_Clytaem._ Dost thou not fear a parent's curse, my son?

_Orest._ Thou, though my mother, did'st to ill chance cast me.

_Clytaem._ No outcast thou so sent to house allied.

_Orest._ I was sold doubly, though of free sire born.

_Clytaem._ Where is the price, then, that I got for thee?

_Orest._ I shrink for shame from pressing that charge home.

_Clytaem._ Nay, tell thy father's wantonness as well.

_Orest._ Blame not the man that toils when thou'rt at ease.

_Clytaem._ 'Tis hard, my son, for wives to miss their husband.

_Orest._ The husband's toil keeps her that sits at home.

_Clytaem._ Thou seem'st, my son, about to slay thy mother.

_Orest._ It is not I that slay thee, but thyself.

_Clytaem._ Take heed, beware a mother's vengeful hounds.

_Orest._ How, slighting this, shall I escape my father's?

_Clytaem._ I seem in life to wail as to a tomb.

_Orest._ My father's fate ordains this doom for thee.

_Clytaem._ Ah me! The snake is here I bare and nursed.

_Orest._ An o'er-true prophet was that dread dream-born.

Thou slewest one thou never should'st have slain, Now suffer fate should never have been thine. {916}

_Exeunt Orestes and Pylades, forcing Clytaemnestra through the Central Door, their attendants remaining to guard the door. Chorus, after a word of pity for even this 'twain mischance,' break into_

CHORAL INTERLUDE III

_in three interwoven Strophes and Antistrophes._

Late came vengeance on Troy, late now has it blest this heaven-sent exile, and our Master's house is freed. On a lover of the war of guile has Revenge come subtle-souled, Vengeance who

Is guileful without guile, Halting of foot and tarrying over-long; The will of G.o.ds is strangely over-ruled, It may not help the vile.

At last we see the light. All-working Time with cleansing rites will purify the house; Fortune's throws shall fall with gladsome cast: at last we see the light. {959}

EXODUS, OR FINALE

_Enter from Main Door Orestes and Pylades, their Attendants bearing the Corpses, and the net in which Agamemnon had been murdered._

_Orestes_ solemnly declares that they have perished as murderers; they swore to live and die together and they have kept the oath. He bids the Attendants stretch out in full light of the Sun, the great Purifier, the fatal net, as pledge that he did his dread deed only as deed of necessary vengeance--he dwells on the cruel device--but _Chorus_ seeing side by side the net and the slaughter by which it has been avenged, can think of nothing but the woe which its avenger by his deed of vengeance must bring on himself. _Orestes_ reiterates the crime of which this deed is the reminder. The _Chorus_ cannot help repeating the unhappy omen. {1009}

At this very moment Orestes changes and begins to feel the oncoming madness--while reason yet stays with him he repeats his innocence and puts on the suppliant's fillet, with which he will go to Delphi, and challenge the G.o.d who sent him on the errand to free him from its dire consequences. Madness increases, and he can see the Furies in bodily shape dark-robed, and all their long tresses entwined with serpents.

In rapid dialogue the _Chorus_ bid him cling to the idea of Apollo, and he _bursts away through Distance-Door on Left_ to commence his long career of wanderings. The Chorus conclude:

Here, then, upon this palace of our kings A third storm blows again; The blast that haunts the race has run its course.

First came the wretched meal of children's flesh; Next what befel our king: Slain in the bath was he who ruled our host, Of all the Achaeans lord; And now a third has come, we know not whence, To save ... or shall I say, To work a doom of death?

Where will it end? Where will it cease at last, The mighty Ate dread, Lulled into slumber deep?

THIRD PLAY: AFTERNOON:

THE GENTLE G.o.dDESSES

EUMENIDES[1]

_The Scene represents the Oracle of Delphi: the Central Doors being the Gate of the 'Adytum,' or Innermost shrine. From the left Inferior Door enter the Priestess of the Oracle, who stands in front of the Central Gate, to offer the Morning Prayer._

PROLOGUE

The _Priestess's_ Prayer enumerates the Deities who have connection with the Ancient Oracle, how Apollo is its main guardian, after it has pa.s.sed through many hands; other Deities have a share in it, even Zeus the Supreme Accomplisher. Praying that her divinations that day may excel even her past, she calls on the Pilgrims to come as the lot permits. {28}

_Exit through the Main Gate into the Inner Shrine. In a moment she returns, pale and disordered, flinging open the Central Gates, through which can dimly be discerned dreadful forms in the Inner Shrine._

She can hardly stand for the terror of the sight she has seen; the sacred shrine polluted by the presence of a man in suppliant garb, bunch of olives and tufts of wool, his sword yet reeking with a recent murder; and sitting round about him yet more dreaded beings.

A troop {46} Of women strange to look at sleepeth there Before this wanderer, seated on their stools; Not women they, but Gorgons I must call them; Nor yet can I to Gorgon forms compare them; I have seen painted shapes that bear away The feast of Phineus. Wingless, though, are these, And swarth, and every way abominable.

They snort with breath that none may dare approach, And from their eyes a loathsome humour pours, And such their garb as neither to the shrine Of G.o.ds is meet to bring, nor mortal roof.

Ne'er have I seen a race that owns this tribe, Nor is there land can boast it rears such brood, Unhurt and free from sorrow for its pains.

Henceforth, be it the lot of Loxias, Our mighty lord, himself to deal with them: True prophet-healer he, and portent-seer, And for all others cleanser of their homes. {63}

_At her word, in the entrance of the Inner Shrine appears Apollo with Hermes, and they lead Orestes out._

_Apollo_ will never fail his suppliant; it is he who has sent sleep on these loathly Beings, born out of evils, with whom neither G.o.ds nor men hold intercourse. They will still pursue, but he must fly to the ancient City of Pallas and clasp her statue; there 'judges of these things' and 'a means' will be found to rid him of his evils. _Orestes_ expresses confidence in Apollo's justice, who reiterates his pledge in the name of Zeus and commits the wanderer to the charge of his own brother Hermes, the Escort-G.o.d, to take him safe to Athens. {93}

_Apollo disappears into his shrine, and Hermes and Orestes leave by the Left side or Distance-door. The stage being thus left vacant, the machinery of the roller-stage brings the interior of the cave to the front, showing the sleeping Furies scattered over the floor. The Ghost of Clytaemnestra rises in front of the entrance to the Inner Shrine._

_Clytaem._ What ho! Sleep on! What need of sleepers now?

And I am put by you to foul disgrace Among the other dead, nor fails reproach Among the shades that I a murderess am; And so in shame I wander, and I tell you That at their hands I bear worst forms of blame.

And much as I have borne from nearest kin, {100} Yet not one G.o.d is stirred to wrath for me, Though done to death by matricidal hands.

See ye these heart-wounds, whence and how they came?

Yea, when it sleeps, the mind is bright with eyes; But in the day it is man's lot to lack All true discernment. Many a gift of mine Have ye lapped up, libations pure from wine, And soothing rites that shut out drunken mirth; And I dread banquets of the night would offer On altar-hearth, at hour no G.o.d might share.

And lo! all this is trampled under foot.

He is escaped, and flees, like fawn, away, And even from the midst of all your toils Has nimbly slipped, and draws wide mouth at you.

Hear ye; for I have spoken for my life; Give heed, ye dark, earth-dwelling G.o.ddesses, I, Clytaemnestra's phantom, call on you.

[_The Erinnyes moan in their sleep._]

Moan on, the man is gone, and flees far off; My kindred find protectors; I find none.

[_Moan as before._]

Too sleep-oppressed art thou, nor pitiest me: Orestes, murderer of his mother, 'scapes.

[_Noises repeated._]

Dost snort? Dost drowse? Wilt thou not rise and speed?

What have ye ever done but work out ill?

[_Noises as before._]

Yea, sleep and toil, supreme conspirators, Have withered up the dreaded dragon's strength.

_Chorus of Furies, starting up suddenly with a yell._

Seize him, {125} Seize, seize, yea, seize: look well to it.

_Clytaem._ Thou, phantom-like, dost hunt thy prey and criest, Like hound that never rests from care of toil.

What dost thou? (_To one Erinnys._) Rise and let not toil o'ercome thee, Nor, lulled to sleep, lose all thy sense of loss.

Let thy soul (to another) feel the pain of just reproach: The wise of heart find that their goad and spur.