of, fell for eyes to see,
Have sped me forth again from Loxias' shrine,
With strength unstrung, moving erect no more,
But aiding with my hands my failing feet,
Unnerved by fear. A beldame's force is naught--
Is as a child's, when age and fear combine.
For as I pace towards the inmost fane
Bay-filleted by many a suppliant's hand,
Lo, at the central altar I descry
One crouching as for refuge--yea, a man
Abhorredd of heaven; and from his hands, wherein
A sword new-drawn he holds, blood reeked and fell:
A wand he bears, the olive's topmost bough,
Twined as of purpose with a deep close tuft
Of whitest wool. This, that I plainly saw,
Plainly I tell. But lo, in front of him,
Crouched on the altar-steps, a grisly band
Of women slumbers--not like women they,
But Gorgons rather; nay, that word is weak,
Nor may I match the Gorgons' shape with theirs!
Such have I seen in painted semblance erst--
Winged Harpies, snatching food from Phineus' board,--
But these are wingless, black, and all their shape
The eye's abomination to behold.
Fell is the breath--let none draw nigh to it--
Wherewith they snort in slumber; from their eyes
Exude the damned drops of poisonous ire:
And such their garb as none should dare to bring
To statues of the gods or homes of men.
I wot not of the tribe wherefrom can come
So fell a legion, nor in what land Earth
Could rear, unharmed, such creatures, nor avow
That she had travailed and brought forth death.
But, for the rest, be all these things a care
Unto the mighty Loxias, the lord
Of this our shrine: healer and prophet he,
Discerner he of portents, and the cleanser
Of other homes--behold, his own to cleanse!
[_Exit_.
[_The scene opens, disclosing the interior of the temple: Orestes
clings to the central altar; the Furies lie slumbering at a little
distance; Apollo and Hermes appear from the innermost shrine_.
APOLLO
Lo, I desert thee never: to the end,
Hard at thy side as now, or sundered far,
I am thy guard, and to thine enemies
Implacably oppose me: look on them,
These greedy fiends, beneath my craft subdued!
See, they are fallen on sleep, these beldames oid,
Unto whose grim and wizened maidenhood
Nor god nor man nor beast can e'er draw near.
Yea, evil were they born, for evil's doom,
Evil the dark abyss of Tartarus
Wherein they dwell, and they themselves the hate
Of men on earth, and of Olympian gods.
But thou, flee far and with unfaltering speed;
For they shall hunt thee through the mainland wide
Where'er throughout the tract of travelled earth
Thy foot may roam, and o'er and o'er the seas
And island homes of men. Faint not nor fail,
Too soon and timidly within thy breast
Shepherding thoughts forlorn of this thy toil;
But unto Pallas' city go, and there
Crouch at her shrine, and in thine arms enfold
Her ancient image: there we well shall find
Meet judges for this cause and suasive pleas,
Skilled to contrive for thee deliverance
From all this woe. Be such my pledge to thee,
For by my hest thou didst thy mother slay.
ORESTES
O king Apollo, since right well thou know'st
What justice bids, have heed, fulfil the same,--
Thy strength is all-sufficient to achieve.
APOLLO
Have thou too heed, nor let thy fear prevail
Above thy will. And do thou guard him, Hermes,
Whose blood is brother unto mine, whose sire
The same high God. Men call thee guide and guard,
Guide therefore thou and guard my suppliant;
For Zeus himself reveres the outlaw's right,
Boon of fair escort, upon man conferred.
[_Exeunt Apollo, Hermes, and Orestes The Ghost of Clytemnestra near_
GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA
Sleep on! awake! what skills your sleep to me--
Me, among all the dead by you dishonoured--
Me from whom never, in the world of death,
Dieth this curse, _'Tis she who smote and slew_,
And shamed and scorned I roam? Awake, and hear
My plaint of dead men's hate intolerable.
Me, sternly slain by them that should have loved,
Me doth no god arouse him to avenge,
Hewn down in blood by matricidal hands.
Mark ye these wounds from which the heart's blood ran,
And by whose hand, bethink ye! for the sense
When shut in sleep hath then the spirit-sight,
But in the day the inward eye is blind.
List, ye who drank so oft with lapping tongue
The wineless draught by me outpoured to soothe
Your vengeful ire! how oft on kindled shrine
I laid the feast of darkness, at the hour
Abhorred of every god but you alone!
Lo, all my service trampled down and scorned!
And he hath baulked your chase, as stag the hounds;
Yea, lightly bounding from the circling toils,
Hath wried his face in scorn, and flieth far.
Awake and hear--for mine own soul I cry--
Awake, ye powers of hell! the wandering ghost
That once was Clytemnestra calls--Arise!
[_The Furies mutter grimly, as in a dream_.
Mutter and murmur! He hath flown afar--
My kin have gods to guard them, I have none!
[_The Furies mutter as before_.
O drowsed in sleep too deep to heed my pain!
Orestes flies, who me, his mother, slew.
[_The Furies give a confused cry_.
Yelping, and drowsed again? Up and be doing
That which alone is yours, the deed of hell!
[_The Furies give another cry_.
Lo, sleep and toil, the sworn confederates,
Have quelled your dragon-anger, once so fell!
THE FURIES (_muttering more fiercely and loudly_)
Seize, seize, seize, seize--mark, yonder!
GHOST
In dreams ye chase a prey, and like some hound,
That even in sleep doth ply his woodland toil,
Ye bell and bay. What do ye, sleeping here?
Be not o'ercome with toil, nor sleep-subdued,
Be heedless of my wrong. Up! thrill your heart
With the just chidings of my tongue,--such words
Are as a spur to purpose firmly held.
Blow forth on him the breath of wrath and blood,
Scorch him with reek of fire that burns in you,
Waste him with new pursuit--swift, hound him down!
[_Ghost sinks. _
FIRST FURY (_awaking_)
Up! rouse another as I rouse thee; up!
Sleep'st thou? Rise up, and spurning sleep away,
See we if false to us this prelude rang.
CHORUS OF FURIES
Alack, alack, O sisters, we have toiled,
O much and vainly have we toiled and borne!
Vainly! and all we wrought the gods have foiled,
And turned us to scorn!
He hath slipped from the net, whom we chased: he
hath 'scaped us who should be our prey--
O'ermastered by slumber we sank, and our quarry hath stolen away!
Thou, child of the high God Zeus, Apollo, hast robbed us and wronged;
Thou, a youth, hast down-trodden the right that is godship more
ancient belonged;
Thou hast cherished thy suppliant man; the slayer the God-forsaken,
The bane of a parent, by craft from out of our grasp thou hast taken:
A god, thou hast stolen from us the avengers a matricide son--
And who shall consider thy deed and say, _It is rightfully_ done?
The sound of chiding scorn
Came from the land of dream;
Deep to mine inmost heart I felt it thrill and burn,
Thrust as a strong-grasped goad, to urge
Onward the chariot's team.
Thrilled, chilled with bitter inward pain
I stand as one beneath the doomsman's scourge.
Shame on the younger gods who tread down right,
Sitting on thrones of might!
Woe on the altar of earth's central fane!
Clotted on step and shrine,
Behold, the guilt of blood, the ghastly stain!
Woe upon thee, Apollo! uncontrolled,
Unbidden, hast thou, prophet-god, imbrued
The pure prophetic shrine with wrongful blood!
For thou too heinous a respect didst hold
Of man, too little heed of powers divine!
And us the Fates, the ancients of the earth,
Didst deem as nothing worth.
Scornful to me thou art, yet shalt not fend
My wrath from him; though unto hell he flee,
There too are we!
