The Agamemnon of Aeschylus Part 6

Lo, to the G.o.ds I make these thanksgivings.

But for thy words: I marked them, and I mind Their meaning, and my voice shall be behind Thine. For not many men, the proverb saith, Can love a friend whom fortune prospereth Unenvying; and about the envious brain Cold poison clings, and doubles all the pain Life brings him. His own woundings he must nurse, And feels another's gladness like a curse.

Well can I speak. I know the mirrored gla.s.s Called friends.h.i.+p, and the shadow shapes that pa.s.s And feign them a King's friends. I have known but one-- Odysseus, him we trapped against his own Will!--who once harnessed bore his yoke right well ...

Be he alive or dead of whom I tell The tale. And for the rest, touching our state And G.o.ds, we will a.s.semble in debate A concourse of all Argos, taking sure Counsel, that what is well now may endure Well, and if aught needs healing medicine, still By cutting and by fire, with all good will, I will essay to avert the after-wrack Such sickness breeds.

Aye, Heaven hath led me back; And on this hearth where still my fire doth burn I will go pay to heaven my due return, Which guides me here, which saved me far away.

O Victory, now mine own, be mine alway!

[CLYTEMNESTRA, _at the head of her retinue, steps forward. She controls her suspense with difficulty but gradually gains courage as she proceeds._

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Ye Elders, Council of the Argive name Here present, I will no more hold it shame To lay my pa.s.sion bare before men's eyes.

There comes a time to a woman when fear dies For ever. None hath taught me. None could tell, Save me, the weight of years intolerable I lived while this man lay at Ilion.

That any woman thus should sit alone In a half-empty house, with no man near, Makes her half-blind with dread! And in her ear Alway some voice of wrath; now messengers Of evil; now not so; then others worse, Crying calamity against mine and me.

Oh, had he half the wounds that variously Came rumoured home, his flesh must be a net, All holes from heel to crown! And if he met As many deaths as I met tales thereon, Is he some monstrous thing, some Geryon Three-souled, that will not die, till o'er his head, Three robes of earth be piled, to hold him dead?

Aye, many a time my heart broke, and the noose Of death had got me; but they cut me loose.

It was those voices alway in mine ear.

For that, too, young Orestes is not here Beside me, as were meet, seeing he above All else doth hold the surety of our love; Let not thy heart be troubled. It fell thus: Our loving spear-friend took him, Strophius The Phocian, who forewarned me of annoy Two-fronted, thine own peril under Troy, And ours here, if the rebel mult.i.tude Should cast the Council down. It is men's mood Alway, to spurn the fallen. So spake he, And sure no guile was in him.

But for me, The old stormy rivers of my grief are dead Now at the spring; not one tear left unshed.

Mine eyes are sick with vigil, endlessly Weeping the beacon-piles that watched for thee For ever answerless. And did I dream, A gnat's thin whirr would start me, like a scream Of battle, and show me thee by terrors swept, Crowding, too many for the time I slept.

From all which stress delivered and free-souled, I greet my lord: O watchdog of the fold, O forestay sure that fails not in the squall, O strong-based pillar of a towering hall; O single son to a father age-ridden; O land unhoped for seen by s.h.i.+pwrecked men; Suns.h.i.+ne more beautiful when storms are fled; Spring of quick water in a desert dead ....

How sweet to be set free from any chain!

These be my words to greet him home again.

No G.o.d shall grudge them. Surely I and thou Have suffered in time past enough! And now Dismount, O head with love and glory crowned, From this high car; yet plant not on bare ground Thy foot, great King, the foot that trampled Troy.

Ho, bondmaids, up! Forget not your employ, A floor of crimson broideries to spread For the King's path. Let all the ground be red Where those feet pa.s.s; and Justice, dark of yore, Home light him to the hearth he looks not for!

What followeth next, our sleepless care shall see Ordered as G.o.d's good pleasure may decree.

[_The attendants spread tapestries of crimson and gold from the Chariot to the Door of the Palace._ AGAMEMNON _does not move_.

AGAMEMNON.

Daughter of Leda, watcher of my fold, In sooth thy welcome, grave and amply told, Fitteth mine absent years. Though it had been Seemlier, methinks, some other, not my Queen, Had spoke these honours. For the rest, I say, Seek not to make me soft in woman's way; Cry not thy praise to me wide-mouthed, nor fling Thy body down, as to some barbarous king.

Nor yet with broidered hangings strew my path, To awake the unseen ire. 'Tis G.o.d that hath Such wors.h.i.+p; and for mortal man to press Rude feet upon this broidered loveliness ...

I vow there is danger in it. Let my road Be honoured, surely; but as man, not G.o.d.

Rugs for the feet and yonder broidered pall ...

The names ring diverse!... Aye, and not to fall Suddenly blind is of all gifts the best G.o.d giveth, for I reckon no man blest Ere to the utmost goal his race be run.

So be it; and if, as this day I have done, I shall do always, then I fear no ill.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Tell me but this, nowise against thy will ...

AGAMEMNON.

My will, be sure, shall falter not nor fade.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Was this a vow in some great peril made?

AGAMEMNON.

Enough! I have spoke my purpose, fixed and plain.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Were Priam the conqueror ... Think, would he refrain?

AGAMEMNON.

Oh, stores of broideries would be trampled then!

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Lord, care not for the cavillings of men!

AGAMEMNON.

The murmur of a people hath strange weight.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Who feareth envy, feareth to be great.

AGAMEMNON.

'Tis graceless when a woman strives to lead.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

When a great conqueror yields, 'tis grace indeed,

AGAMEMNON.

So in this war thou must my conqueror be?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Yield! With good will to yield is victory!

AGAMEMNON.

Well, if I needs must ... Be it as thou hast said!