The Electra of Euripides Part 5

No portion where the maidens throng to praise Castor--my Castor, whom in ancient days, Ere he pa.s.sed from us and men wors.h.i.+pped him, They named my bridegroom!-- And she, she!... The grim Troy spoils gleam round her throne, and by each hand Queens of the East, my father's prisoners, stand, A cloud of Orient webs and tangling gold.

And there upon the floor, the blood, the old Black blood, yet crawls and cankers, like a rot In the stone! And on our father's chariot The murderer's foot stands glorying, and the red False hand uplifts that ancient staff, that led The armies of the world!... Aye, tell him how The grave of Agamemnon, even now, Lacketh the common honour of the dead; A desert barrow, where no tears are shed, No tresses hung, no gift, no myrtle spray.

And when the wine is in him, so men say, Our mother's mighty master leaps thereon, Spurning the slab, or pelteth stone on stone, Flouting the lone dead and the twain that live: "Where is thy son Orestes? Doth he give Thy tomb good tendance? Or is all forgot?"

So is he scorned because he cometh not....

O Stranger, on my knees, I charge thee, tell This tale, not mine, but of dumb wrongs that swell Crowding--and I the trumpet of their pain, This tongue, these arms, this bitter burning brain; These dead shorn locks, and he for whom they died!

His father slew Troy's thousands in their pride; He hath but one to kill.... O G.o.d, but one!

Is he a man, and Agamemnon's son?

LEADER.

But hold: is this thy husband from the plain, His labour ended, hasting home again?

_Enter the_ PEASANT.

PEASANT.

Ha, who be these? Strange men in arms before My house! What would they at this lonely door?

Seek they for me?--Strange gallants should not stay A woman's goings.

ELECTRA.

Friend and helper!--Nay, Think not of any evil. These men be Friends of Orestes, charged with words for me!...

Strangers, forgive his speech.

PEASANT.

What word have they Of him? At least he lives and sees the day!

ELECTRA.

So fares their tale--and sure I doubt it not!

PEASANT.

And ye two still are living in his thought, Thou and his father?

ELECTRA.

In his dreams we live.

An exile hath small power.

PEASANT.

And did he give Some privy message?

ELECTRA.

None: they come as spies For news of me.

PEASANT.

Thine outward news their eyes Can see; the rest, methinks, thyself will tell.

ELECTRA.

They have seen all, heard all. I trust them well.

PEASANT.

Why were our doors not open long ago?-- Be welcome, strangers both, and pa.s.s below My lintel. In return for your glad words Be sure all greeting that mine house affords Is yours.--Ye followers, bear in their gear!-- Gainsay me not; for his sake are ye dear That sent you to our house; and though my part In life be low, I am no churl at heart.

[_The_ PEASANT _goes to the_ ARMED SERVANTS _at the back, to help them with the baggage._

ORESTES (_aside to_ ELECTRA).

Is this the man that s.h.i.+elds thy maidenhood Unknown, and will not wrong thy father's blood?

ELECTRA.

He is called my husband. 'Tis for him I toil.

ORESTES.

How dark lies honour hid! And what turmoil In all things human: sons of mighty men Fallen to naught, and from ill seed again Good fruit: yea, famine in the rich man's scroll Writ deep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul.

As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not With pride of house uplifted, in a lot Of unmarked life hath shown a prince's grace.

[_To the_ PEASANT, _who has returned._ All that is here of Agamemnon's race, And all that lacketh yet, for whom we come, Do thank thee, and the welcome of thy home Accept with gladness.--Ho, men; hasten ye Within!--This open-hearted poverty Is blither to my sense than feasts of gold.

Lady, thine husband's welcome makes me bold; Yet would thou hadst thy brother, before all Confessed, to greet us in a prince's hall!

Which may be, even yet. Apollo spake The word; and surely, though small store I make Of man's divining, G.o.d will fail us not.

[ORESTES _and_ PYLADES _go in, following the_ SERVANTS.

LEADER.

O never was the heart of hope so hot Within me. How? So moveless in time past, Hath Fortune girded up her loins at last?

ELECTRA.

Now know'st thou not thine own ill furniture, To bid these strangers in, to whom for sure Our best were hards.h.i.+p, men of gentle breed?

PEASANT.

Nay, if the men be gentle, as indeed I deem them, they will take good cheer or ill With even kindness.

ELECTRA.

'Twas ill done; but still-- Go, since so poor thou art, to that old friend Who reared my father. At the realm's last end He dwells, where Tanaos river foams between Argos and Sparta. Long time hath he been An exile 'mid his flocks. Tell him what thing Hath chanced on me, and bid him haste and bring Meat for the strangers' tending.--Glad, I trow, That old man's heart will be, and many a vow Will lift to G.o.d, to learn the child he stole From death, yet breathes.--I will not ask a dole From home; how should my mother help me? Nay, I pity him that seeks that door, to say Orestes liveth!

PEASANT.