Story of Orestes | Page 9

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 Cassandra, 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 shield. 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 lust 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? 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. This deed brings no dishonor to me: he slew my daughter and his
own, wept over with many a tear; now slain in recompense he is gone
to Hell with nothing to boast over.--Cho. Whither escape from this
House? No longer drops, but fierce pelting storm of blood shakes it to
its basement.--Cho. Oh that earth had received me ere I saw this sad
sight! Who will perform funeral rites and chant the dirge? Wilt thou
who hast slain dare to mourn him?--Clyt. It is no care of thine: we will
give him burial; and for mourning--perhaps Iphigenia will greet him
kindly by the dark streams below.--Cho.