Story of Orestes | Page 7

women. The
Chorus fall into their Episode position to receive them.
EPISODE III
Chorus (in marching rhythm as the Procession traverses the long
Stage.)
Son of Atreus, how are we to hit upon welcome that shall be fit for thee,
not missing or overshooting the mark? In both condolence and
congratulation men's faces often belie their hearts; thou who knowest
thine own sheep, should'st be able to tell kindness from flattery. We
confess, when thou wentest forth on thy expedition, thou wast to us like
a face limned by an unskilled artist, in the deed thou did'st to inspire
false courage. Now, without a thought unfriendly, we say--all is well
that ends well, and thou wilt soon hear who has deserved well of thee
in thy absence. [Observe their guarded tone.] {782}
Agamemnon [the metre now settling into ordinary 'Blank Verse']. First
thanks to the Gods by whose help we have laid Troy low, the ruins of
which are still sending up clouds of smoke as sweet incense to the
Deities of Vengeance. And your sentiments, both then and now, I
approve: prosperity too often misses true sympathy amidst the envy it
excites; envy that has the double pang of missing its own and seeing

another's good. Experience has taught me the difference between
professing and true friends: my unwilling comrade Ulysses alone
proved true to me. As to the state we will deliberate in full counsel as to
what needs preserving, and where disease calls for surgery. At present I
must give thanks at my own hearth for my safe return.
Here the Central Door of the Stage is thrown open, and enter
Clytaemnestra to welcome her lord, followed by attendants bearing
rich draperies of purple and dazzling colors. {827}
Clyt. Notwithstanding your presence, Senators of Argos, I must pour
out my heart to my lord. Ah! a sad thing is a wife waiting at home for
her absent husband! hearing of wounds, which if true would have made
you a riddled net, of deaths enough for a three-lived Geryon: again and
again I have been stopped with the noose already on my neck! This is
the reason why you see not your son Orestes: wonder not, he is being
brought up by an ally to whom I sent him, lest danger befall us. I
cannot weep; my tears have run dry by my weepings and sleepless
watchings for the beacon. Now at ease I hail my lord--
as watch-dog of the fold, The stay that saves the ship, of lofty roof
{870} Main column-prop, a father's only child, Land that beyond all
hope the sailor sees, Morn of great brightness following after storm,
Clear-flowing fount to thirsty traveller.
The bare ground is not fit for the foot that has trampled on Ilion: strew
(to Attendants) tapestry on the floor as the Conqueror steps from his car.
The Attendants commence to lay down the draperies: Agamemnon
(hastening to stop them) rebukes Clytaemnestra for the excessive tone
of her welcome, and bids her not make him offensive to the Gods, by
assuming an honor fit for the Gods alone, no man being safe in
prosperity till he has died; fame, not foot-mats, and never to lose the
path of Wisdom, are his glories. A contest ensues [the false
Clytaemnestra anxious to entangle him in an act of Infatuation]; at last
he yields, but removes the shoe from his foot, to avert the ill omen of
such presumptuous display. He then commends the captive Cassandra
to the Queen's kind treatment, and Clyt. renews her lofty expressions of
joy: there is a store of purple in the palace, and many such robes would

she bestow to welcome his return, the root of the household bringing
warmth in winter and coolness in the dog-days. Ah! may Zeus work out
for me "all that I wish for." [So Exeunt: Ag. walking barefoot on the
rich tapestry. Cassandra alone remains on the Stage in her chariot.]
{949}
CHORAL INTERLUDE III
Strophe I: to the Right.
Why is it that forebodings haunt the gate of our hearts, and we lack
steadfast trust to fling them away as visions? It is not long since that
fatal starting for Troy, {959}
Antistrophe I: back to Altar
and now we have seen with our own eyes the safe return: and yet our
mind, self-taught, keeps chanting within itself a dirge of fate. These
inner pulses cannot be in vain: heaven send they prove false oracles!
{971}
Strophe II: to the Left.
When Wealth o'erflows, Restlessness, as a near neighbor with only a
wall between, presses it on with perpetual desire for more, till
Prosperity strikes suddenly on an unseen rock--yet even then, by
sacrificing a portion of the cargo, the rest may be saved; so by
plenteous harvests sent from Zeus,