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Part 3 (1/2)

Story of Orestes Richard G. Moulton 55260K 2022-07-22

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As if the crisis were now determined the dialogue settles down into 'blank verse' again. _Ca.s.sandra ascends from Orchestra to Stage_. She will no longer speak veiled prophecy: it shall flow clear as wave against the sunlight. She begins with the Furies that never quit the house since that primal woe that defiled it--as she describes this the _Chorus_ wonder an alien can know the house's history so well--_Ca.s.sandra_ lets them know of her amour with Apollo, and how she gained the gift of prophecy and then deceived the G.o.d and was doomed to have her prophecies scorned.--Continuing her vision she points to the phantom children, 'their palms filled full with meat of their own flesh,' sitting on the house: in revenge for that deed another crime is this moment about to stain further the polluted dwelling, a brave hero falling at the hands of a coward, and by a plot his monster of a wife has contrived.--The _Chorus_ still perplexed, _Ca.s.sandra_ NAMES Agamemnon, the Chorus essaying vainly to stop the ill-fated utterance.--Then _Ca.s.sandra_ goes on to describe how she herself must be sacrificed with her new lord, a victim to the jealous murderess; bitterly reproaching Apollo, she strips from her the symbols and garb of her prophetic art, which the G.o.d has made so bitter to her, and moves to the 'butcher's block,' foretelling how the Son shall come as his father's avenger and hers.--The _Chorus_ ask, why go to meet your fate instead of escaping? _Ca.s.sandra_ knows Fate is inevitable.--Again and again she shrinks back from the door, 'tainted with the scent of death;' then gazing for the last time on the loved rays of the Sun, and invoking him as witness and avenger, she abandons herself to her doom.

Ah, life of man! when most it prospereth, {1298} It is but limned in outline; and when brought To low estate, then doth the sponge, full soaked, Wipe out the picture with its frequent touch.

[_Pa.s.ses through the Central Door into Palace._]

_The Chorus_ (_in lyrical rhythm_). It is true good fortune can never be fended from the visitation of evil, which no strong palace can bar out.

What will it avail Agamemnon to have taken Troy and come in honor home, if it be really his destiny to pay the penalty of that old deed of bloodguiltiness? {1313}

(_Here a loud cry is heard from within the Palace._)

The Chorus recognize the voice of the King, and fear the deed is accomplished. In extreme excitement the Chorus break up, and each member, one after another, suggests what is to be done; at last they compose their ranks to learn what has actually occurred. {1342}

_Suddenly, by the machinery of the Roller-stage [Eccyclema], the interior of the Palace is moved to the front of the Stage, and discovers Clytaemnestra in blood-stained robes, standing with attendants by the corpses of Agamemnon and Ca.s.sandra, the former lying in a silvered bath covered with a net._

_Clytaemnestra_, in an elaborate speech, glories in her deed. Deceit was necessary in dealing with foes: now standing where she did the deed, she glories in it: glories in the net in which she entangled and rendered him powerless, in the blows, one, two, three, like a libation, which she struck, glories in the gush of death-blood which has bespattered her. A late triumph: he had come home to drain the goblet of curses his old deed had been long heaping up. After an interruption of astonishment from the _Foreman_, she repeats: it is the handiwork of my artist hand. After the _Chorus_ have recovered from their astonishment they (_in a lyrical burst_) denounce her: her confession is the incense on the Victim's head, she shall feel the people's strong hate, and have an exile's doom.--_Clyt._ (_calmly in Blank Verse_): they denounced no such exile against Agamemnon when he sacrificed her daughter, the first of her travail pangs. Besides, are they sure they are the stronger? Perchance, though old, they may yet have to learn.--_Chorus_ (_in a similar lyrical burst_): she is now maddened with the spirit of vengeance, but she will one day find a nemesis, blow for blow. _Clyt._ solemnly (_in Blank Verse_) swears by the deed she has done, and the curse for which she did it, she has no fear of Nemesis, as lone as Aegisthus is her s.h.i.+eld.

Meanwhile, there they lie: the wife-wronger and his mistress. {1377}

Then follows an elaborate lyrical scene: the _Chorus_ giving vent to their excitement in _Strophes and Antistrophes irregularly succeeding one another_, _Clytaemnestra_ occasionally joining in. O for death, sudden and without lingering, now that our beloved Protector is gone! Ah!

Helen! one more deed of woe to your account!--_Clyt._ No need to wish for death or upbraid Helen.--_Cho._ (_interrupting_) O dread Power that dost attack this household, working even through women deeds of dread!--_Clyt._ Now thou art right: it is the Evil Genius of the House that feeds in their hearts the l.u.s.t of blood; bringing fresh blood-guilt ere the old is healed.--_Cho._ Yes, there is a Power wrathful to the House; but it must be through Zeus he works; what amongst mortal men is wrought apart from Zeus?

Ah me! Ah me! {1467} My king, my king, how shall I weep for thee?

What shall I speak from heart that truly loves?

And now thou liest there, breathing out thy life, In impious deed of death, In this fell spider's web!

Yes woe is me! woe, woe!

Woe for this couch of thine unhonorable!

Slain by a subtle death With sword two-edged, which her right hand did wield.

_Clyt._ You speak of me as the doer: it was the Avenger of the seed of Atreus who did the deed in the semblance of this dead man's wife.--_Cho._ None will hold thee guiltless of the deed; yet, perchance, thou mayest have had as helper the avenging Fiend of that ancestral time; he presses on this rush of murders of near kin.

Ah me! Ah me!

My king, my king, how shall I weep for thee?