Story of Orestes Part 2

_Chor._ Did love for this thy fatherland so try thee?

_Her._ So that mine eyes weep tears for very joy.

_Chor._ Disease full sweet then this ye suffered from ...

_Her._ How so? When taught, I shall thy meaning master.

_Chor._ Ye longed for us who yearned for you in turn.

_Her._ Say'st thou this land its yearning host yearned o'er?

_Chor._ Yea, so that oft I groaned in gloom of heart.

_Her._ Whence came these bodings that an army hates?

_Chor._ Silence I've held long since a charm for ill.

_Her._ How, when your lords were absent, feared ye any?

_Chor._ To use thy words, death now would welcome be. {533} The Herald, not understanding the source of the Chorus' misgiving, goes on to say of course their success is mixed: so fare all but the G.o.ds.

They have had their tossings on the sea, their exposure to the night dews till their hair is s.h.a.ggy as beasts'; but why remember these now? our toil is past--so he suddenly recollects is that of the dead they have left behind--but he will shake off these feelings: Troy is captured. The _Chorus_ feel youthful with such happy tidings. {569}

_Enter Clytaemnestra from the Palace._

_Clyt._ Now they will believe me, who were saying just now that women believed too soon. What joy for a wife equal to that of a husband's return? and I have kept my trust as stainless as bronze. [_Exit into Palace._] The Foreman goes on to enquire as to Menelaus: the Herald would fain not answer, and brings out the Greek dread of mingling bad news with good--at last he is forced to acknowledge Menelaus has disappeared, his s.h.i.+p sundered from the fleet by a terrible storm in which

They a compact swore who erst were foes, Ocean and Fire, {634}

and the sea 'blossomed with wrecks of s.h.i.+ps and dead Achaeans:' the fleet itself barely escaped. [Thus: foreboding indirectly a.s.sisted by its appearing that one of the two sons of Atreus has already been overtaken by Nemesis.] {663}

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

[_Positions, etc., as before._]

_Strophe I: to the Right._

Who could foresee so well and give her the name _Helen_--a _h.e.l.l_[3] to men and s.h.i.+ps and towers? She came out of bowers of gorgeous curtains, she sailed with breezes soft as Zephyrs yet strong as t.i.tans, and unseen reached the leafy banks of the Simois; but bloodshed was in her train, and on her track followed hosts of hunters that carried s.h.i.+elds. {680}

_Antistrophe I: back to Altar._

So there is a wrath that works vengeance after long waiting: to the _Ilion_ that received her she was a dear bride: then there was a shout of 'Paris, Paris,' in the Bridal Song: now his city has celebrated a Wedding of Death, and called on Paris' name in other tones. {695}

_Strophe II: Altar to Left._

So once a lion's cub, A mischief in his house, As foster child one reared, While still it loved the teats; In life's preluding dawn Tame, by the children loved, And fondled by the old, Oft in his arms 'twas held, Like infant newly born, With eyes that brightened to the hand that stroked, And fawning at the hest of hunger keen. {704}

_Antistrophe II: back to Altar._

But when full-grown, it showed The nature of its sires; For it unbidden made A feast in recompense Of all their fostering care, By banquet of slain sheep; With blood the house was stained, A curse no slaves could check, Great mischief murderous: By G.o.d's decree a priest of Ate thus Was reared, and grew within the man's own house. {715}

_Strophe III: Altar to Right._

So I would tell that thus to Ilion came Mood as of calm when all the air is still, The gentle pride and joy of kingly state, A tender glance of eye, The full-blown blossom of a pa.s.sionate love, Thrilling the very soul; And yet she turned aside, And wrought a bitter end of marriage feast, Coming to Priam's race, Ill sojourner, ill friend, Sent by great Zeus, the G.o.d of host and guest-- Erinnys, for whom wives weep many tears. {726}

_Antistrophe III: back to Altar._

The time-honored saying is that Prosperity grown big will not die childless, its offspring will be a Woe insatiable. I say no, it is not the Prosperity, it is an Impious deed that breeds Impious deeds like the parent stock. {737}

_Strophe IV: from Altar to Left._

Recklessness begets Recklessness, this begets full-flushed l.u.s.t and G.o.dforgetting Daring, two black curses to a household. {746}

_Antistrophe IV: back to Altar._

Justice will dwell in houses blackened with smoke where life is ruled by law, but averts her eyes from gold-decked mansions conjoined with hands denied: and it is this Justice that is directing the course of things to its appointed goal. {755}

_At this point, a grand Procession of the returning Warriors from Troy enters Stage and Orchestra by the Left Side-Door (signifying distance): Agamemnon in his chariot, followed in another chariot by Ca.s.sandra as captive, but still in the garb of prophetess: then a train of Soldiers laden with trophies and leading a train of Troan captive women. The Chorus fall into their Episode position to receive them._

EPISODE III

_Chorus_ (_in marching rhythm as the Procession traverses the long Stage._)

Son of Atreus, how are we to hit upon welcome that shall be fit for thee, not missing or overshooting the mark? In both condolence and congratulation men's faces often belie their hearts; thou who knowest thine own sheep, should'st be able to tell kindness from flattery. We confess, when thou wentest forth on thy expedition, thou wast to us like a face limned by an unskilled artist, in the deed thou did'st to inspire false courage. Now, without a thought unfriendly, we say--all is well that ends well, and thou wilt soon hear who has deserved well of thee in thy absence. [Observe their guarded tone.] {782}

_Agamemnon_ [_the metre now settling into ordinary 'Blank Verse'_].

First thanks to the G.o.ds by whose help we have laid Troy low, the ruins of which are still sending up clouds of smoke as sweet incense to the Deities of Vengeance. And your sentiments, both then and now, I approve: prosperity too often misses true sympathy amidst the envy it excites; envy that has the double pang of missing its own and seeing another's good. Experience has taught me the difference between professing and true friends: my unwilling comrade Ulysses alone proved true to me. As to the state we will deliberate in full counsel as to what needs preserving, and where disease calls for surgery. At present I must give thanks at my own hearth for my safe return.

_Here the Central Door of the Stage is thrown open, and enter Clytaemnestra to welcome her lord, followed by attendants bearing rich draperies of purple and dazzling colors._ {827}

_Clyt._ Notwithstanding your presence, Senators of Argos, I must pour out my heart to my lord. Ah! a sad thing is a wife waiting at home for her absent husband! hearing of wounds, which if true would have made you a riddled net, of deaths enough for a three-lived Geryon: again and again I have been stopped with the noose already on my neck! This is the reason why you see not your son Orestes: wonder not, he is being brought up by an ally to whom I sent him, lest danger befall us. I cannot weep; my tears have run dry by my weepings and sleepless watchings for the beacon. Now at ease I hail my lord--

as watch-dog of the fold, The stay that saves the s.h.i.+p, of lofty roof {870} Main column-prop, a father's only child, Land that beyond all hope the sailor sees, Morn of great brightness following after storm, Clear-flowing fount to thirsty traveller.

The bare ground is not fit for the foot that has trampled on Ilion: strew (_to Attendants_) tapestry on the floor as the Conqueror steps from his car. The Attendants commence to lay down the draperies: _Agamemnon_ (_hastening to stop them_) rebukes Clytaemnestra for the excessive tone of her welcome, and bids her not make him offensive to the G.o.ds, by a.s.suming an honor fit for the G.o.ds alone, no man being safe in prosperity till he has died; fame, not foot-mats, and never to lose the path of Wisdom, are his glories. A contest ensues [the false Clytaemnestra anxious to entangle him in an act of Infatuation]; at last he yields, but removes the shoe from his foot, to avert the ill omen of such presumptuous display. He then commends the captive Ca.s.sandra to the Queen's kind treatment, and _Clyt._ renews her lofty expressions of joy: there is a store of purple in the palace, and many such robes would she bestow to welcome his return, the root of the household bringing warmth in winter and coolness in the dog-days. Ah! may Zeus work out for me "all that I wish for." [_So Exeunt: Ag. walking barefoot on the rich tapestry. Ca.s.sandra alone remains on the Stage in her chariot._] {949}

CHORAL INTERLUDE III

_Strophe I: to the Right._

Why is it that forebodings haunt the gate of our hearts, and we lack steadfast trust to fling them away as visions? It is not long since that fatal starting for Troy, {959}

_Antistrophe I: back to Altar_

and now we have seen with our own eyes the safe return: and yet our mind, self-taught, keeps chanting within itself a dirge of fate. These inner pulses cannot be in vain: heaven send they prove false oracles! {971}

_Strophe II: to the Left._

When Wealth o'erflows, Restlessness, as a near neighbor with only a wall between, presses it on with perpetual desire for more, till Prosperity strikes suddenly on an unseen rock--yet even then, by sacrificing a portion of the cargo, the rest may be saved; so by plenteous harvests sent from Zeus, hunger and pestilence may be allayed: {986}

_Antistrophe II: back to Altar._

but when blood has once been poured upon the ground, what charm can bring it back? Zeus struck dead the Healer who found how to restore life. I would give my misgiving relief in pouring out words of warning: but I know that fate is certain and can never be escaped; so I am plunged in gloom, with little hope ever to unravel my soul that burns with its hot thoughts. {1001}

EXODUS, OR FINALE

_Re-enter Clytaemnestra to fetch Ca.s.sandra_. _Clyt._ addresses Ca.s.sandra in moderate tone, bidding her adapt herself to her new life and yield to those who wish to soften her captivity. [_Ca.s.sandra pays no attention and seems gazing into vacancy._] The Chorus endorses Clytaemnestra's advice. At length it occurs to Clytaemnestra that Ca.s.sandra cannot speak Greek, and she bids her give some sign. [_No sign, but a shudder convulses her frame._] Thinking she is obstinate Clytaemnestra will wait no longer [_exit Clyt. into Palace to the sacrifice_]. The Chorus renew their advice to Ca.s.sandra: _She at length leaves the chariot and suddenly bursts into a cry of horror_. {1038}

Then follows, marking the crisis of the drama, a burst of lyrical excitement. The dialogue between Chorus and Ca.s.sandra falls into lyrical strophes and antistrophes: Ca.s.sandra, by her prophetic gift, can see all that is going on and about to be consummated within the Palace. Her wailings reproach her patron and lover Apollo, who has conducted her to a house of blood; she sees the past murders that have stained the house, she sees the preparations for the present deed, the bath, the net, the axe; then her wailings wax yet wilder as she sees that she herself is to be included in the sacrifice. Meantime her excitement gradually pa.s.ses over to the Chorus: at first they have mistaken her cries for the ordinary lamentations of captives (and borne their part in the dialogue in the ordinary 'blank verse'); then their emotions are roused (and their speech falls into lyrics) as they recognize the old woes of the family history and remember Ca.s.sandra's prophetic fame; as she pa.s.ses to the deed going on at the moment they feel a thrill of horror, but only half understand and take her words for prophecy of _distant_ events, which they connect with their own forebodings; thus in her struggles to get her words believed Ca.s.sandra becomes more and more graphic in her notices of the scene her mental eye is seeing, and the excitement crescendoes until: {1148}