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"Great were our sires, and feeble folk are we!
A strong king and a wise was aeacus, And Zeus his father helped him in his need, And Pelops, Lord of h.e.l.las, loved him well!"
ALCIMEDON.
[_Grumbling._] aeacus was no va.s.sal of Pelops!
ORESTES.
"The son is weaker, weaker than the sire!
And Peleus he begat, a goodly king; Albeit he stabbed his brother on the sand, And wandered from his house, and begged, and lied, And vowed a G.o.ddess held him to her breast."
[_Murmurs in the hall._ ORESTES _pauses and drinks_.
PYRRHUS.
[_Under his breath._] Does the man seek for strife?
ORESTES.
"The son is falser, falser than the sire!"----
HERMIONE.
Perchance his wine likes him not. [_Goes down to_ ORESTES, _pours him fresh wine, and whispers_.] Are you mad?
ORESTES.
[_In the same tone, looking in her face._] Knew you not that, long ago?
[_Continuing, while she goes back to the throne._
"Achilles, Peleus' son, was swift of foot, And slew by guile great Hector, and was slain.
And, though he hid from war in woman's weeds, And though he kept his tent while others fought, Yet gat he from his loins one son true born, And craved not mercy, gave not gifts for blood!"
PYRRHUS.
What does the dog mean?
ORESTES.
"The son is viler, viler than the sire!"
PYRRHUS.
[_Starting up._] By all my fathers together, this is the end! Ho, Myrmidons!
[_He s.n.a.t.c.hes up the spear and s.h.i.+eld of_ MOLOSSUS. _The other men take arms and growl._ HERMIONE _starts up, clasping her head with both hands, and staring in terror before her_. ORESTES _stays quietly seated_.
ANDROMACHE.
[_Rus.h.i.+ng before_ PYRRHUS.] Your oath, O King! Your pledged hand! He is our guest!
PYRRHUS.
[_Checking himself suddenly, then turning upon her._] Whose guest? You brought him here--you gave the barb to his mocking! [_To the men._]
Back, men! [_To_ ANDROMACHE.] Who taught him to revile my house?
ANDROMACHE.
Nay, I have told him nothing.
MAID OF HERMIONE.
He has been talking hours and hours with the Lady Andromache.
ANDROMACHE.
I know him not. I think he is mad.
BOTH MAIDS OF HERMIONE.
Bewitched, perchance!
[_Murmurs of a.s.sent and dissent._
PYRRHUS.
Peace, hounds! [_To_ ORESTES.] Sir Guest, this woman has saved you, else, oath or no oath, had I slain you where you stand!
HERMIONE.
[_Starting from her stupefaction._] What is that in the bowl?
PYRRHUS.
What bowl?
HERMIONE.
The bowl of your blood-gifts. [_Pointing to it._
PYRRHUS.
_My_ blood-gifts! [_Goes to the bowl; then turns furiously on_ ANDROMACHE.] Woman, who gave you this gold?
ANDROMACHE.
No man gave me gold. The stranger cast a pendant of his chain to add to the blood-gifts, for pity, lest the boy should be slain.
