The House of Atreus Part 20

Brief my command: I bid my sister pa.s.s 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 friends.h.i.+p's bond Unto this house allied; and each of us Will speak the tongue that round Parna.s.sus 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, pa.s.sing 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 compa.s.sed 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-G.o.d, 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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, pa.s.sion-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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d 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 compa.s.s 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 acquaintances.h.i.+p; 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 s.h.i.+ps, 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 h.e.l.l, 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, G.o.d 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