Part 3

HERALD. It likes me not, a day of presage high With dolorous tongue to stain. Those twain, I vow, Stand best apart. When one with shuddering brow, From armies lost, back beareth to his home Word that the terror of her prayers is come; One wound in her great heart, and many a fate For many a home of men cast out to sate The two-fold scourge that worketh Ares’ lust, Spear crossed with spear, dust wed with bloody dust; Who walketh laden with such weight of wrong, Why, let him, if he will, uplift the song That is Hell’s triumph. But to come as I Am now come, laden with deliverance high, Home to a land of peace and laughing eyes, And mar all with that fury of the skies Which made our Greeks curse God—how should this be? Two enemies most ancient, Fire and Sea, A sudden friendship swore, and proved their plight By war on us poor sailors through that night Of misery, when the horror of the wave Towered over us, and winds from Strymon drave Hull against hull, till good ships, by the horn Of the mad whirlwind gored and overborne, One here, one there, ’mid rain and blinding spray, Like sheep by a devil herded, passed away. And when the blessèd Sun upraised his head, We saw the Aegean waste a-foam with dead, Dead men, dead ships, and spars disasterful. Howbeit for us, our one unwounded hull Out of that wrath was stolen or begged free By some good spirit—sure no man was he!— Who guided clear our helm; and on till now Hath Saviour Fortune throned her on the prow. No surge to mar our mooring, and no floor Of rock to tear us when we made for shore. Till, fled from that sea-hell, with the clear sun Above us and all trust in fortune gone, We drove like sheep about our brain the thoughts Of that lost army, broken and scourged with knouts Of evil. And, methinks, if there is breath In them, they talk of us as gone to death— How else?—and so say we of them! For thee, Since Menelaüs thy first care must be, If by some word of Zeus, who wills not yet To leave the old house for ever desolate, Some ray of sunlight on a far-off sea Lights him, yet green and living … we may see His ship some day in the harbour!—’Twas the word Of truth ye asked me for, and truth ye have heard!

[_Exit_ HERALD. _The_ CHORUS _take position for the Third Stasimon_.]

CHORUS. (_Surely there was mystic meaning_ _in the name_ HELENA, _meaning which was fulfilled when she fled to Troy._)

Who was He who found for thee That name, truthful utterly— Was it One beyond our vision Moving sure in pre-decision Of man’s doom his mystic lips?— Calling thee, the Battle-wed, Thee, the Strife-encompassèd, HELEN? Yea, in fate’s derision, Hell in cities, Hell in ships, Hell in hearts of men they knew her, When the dim and delicate fold Of her curtains backward rolled, And to sea, to sea, she threw her In the West Wind’s giant hold; And with spear and sword behind her Came the hunters in a flood, Down the oarblade’s viewless trail Tracking, till in Simoïs’ vale Through the leaves they crept to find her, A Wrath, a seed of blood.

(_The Trojans welcomed her with triumph and praised Alexander till at last their song changed and they saw another meaning in Alexander’s name also._)

So the Name to Ilion came On God’s thought-fulfilling flame, She a vengeance and a token Of the unfaith to bread broken, Of the hearth of God betrayed, Against them whose voices swelled Glorying in the prize they held And the Spoiler’s vaunt outspoken And the song his brethren made ’Mid the bridal torches burning; Till, behold, the ancient City Of King Priam turned, and turning Took a new song for her learning, A song changed and full of pity, With the cry of a lost nation; And she changed the bridegroom’s name: Called him Paris Ghastly-wed; For her sons were with the dead, And her life one lamentation, ’Mid blood and burning flame.

(_Like a lion’s whelp reared as a pet and turning afterwards to a great beast of prey,_)

Lo, once there was a herdsman reared In his own house, so stories tell, A lion’s whelp, a milk-fed thing And soft in life’s first opening Among the sucklings of the herd; The happy children loved him well, And old men smiled, and oft, they say, In men’s arms, like a babe, he lay, Bright-eyed, and toward the hand that teased him Eagerly fawning for food or play.

Then on a day outflashed the sudden Rage of the lion brood of yore; He paid his debt to them that fed With wrack of herds and carnage red, Yea, wrought him a great feast unbidden, Till all the house-ways ran with gore; A sight the thralls fled weeping from, A great red slayer, beard a-foam, High-priest of some blood-cursèd altar God had uplifted against that home.

(_So was it with Helen in Troy._)

And how shall I call the thing that came At the first hour to Ilion city? Call it a dream of peace untold, A secret joy in a mist of gold, A woman’s eye that was soft, like flame, A flower which ate a man’s heart with pity.

But she swerved aside and wrought to her kiss a bitter ending, And a wrath was on her harbouring, a wrath upon her friending, When to Priam and his sons she fled quickly o’er the deep, With the god to whom she sinned for her watcher on the wind, A death-bride, whom brides long shall weep.

(_Men say that Good Fortune wakes the envy of God; not so; Good Fortune may be innocent, and then there is no vengeance_.)

A grey word liveth, from the morn Of old time among mortals spoken, That man’s Wealth waxen full shall fall Not childless, but get sons withal; And ever of great bliss is born A tear unstanched and a heart broken.

But I hold my thought alone and by others unbeguiled; ’Tis the deed that is unholy shall have issue, child on child, Sin on sin, like his begetters; and they shall be as they were.

But the man who walketh straight, and the house thereof, tho’ Fate Exalt him, the children shall be fair.

_(It is Sin, it is Pride and Ruthlessness, that beget children like themselves till Justice is fulfilled upon them.)_

But Old Sin loves, when comes the hour again, To bring forth New, Which laugheth lusty amid the tears of men; Yea, and Unruth, his comrade, wherewith none May plead nor strive, which dareth on and on, Knowing not fear nor any holy thing; Two fires of darkness in a house, born true, Like to their ancient spring.

But Justice shineth in a house low-wrought With smoke-stained wall, And honoureth him who filleth his own lot; But the unclean hand upon the golden stair With eyes averse she flieth, seeking where Things innocent are; and, recking not the power Of wealth by man misgloried, guideth all To her own destined hour.

[_Here amid a great procession enter_ AGAMEMNON _on a Chariot. Behind him on another Chariot is_ CASSANDRA. _The_ CHORUS _approach and make obeisance. Some of_ AGAMEMNON’S _men have on their shields a White Horse, some a Lion. Their arms are rich and partly barbaric_.]

LEADER. All hail, O King! Hail, Atreus’ Son! Sacker of Cities! Ilion’s bane! With what high word shall I greet thee again, How give thee worship, and neither outrun The point of pleasure, nor stint too soon? For many will cling. To fair seeming The faster because they have sinned erewhile; And a man may sigh with never a sting Of grief in his heart, and a man may smile With eyes unlit and a lip that strains. But the wise Shepherd knoweth his sheep, And his eyes pierce deep The faith like water that fawns and feigns.

But I hide nothing, O King. That day When in quest of Helen our battle array Hurled forth, thy name upon my heart’s scroll Was deep in letters of discord writ; And the ship of thy soul, Ill-helmed and blindly steered was it, Pursuing ever, through men that die, One wild heart that was fain to fly. But on this new day, From the deep of my thought and in love, I say “Sweet is a grief well ended;” And in time’s flow Thou wilt learn and know The true from the false, Of them that were left to guard the walls Of thine empty Hall unfriended.

[_During the above_ CLYTEMNESTRA _has appeared on the Palace steps, with a train of Attendants, to receive her Husband_.]

AGAMEMNON. To Argos and the gods of Argolis All hail, who share with me the glory of this Home-coming and the vengeance I did wreak On Priam’s City! Yea, though none should speak, The great gods heard our cause, and in one mood Uprising, in the urn of bitter blood, That men should shriek and die and towers should burn, Cast their great vote; while over Mercy’s urn Hope waved her empty hands and nothing fell. Even now in smoke that City tells her tale; The wrack-wind liveth, and where Ilion died The reek of the old fatness of her pride From hot and writhing ashes rolls afar. For which let thanks, wide as our glories are, Be uplifted; seeing the Beast of Argos hath Round Ilion’s towers piled high his fence of wrath And, for one woman ravished, wrecked by force A City. Lo, the leap of the wild Horse in darkness when the Pleiades were dead; A mailed multitude, a Lion unfed, Which leapt the tower and lapt the blood of Kings!

Lo, to the Gods 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 glass Called friendship, and the shadow shapes that pass 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 gods, we will assemble 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 passion 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 Gêryon 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 multitude 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 shipwrecked men; Sunshine 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 god 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 pass; 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 God’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 God that hath Such worship; 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 god. 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 God 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! Quick! Loose me these bound slaves on which I tread, And while I walk yon wonders of the sea God grant no eye of wrath be cast on me From far!

[_The Attendants untie his shoes_.]

For even now it likes me not To waste mine house, thus marring underfoot The pride thereof, and wondrous broideries Bought in far seas with silver. But of these Enough.—And mark, I charge thee, this princess Of Ilion; tend her with all gentleness. God’s eye doth see, and loveth from afar, The merciful conqueror. For no slave of war Is slave by his own will. She is the prize And chosen flower of Ilion’s treasuries, Set by the soldiers’ gift to follow me. Now therefore, seeing I am constrained by thee And do thy will, I walk in conqueror’s guise Beneath my Gate, trampling sea-crimson dyes.

[_As he dismounts and sets foot on the Tapestries_ CLYTEMNESTRA’S _women utter again their Cry of Triumph. The people bow or kneel as he passes._]

CLYTEMNESTRA. There is the sea—its caverns who shall drain?— Breeding of many a purple-fish the stain Surpassing silver, ever fresh renewed, For robes of kings. And we, by right indued, Possess our fill thereof. Thy house, O King, Knoweth no stint, nor lack of anything. What trampling of rich raiment, had the cry So sounded in the domes of prophesy, Would I have vowed these years, as price to pay For this dear life in peril far away! Where the root is, the leafage cometh soon To clothe an house, and spread its leafy boon Against the burning star; and, thou being come, Thou, on the midmost hearthstone of thy home, Oh, warmth in winter leapeth to thy sign. And when God’s summer melteth into wine The green grape, on that house shall coolness fall Where the true man, the master, walks his hall.

Zeus, Zeus! True Master, let my prayers be true! And, oh, forget not that thou art willed to do!

[_She follows_ AGAMEMNON _into the Palace._ _The retinues of both King and Queen go in after them._ CASSANDRA _remains_.]

CHORUS. What is this that evermore, [_Strophe 1._ A cold terror at the door Of this bosom presage-haunted, Pale as death hovereth? While a song unhired, unwanted, By some inward prophet chanted, Speaks the secret at its core; And to cast it from my blood Like a dream not understood No sweet-spoken Courage now Sitteth at my heart’s dear prow.

Yet I know that manifold Days, like sand, have waxen old

Since the day those shoreward-thrown Cables flapped and line on line Standing forth for Ilion The long galleys took the brine

[_Antistrophe 1._ And in harbour—mine own eye Hath beheld—again they lie; Yet that lyreless music hidden Whispers still words of ill, ’Tis the Soul of me unbidden, Like some Fury sorrow-ridden, Weeping over things that die. Neither waketh in my sense Ever Hope’s dear confidence; For this flesh that groans within, And these bones that know of Sin, This tossed heart upon the spate Of a whirpool that is Fate, Surely these lie not. Yet deep Beneath hope my prayer doth run, All will die like dreams, and creep To the unthought of and undone.

[_Strophe 2._ —Surely of great Weal at the end of all Comes not Content; so near doth Fever crawl, Close neighbour, pressing hard the narrow wall.

—Woe to him who fears not fate! ’Tis the ship that forward straight Sweepeth, strikes the reef below; He who fears and lightens weight, Casting forth, in measured throw, From the wealth his hand hath got … His whole ship shall founder not, With abundance overfraught, Nor deep seas above him flow. —Lo, when famine stalketh near, One good gift of Zeus again From the furrows of one year Endeth quick the starving pain;

[_Antistrophe 2._ —But once the blood of death is fallen, black And oozing at a slain man’s feet, alack! By spell or singing who shall charm it back?

—One there was of old who showed Man the path from death to day; But Zeus, lifting up his rod, Spared not, when he charged him stay.

—Save that every doom of God Hath by other dooms its way Crossed, that none may rule alone, In one speech-outstripping groan Forth had all this passion flown, Which now murmuring hides away, Full of pain, and hoping not Ever one clear thread to unknot From the tangle of my soul, From a heart of burning coal.

[_Suddenly_ CLYTEMNESTRA _appears standing in the Doorway._]

CLYTEMNESTRA. Thou likewise, come within! I speak thy name, Cassandra;

[CASSANDRA _trembles, but continues to stare in front of her, as though not hearing_ CLYTEMNESTRA.]

seeing the Gods—why chafe at them?— Have placed thee here, to share within these walls Our lustral waters, ’mid a crowd of thralls Who stand obedient round the altar-stone Of our Possession. Therefore come thou down, And be not over-proud. The tale is told How once Alcmêna’s son himself, being sold, Was patient, though he liked not the slaves’ mess. And more, if Fate must bring thee to this stress, Praise God thou art come to a House of high report And wealth from long ago. The baser sort, Who have reaped some sudden harvest unforeseen, Are ever cruel to their slaves, and mean In the measure. We shall give whate’er is due.

[CASSANDRA _is silent._]

LEADER. To thee she speaks, and waits … clear words and true! Oh, doom is all around thee like a net; Yield, if thou canst…. Belike thou canst not yet.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Methinks, unless this wandering maid is one Voiced like a swallow-bird, with tongue unknown And barbarous, she can read my plain intent. I use but words, and ask for her consent.

LEADER. Ah, come! Tis best, as the world lies to-day. Leave this high-throned chariot, and obey!

CLYTEMNESTRA. How long must I stand dallying at the Gate? Even now the beasts to Hestia consecrate Wait by the midmost fire, since there is wrought This high fulfilment for which no man thought. Wherefore, if ’tis thy pleasure to obey Aught of my will, prithee, no more delay! If, dead to sense, thou wilt not understand… Thou show her, not with speech but with brute hand!

[_To the Leader of the_ CHORUS.]

LEADER. The strange maid needs a rare interpreter. She is trembling like a wild beast in a snare.

CLYTEMNESTRA. ’Fore God, she is mad, and heareth but her own Folly! A slave, her city all o’erthrown, She needs must chafe her bridle, till this fret Be foamed away in blood and bitter sweat. I waste no more speech, thus to be defied.

[_She goes back inside the Palace_.]

LEADER. I pity thee so sore, no wrath nor pride Is in me.—Come, dismount! Bend to the stroke Fate lays on thee, and learn to feel thy yoke.

[_He lays his hand softly on_ CASSANDRA’S _shoulder_.]

CASSANDRA (_moaning to herself_). Otototoi … Dreams. Dreams. Apollo. O Apollo!

SECOND ELDER. Why sob’st thou for Apollo? It is writ, He loves not grief nor lendeth ear to it.

CASSANDRA. Otototoi … Dreams. Dreams. Apollo. O Apollo!

LEADER. Still to that god she makes her sobbing cry Who hath no place where men are sad, or die.

CASSANDRA. Apollo, Apollo! Light of the Ways of Men! Mine enemy! Hast lighted me to darkness yet again?