No More Learning

Clytemnestra — What! the jealous God ?
Or, peradventure, yet more envious man ? Agamemnon —
And that of no small moment.
Clytemnestra — No ; the one
Sure proof of having won what others would. Agamemnon — —
No matter Strife but ill becomes a woman. Clytemnestra —
And frank submission to her simple wish
How well becomes the Soldier in his strength ! Agamemnon —
And I must then submit ?
Clytemnestra — Ay, Agamemnon,
Deny me not this first Desire on this
First Morning of your long-desired Return. Agamemnon —
But not till I have put these sandals off, That, slavelike, too officiously would pander
-ESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON. 279
Between the purple and my dainty feet.
For fear, for fear indeed, some Jealous eye
From heaven above, or earth below, should strike The Man who walks the earth Immortal-like.
So much for that. For this same royal maid, Cassandra, daughter of King Priamus,
Whom, as the flower of all the spoil of Troy,
The host of Hellas dedicates to me ;
Entreat her gently ; knowing well that none
But submit hardly to a foreign yoke ;
And those of Royal blood most hardly brook. That if I sin thus trampling underfoot
A woof in which the Heavens themselves are dyed, The jealous God may less resent his crime,
Who mingles human mercy with his pride. Clytemnestra —
The Sea there is, and shall the sea be dried ?
Fount inexhaustibler of purple grain
Than all the wardrobes of the world could drain ;
And Earth there is, whose dusky closets hide The precious metal wherewith not in vain
The Gods themselves this Royal house provide ; For what occasion worthier, or more meet,
Than now to carpet the victorious feet
Of Him who, thus far having done their will, Shall now their last About-to-be fulfill ?
[Agamemnon descends from his chariot, and goes vnth Clt- temnestba into the house, Cassandra remaining.
Chorus.
About the nations runs a saw,
That Over-good ill fortune breeds ; And true that, by the mortal law,
Fortune her spoilt children feeds
To surfeit, such as sows the seeds Of Insolence, that, as it grows,
The flower of Self-repentance blows. And true that Virtue often leaves
The marble walls and roofs of kings, And underneath the poor man's eaves
On smoky rafter folds her wings.
Thus the famous city, flown
With insolence, and overgrown,
Is humbled : all her splendor blown
280 . ESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
To smoke : her glory laid in dust ;
Who shall say by doom unjust ?
But should He to whom the wrong
Was done, and Zeus himself made strong To do the vengeance He decreed —
At last returning with the meed
He wrought for — should the jealous Eye That blights full-blown prosperity
Pursue him — then indeed, indeed, Man should hoot and scare aloof Good fortune lighting on the roof ; Yea, even Virtue's self forsake
If Glory followed in the wake ; Seeing bravest, best, and wisest
But the playthings of a day, Which a shadow can trip over, And a breath can puff away.
Clytemnestra [reentering] — —
Yet for a moment let me look on her
This, then, is Priam's daughter —
Cassandra, and a Prophetess, whom Zeus
Has given into my hands to minister
Among my slaves. Didst thou prophesy that ? Well — some more famous have so fallen before — Even Heracles, the son of Zeus, they say
Was sold, and bowed his shoulder to the yoke. Chorus —
And, if needs must a captive, better far
Of some old house that affluent Time himself Has taught the measure of prosperity,
Than drunk with sudden superfluity.
Clytemnestra —
Even so. You hear ? Therefore at once descend From that triumphal chariot — And yet
She keeps her station still, her laurel on, Disdaining to make answer.
Chorus — Nay, perhaps, Like some stray swallow blown across the seas, Interpreting no twitter but her own.
Clytemnestra —
But, if barbarian, still interpreting The universal language of the hand.
Chorus —
Which yet again she does not seem to see, Staring before her with wide-open eyes
As in a trance.
^SCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON. 281
Clytemnestra — Ay, ay, a prophetess — Phoebus Apollo's minion once — Whose now? A time will come for her. See you to it :
A greater business now is on my hands : For lo ! the fire of Sacrifice is lit,
And the grand victim by the altar stands.
Chorus —
Hark!
Chorus [continuing].
Still a muttered and half-blind Superstition haunts mankind,
That, by some divine decree Yet by mortal undivined, Mortal Fortune must not over-
Leap the bound he cannot see ; For that even wisest labor
Lofty-building, builds to fall, Evermore a jealous neighbor
Undermining floor and wall. So that on the smoothest water
Sailing, in a cloudless sky,
The wary merchant overboard
Flings something of his precious hoard
To pacify the jealous eye,
That will not suffer man to swell Over human measure. Well,
As the Gods have ordered we
Must take — I know not —let it be. But, by rule of retribution,
If she fall, shall fall to rise: And the hand of Zeus dispenses Even measure in the main :
One short harvest recompenses With a glut of. golden grain;
So but men in patience wait Fortune's counter revolution
Axled on eternal Fate ;
And the Sisters three that twine, Cut not short the vital line ;
For indeed the purple seed
Of life once shed —
The lips at last unlocking.
Cassandra — Phoebus Apollo !
[Exit Clytemnestra.
Hidden, too, from human eyes, Fortune in her revolution,
282 iESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
Cassandra — Phoebus! Phoebus! Chorus —
Well, what of Phoebus, maiden ? though a name 'Tis but disparagement to call upon
In misery.
Cassandra — Apollo! Apollo! Again! Oh, the burning arrow through the brain !
— Phoebus Apollo !
Apollo !
— Seemingly-
Phoebus! Phoebus! Thorough trampled ashes, blood, and fiery rain,
Over water seething, and behind the breathing Warhorse in the darkness — till you rose again — Took the helm — took the rein —
Chorus —
As one that half asleep at dawn recalls A night of Horror !
And with whom,
I can answer that —
Down to what slaughterhouse ?
Foh ! the smell of carnage through the door Scares me from it — drags me toward it — Phoebus ! Apollo ! Apollo !
Chorus
Possessed indeed
—
whether by
Cassandra —
Cassandra —
Hither, whither, Phoebus ? Leading me, lighting me —
Chorus — Cassandra —
Chorus —
One of the dismal prophet pack, it seems,
That hunt the trail of blood. But here at fault — This is no den of slaughter, but the house
Of Agamemnon.
Cassandra — Down upon the towers — Phantoms of two mangled Children hover
and a famished
man,
At an empty table glaring, seizes and devours !
Chorus —
Thyestes and his children ! Strange enough For any maiden from abroad to know,
Or, knowing —
Cassandra — And look! in the chamber below The terrible Woman, listening, watching,
Under a mask, preparing the blow
In the fold of her robe —
Chorus — Nay, but again at fault :
^SCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
For in the tragic story of this House — Unless, indeed, the fatal Helen —
No woman —
Chorus — Peace, mad woman, peace ! Whose stony lips once open vomit out
Such uncouth horrors.
283
Cassandra — — No Woman — Tisiphone!
Of Tartarus love-grinning Woman above, Dragon-tailed under — honey-ton gued, Harpy-clawed, Into the glittering meshes of slaughter
She wheedles, entices, him into the poisonous
Fold of the serpent —
Cassandra — I tell you the lioness
Slaughters the Lion asleep ; and lifting
Her blood-dripping fangs buried deep in his mane,
Glaring about her insatiable, bellowing,
Bounds hither — Phoebus, Apollo, Apollo, Apollo !
Whither have you led me, under night alive with fire, Through the trampled ashes of the city of my sire,
From my slaughtered kinsmen, fallen throne, insulted shrine, Slavelike to be butchered, the daughter of a Royal line ?
Daughter
Chorus —
And so returning, like a nightingale Returning to the passionate note of woe By which the silence first was broken !
Cassandra — Oh,
A nightingale, a nightingale, indeed,
That, as she "Itys ! Itys ! Itys ! " so
I " Helen ! Helen ! Helen ! " having sung
Amid my people, now to those who flung
And trampled on the nest, and slew the young,
Keep crying " Blood ! blood ! blood ! " and none will heed 1 Now what for me is this prophetic weed,
And what for me is this immortal crown,
Who like a wild swan from Scamander's reed Chanting her death song float Cocytus-down ? There let the fatal Leaves to perish lie !
To perish, or enrich some other brow
With that all-fatal gift of Prophecy
They palpitated under Him who now,
Checking his flaming chariot in mid sky,
With divine irony sees disadorn
The wretch his love has made the people's scorn, The raving quean, the mountebank, the scold, Who, wrapt up in the ruin she foretold
284
^SCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
With those who would not listen, now descends
To that dark kingdom where his empire ends. Chorus —
Strange that Apollo should the laurel wreath
Of Prophecy he crowned your head withal Himself disgrace. But something have we heard Of some divine revenge for slighted love.
Cassandra —
Ay — and as if in malice to attest
With one expiring beam of Second-sight Wherewith his victim he has cursed and blest,
Ere quenched forever in descending night ;
As from behind a veil no longer peeps
The Bride of Truth, nor from their hidden deeps Darkle the waves of Prophecy, but run
Clear from the very fountain of the Sun.
Ye called — and rightly called — me bloodhound: ye That like old lagging dogs in self-despite
Must follow up the scent with me ; with me,
Who having smelt the blood about this house Already spilt, now bark of more to be.
For, though you hear them not, the infernal Choir Whose dread antiphony forswears the lyre,
Who now are chanting of that grim carouse
Of blood with which the children fed their Sire,
Shall never from their dreadful chorus stop
Till all be counter-pledged to the last drop.
Chorus —
Hinting at what indeed has long been done, And widely spoken, no Apollo needs ;
And for what else you aim at — still in dark And mystic language —
Cassandra — Nay, then, in the speech, She that reproved me was so glib to teach — Before yon Sun a hand's breadth in the skies
He moves in shall have moved, those age-sick eyes Shall open wide on Agamemnon slain
Before your very feet. Now, speak I plain ? Chorus —
Blasphemer, hush ! Cassandra —
Ay, hush the mouth you may, Murder! But the Gods —
But not the murder. Chorus — — Cassandra
The Gods !
Who even now are their accomplices.
iESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON. 285
Cliorus —Woman ! — Accomplices — With whom ? —
Cassandra — With Her,
Who brandishing aloft the ax of doom, That just has laid one victim at her feet,
Looks round her for that other, without whom The banquet of revenge were incomplete.
Yet ere I fall will I prelude the strain
Of Triumph, that in full I shall repeat
When, looking from the twilight Underland,
I welcome Her as she descends amain,
Gashed like myself, but by a dearer hand.
For that old murdered Lion with me slain,
Rolling an awful eyeball through the gloom
He stalks about of Hades up to Day,
Shall rouse the whelp of exile far away,
His only authentic offspring, ere the grim
Wolf crept between his Lioness and him ;
Who with one stroke of Retribution, her
Who did the deed, and her adulterer,
Shall drive to hell ; and then, himself pursued
By the winged Furies of his Mother's blood,
Shall drag about the yoke of Madness, till
Released, when Nemesis has gorged her fill,
By that same God, in whose prophetic ray
Viewing To-morrow mirrored as To-day,
And that this House of Atreus the same wine Themselves must drink they brewed for me and mine ; I close my lips forever with one prayer,
That the dark Warder of the World below
Would ope the portal at a single blow.
Cliorus.
And the raving voice, that rose
Out of silence into speech
Overshooting human reach, Back to silence foams and blows,
Leaving all my bosom heaving — Wrath and raving all, one knows; Prophet-seeming, but if ever
Of the Prophet God possest,
By the Prophet's self-confest God-abandoned —woman's shrill Anguish into tempest rising, Louder as less listened.
Still —
286
iESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
Spite of Reason, spite of Will, What unwelcome, what unholy, Vapor of Foreboding, slowly Rising from the central soul's Recesses, all in darkness rolls ? What ! shall Age's torpid ashes Kindle at the ransom spark
Of a raving maiden ? — Hark !
What was that behind the wall ?
Aheavy blow —a groan—a fall—
Some one crying — Listen further — Hark again then, crying " Murder ! "
Some one — who then ? Agamemnon ? Agamemnon ? — Hark again !
Murder ! murder ! murder ! murder !
Help within there ! Help without there ! Break the doors in ! —
Clytemnestra [appearing from within, where lies Agamemnon
dead] —
Spare your pain. I who but just now before you all
Look !
Boasted of loyal wedlock unashamed,
Now unashamed dare boast the contrary.
Why, how else should one compass the defeat
Of him who underhand contrives one's own,
Unless by such a snare of circumstance
As, once enmeshed, he never should break through ? The blow now struck was not the random blow
Of sudden passion, but with slow device
Prepared, and leveled with the hand of time.
I who did ;
And now stand here to face the consequence.
I say it who devised it ;
Ay, in a deadlier web than of that loom
In whose blood-purple he divined a doom,
And feared to walk upon, but walked at last, Entangling him inextricably fast,
I smote him, and he bellowed ; and again
I smote, and with a groan his knees gave way ; And, as he fell before me, with a third
And last libation from the deadly mace
I pledged the crowning draught to Hades due, That subterranean Savior — of the Dead!
At which he spouted up the Ghost in such
A burst of purple as, bespattered with,
No less did I rejoice than the green ear
iESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
Kejoices in the largess of the skies
That fleeting Iris follows as it flies. Chorus —
Oh, woman, woman, woman !
By what accursed root or weed
Of Earth, or Sea, or Hell, inflamed, Darest stand before us unashamed
And, daring do, dare glory in the deed !
Clytemnestra —
Oh, that I dreamed the fall of Troy, as you
Belike of Troy's destroyer. Dream or not,
Here lies your King — my Husband — Agamemnon, Slain by this right hand's righteous handicraft.
Like you, or like it not, alike to me ;
To me alike whether or not you share
In making due libation over this
Great Sacrifice — if ever due, from him
Who, having charged so deep a bowl of blood, Himself is forced to drink it to the dregs.
Chorus —
Woman, what blood but that of Troy, which Zeus Foredoomed for expiation by his hand
For whom the penalty was pledged ? And now, Over his murdered body, Thou
Talk of libation ! — Thou ! Thou ! Thou !
But mark ! Not thine of sacred wine
Over his head, but ours on thine
Of curse, and groan, and torn-up stone,
To slay or storm thee from the gate,
The City's curse, the People's hate,
Execrate, exterminate —
Clytemnestra —
Ay, ay, to me how lightly you adjudge
Exile or death, and never had a word
Of counter condemnation for Him there ;
Who, when the field throve with the proper flock For Sacrifice, forsooth let be the beast,
And with his own hand his own innocent
Blood, and the darling passion of my womb — Her slew — to lull a peevish wind of Thrace.
And him who cursed the city with that crime You hail with acclamation ; but on me,
Who only do the work you should have done, You turn the ax of condemnation. Well ; Threaten you me, I take the challenge up ;
288
J2SCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
Here stand we face to face ; win Thou the game, And take the stake you aim at ; but if I— Then, by the Godhead that for me decides, Another lesson you shall learn, though late.
Chorus —
Man-mettled evermore, and now Manslaughter-maddened ! Shameless brow ! But do you think us deaf and blind
Chorus —
Woe, woe, woe, woe ! That death as sudden as the blow
That laid Thee low would me lay low Where low thou liest, my sovereign Lord ! Who ten years long to Trojan sword Devoted, and to storm aboard,
In one ill woman's cause accurst, Liest slain before thy palace door
By one accursedest and worst !
Not to know, and long ago,
What Passion under all the prate
Of holy justice made thee hate — Where Love was due, and love where
Avenging Fury of my slaughtered child,
I swear I will not reign the slave of fear
While he that holds me, as I hold him, dear,
Kindles his fire upon this hearth : my fast
Shield for the time to come, as of the past.
Yonder lies he that in the honeyed arms
Of his ChryseideB under Troy walls
Dishonored mine : and this last laureled wench, Prophetic messmate of the rower's bench,
Thus far in triumph his, with him along
Shall go, together chanting one death song
To Hades — fitting garnish for the feast
Which Fate's avenging hand through mine hath drest
Clytemnestra —
Nay, then, hear ! By this dead Husband, and the reconciled
Clytemnestra —
Call not on Death, old man, that, called or no,
Comes quick ; nor spend your ebbing breath on me,
Nor Helena : who but as arrows be Shot by the hidden hand behind the bow.
Chorus — Alas, alas ! The Curse I know
That round the House of Atreus clings,
About the roof, about the walls, Shrouds it with his sable wings ;
^SCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
And still as each new victim falls, And gorged with kingly gore,
Down on the bleeding carcass flings, And croaks for " More, more, more ! "
Clytemnestra —
Ay, now, indeed, you harp on likelier strings. Not I, nor Helen, but that terrible
Alastor of old Tantalus in Hell;
Who, one sole actor in the scene begun
By him, and carried down from sire to son,
The mask of Victim and Avenger shifts : And, for a last catastrophe, that grim
Guest of the abominable banquet lifts His head from Hell, and in my person cries For one full-grown sufficient sacrifice,
Requital of the feast prepared for him
Of his own flesh and blood — And there it lies.
Chorus —
O Agamemnon ! O my Lord ! Who, after ten years toiled ;
After barbarian lance and sword Encountered, fought, and foiled ;
Returning with the just award Of Glory, thus inglorious by Thine own domestic Altar die,
Fast in the spider meshes coiled
Of Treason most abhorred !
Clytemnestra —
And by what retribution more complete,
Than, having in the meshes of deceit
Enticed my child, and slain her like a fawn Upon the altar ; to that altar drawn
Himself, like an unconscious beast, full-fed With Conquest, and the garland on his head,
Is slain ? and now, gone down among the Ghost, Of taken Troy indeed may make the most,
But not one unrequited murder boast.
What hand, what pious hand shall wash the wound Through which the sacred spirit ebbed and fled !
With reverend care composed, and to the ground Commit the mangled form of Majesty,
And pour the due libation o'er the mound ! Clytemnestra —
This hand, that struck the guilty life away, VOL. III. — 19
Cliorus —
Oh, Agamemnon, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead !
290
Chorus
. ESCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
The guiltless carcass in the dust shall lay
With due solemnities : and if with no
Mock tears, or howling counterfeit of woe,
On this side earth ; perhaps the innocent thing, Whom with paternal love he sent before, Meeting him by the melancholy shore,
Her arms about him with a kiss shall fling, — And lead him to his shadowy throne below.
Alas ! alas ! the fatal rent
Which through the house of Atreus went, Gapes again ; a purple rain
Sweats the marble floor, and falls
From the tottering roof and walls,
The Demon heaving under ; gone
The master prop they rested on :
And the storm once more awake
Of Nemesis ; of Nemesis Whose fury who shall slake !
Clytemnestra — Even I
Chorus
; who by this last grand victim hope The Pyramid of Vengeance so to cope,
That — and methinks I hear him in the deep
Beneath us growling toward his rest — the stern
Alastor to some other roof may turn, Leaving us here at last in peace to keep
—What of life's harvest yet remains to reap. Thou to talk of reaping Peace
Who sowest Murder ! Woman,
And, despite that iron face —
Iron as the bloody mace
Thou bearest — boasting as if Vengeance
Centered in that hand alone ;
Know that, Fury pledged to Fury, Vengeance owes himself the debts
He makes, and while he serves thee, whets His knife upon another stone,
Against thyself, and him with thee Colleaguing, as you boast to be,
The tools of Fate. But Fate is Zeus ;
Zeus — who for a while permitting
Sin to prosper in his name,
Shall vindicate his own abuse ;
And having brought his secret thought To light, shall break and fling to shame The baser tools with which he wrought.
cease !
^SCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
^Egisthus —
All hail, thou daybreak of my just revenge !
In which, as waking from injurious sleep, Methinks I recognize the Gods enthroned
In the bright conclave of eternal Justice, Revindicate the wrongs of man to man !
For see this man —so dear to me now dead — Caught in the very meshes of the snare
By which his father Atreus netted mine.
For that same Atreus surely, was it not ?
Who, wrought by false Suspicion to fixed Hate, From Argos out his younger brother drove,
My sire — Thyestes — drove him like a wolf, Keeping his cubs — save one — to better purpose. For when at last the home-heartbroken man
Crept humbly back again, craving no more
Of his own country than to breathe its air
In liberty, and of her fruits as much
As not to starve withal — the savage King,
With damnable alacrity of hate,
And reconciliation of revenge, —
Bade him, all smiles, to supper such a supper, Where the prime dainty was — my brother's flesh, So maimed and dipt of human likelihood,
That the unsuspecting Father, light of heart,
And quick of appetite, at once fell to,
And ate — ate — what, with savage irony
As soon as eaten, told — the wretched man Disgorging with a shriek, down to the ground
The table with its curst utensil dashed,
And, grinding into pieces with his heel,
Cried, loud enough for Heaven and Hell to hear,
" Thus perish all the race of Pleisthenes ! "
And now behold ! the son of that same Atreus
By me the son of that Thyestes slain
Whom the kind brother, sparing from the cook, Had with his victim packed to banishment ;
Where Nemesis — (so sinners from some nook, Whence least they think assailable, assailed) — Reared me from infancy till fully grown,
To claim in full my father's bloody due.
Ay, I it was — none other — far away
Who spun the thread, which gathering day by day Mesh after mesh, inch upon inch, at last
Reached him, and wound about him, as he lay,
292
JSSCHYLUS' AGAMEMNON.
And in the supper of his smoking Troy Devoured his own destruction — scarce condign Return for that his Father forced on mine.
Chorus —
jEgisthus, only things of haser breed
Insult the fallen ; fallen too, as you boast,
By one who planned but dared not do the deed. This is your hour of triumph. But take heed ; The blood of Atreus is not all outrun
With this slain King, but flowing in a son, Who saved by such an exile as your own
For such a counter retribution —
^Egisthus — Oh,
You then, the nether benches of the realm, Dare open tongue on those who rule the helm ? Take heed yourselves ; for, old and dull of wit, And hardened as your mouth against the bit, Be wise in time ; kick not against the spurs ; Remembering Princes are shrewd taskmasters.
Chorus — Beware thyself, bewaring me ; Remembering that, too sharply stirred,
The spurrer need beware the spurred j As thou of me ; whose single word Shall rouse the City — yea, the very
Stones you walk upon, in thunder Gathering o'er your head, to bury
Thee and thine Adultress under ! JEgisthus — Raven, that with croaking jaws
Unorphean, undivine, After you no City draws ;
And if any vengeance, mine — Chorus — Upon your withered shoulders
Who daring not to strike the blow
Thine !
Thy worse than woman craft designed, —To worse than woman —
uiEgisthus — Soldiers, ho ! Clytemnestra
Softly, good JSgisthus, softly ; let the sword that has so deep
Drunk of righteous Retribution now within the scabbard sleep !
And if Nemesis be sated with the blood already spilt, Even so let us, nor carry lawful Justice into Guilt Sheathe your sword; dismiss your spears; and you, Old
men, your howling cease,
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT.
293
And, ere ill blood come to running, each unto his home in peace, Recognizing what is done for done indeed, as done it is,
And husbanding your soanty breath to pray that nothing more amiss. Farewell. Meanwhile, you and I, jEgisthus, shall deliberate,
When the storm is blowing under, how to settle House and State.
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT. By RICHARD GARNETT.
(From " Iphigenia in Delphi. ")
[Richakd Garnett, C. B. , LL. D. , English poet and man of letters, was born at Lichfield, England, in 1836 ; son and namesake of the Assistant Keeper of Printed Books in the British Museum. He was himself in its service from 1851 to 1899, latterly as Keeper of Printed Books. He has published, besides vol umes of collected original poems, " Poems from the German," " A Cbaplet from the Greek Anthology," "Sonnets from Dante, Petrarch, and Camoens" ; also "Io in Egypt," "Iphigenia in Delphi," "The Twilight of the Gods," etc. ; Lives of Milton, Carlyle, Emerson, William Blake, and Edward Gibbon Wake field ; " History of Italian Literature," etc. ]
[Aroument. — An oracle declared that Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, must be sacrificed to Artemis, to procure a passage to Troy for the Grecian fleet lying becalmed at Aulis. Iphigenia was brought to Aulis under pretense of a marriage with Achilles, and was about to be put to death when Artemis substituted a hind in her place, and conveyed her to Taurls in Scythia, where she became priestess. The Greeks believed that she bad been actually sacrificed, and it was partly in revenge for this deed that Agamemnon was murdered on his return from Troy, by his wife Clytemnestra. When Agamem non's son Orestes had grown up, he took vengeance on Clytemnestra and her paramour iEgisthus by the help of his sister Electra ; and then, being persecuted by the Furies on account of the death of his mother, repaired to Delphi to ask counsel of Apollo. He was directed to go to Tauris and carry off the statue of Artemis. In this he succeeded by the aid of Iphigenia, and returned in her com pany to Delphi, to be purified from the murder of Clytemnestra. Meanwhile Electra, who was ignorant of the existence of Iphigenia, had also repaired to Delphi to inquire respecting the fate of her long absent brother, and to consecrate the ax with which Clytemnestra had slain Agamemnon, and with which she had in turn been destroyed by Orestes. — Gabnbtt. ]
Eurycles [entering the temple] —
Daughter of Agamemnon, turn and hear A heavy word from a reluctant tongue.
Electra —
Who art thou, man ? whence sent ? what thing to tell ?
294
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT.
Eurycles —
One of Orestes' comrades, bound with him
To Scythia — bound without him back to Greece.
Electra —
Without ! without ! Thou darest not to call Orestes dead!
Eurycles — I have not seen him die. Electra —
Then animate ? Thou darest to be mute ! Eurycles —
0 princess, listen only to my tale,
And I will tell thee truly all I know. Electra —
Speak quickly, while I yet have life to hear. Eurycles —
Long did the north wind baffle, but at length
We gained the coast of massacre, and found
A cave low-arched, wave-whispering, at its mouth, But vaulted loftily within, and dry.
Therein we entered, and with food and drink Refreshed ourselves ; and then Orestes spake,
" Rest here, my friends, while Pylades with us Goes forth to explore this region, what it
And how the goddess' image may be won. "
And so they parted, venturous but the hours Wore on, nor came there any sign from them. Then took we counsel, and cast forth lot
For perquisition, and fell on me.
Then went forth, and found an open space Before moated city, and in
Pylades and thy brother standing bound
Their armor rent from them, their dress defiled With blood and dust, and from the brow of each Oozed the thick sullen droppings, and judged Our friends the booty of
Beset by rustics armed with clubs and stones,
And turned me round to fly but as turned Came forth wondrous woman tall and fair, Grecian in aspect, in Grecian garb
Draping her stateliness symmetrical.
And truly had deemed her Artemis,
But that, the while she approached and shore lock From either captive, thundering pealed acclaim Exultant from the barbarous multitude,
" The priestess, who shall give the men to death "
multitude.
a !
I
a
a
I
a
it
a ;
it I
;
I
;
a
is,
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT.
I turned and fled, and flying saw her still
And hastening to our ambush I called forth
My comrades to the rescue, but alas !
One said, How shall we brave a host in arms ? And one, The slaughter is performed ere this. And one, The Pythian but fulfills his pledge — What peace is peaceful as the peace of death ? And so we sailed. Alas ! regard me not
So rigidly with thy dismaying eyes !
For verily, had I prevailed, thou hadst heard Thy brother's fortune from thy brother's lips, Or never from the lips of any man.
Electro, —
1 hate thee not, but get thee from my sight.
Eurycles —
I go as thou commandest, yet not far :
Full surely thou wilt soon have need of me.
295
[Goes out.
Electro, —
Now see I all the blindness of our race,
Now see I all the malice of the gods.
O my Orestes ! O my brother ! now
A mangled victim ! who could e'er conceive
The time to have been when thou didst come a swift Avenger, terrible and beautiful,
Yet cloaked with craft, unrecognizable,
Bearing the urn thou feign'dst to contain thy dust ? And I believed, and took it to my arms,
And wept such tears as I am shedding now,
But then did never deem to shed again ;
Till thy dear heart was melted, and thy arms
Met sudden round my neck, and thou didst cry,
" Believe it not, Electra, but believe
Thou clasp'st the living brother, not the dead,"
Who had not deemed me mad had I rejoined :
" I would, Orestes, that the tale were true.
Yet, had it been true, then hadst thou obtained Decorous rights of sepulture most meet,
Paid by a kindred hand, thy sister had warmed
Thy chill ash for a little with her breast,
And then avenged it. Yea, this hand had reeked And dripped with the adulterous blood, thou pure, And I sole quarry of the hounds of hell. "
Ah me ! the gladness I was glad to lose !
What sudden thought grasps and enkindles me ? The wheel of circumstance brings all things back.
296
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT. Again thou diest, my brother, and again
[Snatches a brand from the altar.
Iphigenia [entering] —
Ha, wretched ! what art doing with that brand ?
My vengeance lives. Alas !
And with this hatchet cleave thy hateful head, And spill thy abominable blood accursed, Vassal of Artemis. But thou, false god, Smooth murderer with ambiguous oracles, Thou art not safe, as thou esteem'st thyself. Look down, and thou shalt see to what a deed A desperate heart can prompt a daring hand. Forsake thy nectared and ambrosial feast,
And save thy shrine, if thou art indeed a god !
Electra —
I fire the fane of a deceitful god.
Iphigenia —
Nay, truly, if this hand can hinder thee.
Electra —
Ah me ! the brand is caught from out my grasp.
Iphigenia —
Thou seest, the weak are strong by piety.
Electra —
0 miserable slave of the Unjust !
May these requite thee, abject, with the doom Bestowed by them upon the brave and free ! Thou hast a brother ? — mayst thou see him die ! A sister ? — mayst thou slay her with thy hand !
Iphigenia —
Curse, frantic, with a curse I do not heed ; For surely thou art crazed with wretchedness.
Electra —
O maiden, as a mother who has lost Daughter or son, clasps the insensible urn, And fondles and feigns her child— So thee, though thou art colder than an urn, Yet will feign another, and will make Thee umpire of my quarrel with the gods.
had — alas alas — brother his name Thou knowest not, nor shalt suffice, he turned Hither, inquiring of his death or life.
I cannot go,
Electra —
Thou wouldst then rather I should burn thy eyes!
Iphigenia —
Apollo will protect his combatant.
I
I !
it, !
a
is ;
it
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT. 297
Now, that the god said " death," who would have blamed ? But it was little for my brother to die,
Unless the gods could have their sport with him,
So he was told, " Find such and such, and rest. "
He went to find and he found the grave. Now, stood and railed, the god would say, " What rest so deep as the grave's quietude "
base, contemptible, and lying god — see thou chokest with thy zeal to earn
The wages of thy supple abjectness.
Come, plead thy master's cause, and be repaid With some reward unenviable by me.
Iphigenia —
Alas for all thy solemn hierarchy,
Olympus, and the order that controls
The world, had Love dominion for an hour
But this was craft and wisdom of the gods,
That, knowing Love by nature masterful,
Inconstant, willful, proud, tyrannical,
They compassed him with all fragility,
Set him at subtlest variance with himself,
Stronger than Change or Death, than Time that leaves The storied bronze with unengraven front,
Yet weak as weakness' self; nor weak alone,
But without weakness inconceivable.
Say now we grant were impossible
Thy brother should perish, had found thee here Asking the god for him with thy wild voice
Thou buyest not Love save with the anxious heart That quakes at what may happen —often mutt;
Else were thy love as empty as thy fear.
Electra —
Methinks hear the main's inhabitant Marveling why the foolish seaman drowns. Thy brother alive, and mine dead.
Iphigenia —
'Tis for that thing pity thee, and now Would offer thee sister in his room.
Electra —
Thee for sister, heartless Say as soon Artemis' image, or her cruel self
Or even her satellite, the murderess.
Iphigenia —
Alas thou knowest not what thou dost reject. But why curse Artemis 'tis her serve.
?
I
! ;
is I ? ! ?
! !
if I
a
I is
aI it
it,
1O
!
298
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT.
Electra —
Thou servest Artemis ! Had I but known ! Off! off! detested!
Iphigenia — Whence this frantic rage ? Electra —
Off ! ere I smite thee ! Thou, my sister, thou ! Iphigenia —
Again I warn thee that thou dost reject
Thou knowest not what. A sister's were a breast Whereon to weep, venting in raining tears
The fury thou amassest now in clouds,
And hurlest at the gods in thunderbolts.
Electra —
Hear, then :
I had a sister, and have not.
Iphigenia —
Wretched, by what calamity deprived ?
Electra —
A Mighty One (inquire not for her name)
Looked upon her, and thought — How beautiful ! Simple, and sweet, and innocent, and blithe
With buoyant life, yet must the virgin die,
For I have some strange pleasure in her death. Wherefore she took the maid and slaughtered her.
Electra —
Sister, ere me a victim of the Unjust,
Leave ghostly Acheron, if thou canst,
And see awhile, how thy beloved avenges thee !
Iphigenia —
Thou talkest idly ; grief hath turned thy brain. Ah me ! Thy eyes blaze, and a fire of light
Is poured upon thee, all from head to foot.
Eurycles —
Behold thy brother's murderess !
Iphigenia — I? I? Eurycles —
[Snatches a brand from the altar.
Iphigenia —
Mad woman, cease ! ah me ! help ! rescue ! help !
Eurycles [running in] —
What means this clamor and commotion ?
[Perceiving Iphigenia] Gods!
Electra —
Thou palsiest me with look unspeakable.
The Scythian woman, vowed to Artemis !
FATE'S ACCOMPLISHMENT. 299
Electro, — I
Kind gods, do not curse ye any more.
[Snatches the ax from the altar, and strikes Iphigenia.
Die, hatefullest !
[Iphigenia falls.
O drunkenness of joy !
Aye, moan. Thy moans are music to mine ears.
Orestes [entering] —
Eyes ! what do ye behold ?
Electra — Eurycles — Electra —
Orestes !
Prince !
O crown of life !
Off ! off ! abominable ! O temple, fall upon us ! bury us !
Electra ! wretch detestable !
Iphigenia — Electra !
Hasten and kiss me ere it be too late !
Electra —
Orestes, to this sudden shock of joy
My whole frame thrills responsive,
My full heart's
Glad clamor in my bosom silences
All dissonancy, and I do not ask,
How here ? how sped ? how saved ? how taken for lost ? Or why thou spurnest my embrace, the while
Thou kneelest to caress a murderer.
[Rising.
Orestes —
O day of happiness ! Orestes! clasp —
[Dies. Orestes throws himself upon the body.
Orestes [not regarding Electra] —
O speak, look, make some sign, or only breathe !
Electra —
How, when thou deign'st no look or word to me ?
Orestes —
Thou slayest me, counterfeiting to be slain.
Electra —
Met ever brother with a greeting like this ?
Orestes —
Woe ! woe ! it is most certain she is dead.