[_The scene opens,
disclosing
Clytemnestra, who comes forward.
Aeschylus
to the palace, all!
"
ANOTHER
Better, I deem, ourselves to bear the aid,
And drag the deed to light, while drips the blade.
ANOTHER
Such will is mine, and what thou say'st I say:
Swiftly to act! the time brooks no delay.
ANOTHER
Ay, for 'tis plain, this prelude of their song
Foretells its close in tyranny and wrong.
ANOTHER
Behold, we tarry--but thy name, Delay,
They spurn, and press with sleepless hand to slay.
ANOTHER
I know not what 'twere well to counsel now--
Who wills to act, 'tis his to counsel how.
ANOTHER
Thy doubt is mine: for when a man is slain,
I have no words to bring his life again.
ANOTHER
What? e'en for life's sake, bow us to obey
These house-defilers and their tyrant sway?
ANOTHER
Unmanly doom! 'twere better far to die--
Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.
ANOTHER
Think well--must cry or sign of woe or pain
Fix our conclusion that the chief is slain?
ANOTHER
Such talk befits us when the deed we see--
Conjecture dwells afar from certainty.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS
I read one will from many a diverse word,
To know aright, how stands it with our lord!
[_The scene opens, disclosing Clytemnestra, who comes forward. The
body of Agamemnon lies, muffled in a long robe, within a silver-sided
laver; the corpse of Cassandra is laid beside him. _
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ho, ye who heard me speak so long and oft
The glozing word that led me to my will?
Hear how I shrink not to unsay it all!
How else should one who willeth to requite
Evil for evil to an enemy
Disguised as friend, weave the mesh straitly round him,
Not to be overleaped, a net of doom?
This is the sum and issue of old strife,
Of me deep-pondered and at length fulfilled.
All is avowed, and as I smote I stand
With foot set firm upon a finished thing!
I turn not to denial: thus I wrought
So that he could nor flee nor ward his doom,
Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal,
I trapped him with inextricable toils,
The ill abundance of a baffling robe;
Then smote him, once, again--and at each wound
He cried aloud, then as in death relaxed
Each limb and sank to earth; and as he lay,
Once more I smote him, with the last third blow,
Sacred to Hades, saviour of the dead.
And thus he fell, and as he passed away,
Spirit with body chafed; each dying breath
Flung from his breast swift bubbling jets of gore,
And the dark sprinklings of the rain of blood
Fell upon me; and I was fain to feel
That dew--not sweeter is the rain of heaven
To cornland, when the green sheath teems with grain,
Elders of Argos--since the thing stands so,
I bid you to rejoice, if such your will:
Rejoice or not, I vaunt and praise the deed,
And well I ween, if seemly it could be,
'Twere not ill done to pour libations here,
Justly--ay, more than justly--on his corpse
Who filled his home with curses as with wine,
And thus returned to drain the cup he filled.
CHORUS
I marvel at thy tongue's audacity,
To vaunt thus loudly o'er a husband slain.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ye hold me as a woman, weak of will,
And strive to sway me: but my heart is stout,
Nor fears to speak its uttermost to you,
Albeit ye know its message. Praise or blame,
Even as ye list,--I reck not of your words.
Lo! at my feet lies Agamemnon slain,
My husband once--and him this hand of mine,
A right contriver, fashioned for his death.
Behold the deed!
CHORUS
Woman, what deadly birth,
What venomed essence of the earth
Or dark distilment of the wave,
To thee such passion gave,
Nerving thine hand
To set upon thy brow this burning crown,
The curses of thy land?
ANOTHER
Better, I deem, ourselves to bear the aid,
And drag the deed to light, while drips the blade.
ANOTHER
Such will is mine, and what thou say'st I say:
Swiftly to act! the time brooks no delay.
ANOTHER
Ay, for 'tis plain, this prelude of their song
Foretells its close in tyranny and wrong.
ANOTHER
Behold, we tarry--but thy name, Delay,
They spurn, and press with sleepless hand to slay.
ANOTHER
I know not what 'twere well to counsel now--
Who wills to act, 'tis his to counsel how.
ANOTHER
Thy doubt is mine: for when a man is slain,
I have no words to bring his life again.
ANOTHER
What? e'en for life's sake, bow us to obey
These house-defilers and their tyrant sway?
ANOTHER
Unmanly doom! 'twere better far to die--
Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.
ANOTHER
Think well--must cry or sign of woe or pain
Fix our conclusion that the chief is slain?
ANOTHER
Such talk befits us when the deed we see--
Conjecture dwells afar from certainty.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS
I read one will from many a diverse word,
To know aright, how stands it with our lord!
[_The scene opens, disclosing Clytemnestra, who comes forward. The
body of Agamemnon lies, muffled in a long robe, within a silver-sided
laver; the corpse of Cassandra is laid beside him. _
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ho, ye who heard me speak so long and oft
The glozing word that led me to my will?
Hear how I shrink not to unsay it all!
How else should one who willeth to requite
Evil for evil to an enemy
Disguised as friend, weave the mesh straitly round him,
Not to be overleaped, a net of doom?
This is the sum and issue of old strife,
Of me deep-pondered and at length fulfilled.
All is avowed, and as I smote I stand
With foot set firm upon a finished thing!
I turn not to denial: thus I wrought
So that he could nor flee nor ward his doom,
Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal,
I trapped him with inextricable toils,
The ill abundance of a baffling robe;
Then smote him, once, again--and at each wound
He cried aloud, then as in death relaxed
Each limb and sank to earth; and as he lay,
Once more I smote him, with the last third blow,
Sacred to Hades, saviour of the dead.
And thus he fell, and as he passed away,
Spirit with body chafed; each dying breath
Flung from his breast swift bubbling jets of gore,
And the dark sprinklings of the rain of blood
Fell upon me; and I was fain to feel
That dew--not sweeter is the rain of heaven
To cornland, when the green sheath teems with grain,
Elders of Argos--since the thing stands so,
I bid you to rejoice, if such your will:
Rejoice or not, I vaunt and praise the deed,
And well I ween, if seemly it could be,
'Twere not ill done to pour libations here,
Justly--ay, more than justly--on his corpse
Who filled his home with curses as with wine,
And thus returned to drain the cup he filled.
CHORUS
I marvel at thy tongue's audacity,
To vaunt thus loudly o'er a husband slain.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ye hold me as a woman, weak of will,
And strive to sway me: but my heart is stout,
Nor fears to speak its uttermost to you,
Albeit ye know its message. Praise or blame,
Even as ye list,--I reck not of your words.
Lo! at my feet lies Agamemnon slain,
My husband once--and him this hand of mine,
A right contriver, fashioned for his death.
Behold the deed!
CHORUS
Woman, what deadly birth,
What venomed essence of the earth
Or dark distilment of the wave,
To thee such passion gave,
Nerving thine hand
To set upon thy brow this burning crown,
The curses of thy land?
