Agamemnon: Act V

Cassandra [alone upon the stage, standing where she can see theinterior of the palace, describes what is going on there;or else she sees it by clairvoyant power]:Great deeds are done within, the cruel matchFor ten long years of suffering at Troy.Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,And take reward for thy mad prophecies.The conquered Phrygians are victors now.'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust,For thou hast now to equal ruin broughtMycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soulSo clearly seen the things of which it raved.I see, and no false image cheats my sight,I see it plainly, there, within the hall,A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of goldThat once cheered great Assaracus; and see,The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,Sits high in triumph at the table's head,With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.Now comes his queen and bids him put awayThe garment which his enemy has worn,And don instead the robe which she has madeWith loving thoughts of him.Oh, horrid deed!I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,That exile, smite a king? the paramourThe husband slay? The fatal hour has come.The second course shall flow with royal blood,And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.And now the king has donned the deadly robe,Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.His hands no outlet find; the clinging gownEnwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.With trembling hand the coward paramourNow smites the king, but not with deadly wound;For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strivesAnd strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:So Agamemnon seeks to throw asideThe floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches upA two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,Before he smites the sacrificial bull,Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:So she her impious weapon balances.He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed headHangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task.So each responds to each in infamy.Thyestes' son in very truth is he,While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;Shall he go on or backward bend his way?

Electra: Flee, sole avenger of my father's death,Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,Our kingdom gone.But see, a stranger comes,His horses driven to their utmost speed;Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear?A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.Put off thy fears, for close at hand I seeThe timely shelter of a faithful friend.

Strophius: I, Strophius, had left my Phocian realm,And now, illustrious with th' Olympic palm,I home return. My hither course is bentTo 'gratulate my friend, by whose assaultHas Ilium fallen after years of war.But why these flowing tears and looks of woe?And why these marks of fear? I recognizeIn thee the royal house. Electra! Why,When all is joyful here, dost thou lament?

Electra: My father lies within the palace, slainBy Clytemnestra's hand. His son is doomedTo share his father's death. Aegisthus holdsThe throne which he through guilty love has gained.Strophius: Oh, happiness that never long endures!

Electra: By all thy kindly memories of my sire,By his proud scepter, known to all the earth,And by the fickle gods, I pray thee takeMy brother hence, and hide him from his foes.

Strophius: Although dead Agamemnon bids me fear,I'll brave the danger and thy brother save.Good fortune asks for faith; adversityCompels us to be true.My lad, attend:Wear this wild-olive wreath upon thy brow,The noble prize I won on Pisa's plain;And hold above thy head this leafy branch,The palm of victory, that it may beA shield and omen of success to thee.And do thou too, O Pylades, my son,Who dost as comrade guide thy father's car,From my example faith in friendship learn.Do you, swift steeds, before the eyes of GreeceSpeed on in flight, and leave this faithless land.

Electra [looking after them]: So is he gone. His car at recklesspaceFast vanishes from sight. And now my foes,With heart released from care, will I await,And willingly submit my head to death.Here comes the bloody conqueror of her lord,And bears upon her robes the stains of blood.Her hands still reek with gore, and in her faceShe bears the witness of her impious crime.I'll hie me to the shrine; and, kneeling here,I'll join Cassandra in our common fear.

Clytemnestra [to Electra]: Thou base, unfilial, and froward girl,Thy mother's foe, by what authorityDost thou, a virgin, seek the public gaze?

Electra: Because I am a virgin have I leftThe tainted home of vile adulterers.Clytemnestra: Who would believe thee chaste?

Clytemnestra: Thou shouldst thy mother speak with gentler tongue.

Electra: Shall I learn filial piety of thee?

Clytemnestra: Thou hast a mannish soul, too puffed with pride;But tamed by suffering thou soon shalt learnTo play a woman's part.

Electra: A woman's part!Yea, truly, 'tis to wield the battle-ax.Clytemnestra: Thou fool, dost think thyself a match for us?

Electra: "For us?" Hast thou another husband then?Speak thou as widow, for thy lord is dead.

Clytemnestra: As queen I soon shall curb thy saucy tongue,And break thy pride. But meanwhile quickly tell,Where is my son, where is thy brother hid?

Electra: Far from Mycenae fled.

Electra: Bring back my father too.

Electra: In safety, where he fears no rival's power.This will content a loving mother.

Clytemnestra: Yes,But not an angry one. Thou diest today.

Electra: Oh, let me perish by thy practiced hand!Behold, I leave the altar's sheltering side;Wilt plunge the knife into my tender throat?I yield me to thy will. Or dost preferAt one fell stroke to smite away my head?My neck awaits thy deadly aim. Let crimeBy other crime be purged. Thy hands are stainedAnd reeking with thy murdered husband's blood:Come, cleanse them in the fresher stream of mine.

Clytemnestra: Thou partner of my perils and my throne,Aegisthus, come; this most unnatural childAssails her mother and her brother hides.

Aegisthus: Thou mad and foolish girl, restrain thy tongue,For such wild words offend thy mother's ears.

Electra: Thou arch contriver of most impious crime,Wilt thou admonish me? Thou base-born wretch,Thou sister's son, and grandson of thy sire!

Clytemnestra: Aegisthus, how canst thou restrain thy handFrom smiting off her head? But hear my word:Let her give up her brother or her life.

Aegisthus: Nay, rather, in some dark and stony cellLet her be straight confined; and there, perchance,By cruel tortures racked, will she give upWhom now she hides. Resourceless, starving there,In dank and loathsome solitude immured,Widowed, ere wedded, exiled, scorned of all--Then will she, though too late, to fortune yield.Electra: Oh, grant me death.

Aegisthus: If thou shouldst plead for life,I'd grant thee death. A foolish ruler he,Who balances by death the score of sin.

Electra: Can any punishment be worse than death?

Aegisthus: Yes! Life for those who wish to die. Away,Ye slaves, seek out some dark and lonely cave,Far from Mycenae's bounds; and there in chains,Confine this bold, unmanageable maid,If haply prison walls may curb her will.

Clytemnestra [indicating Cassandra]:But she shall die, that rival of my couch,That captive bride. Go, drag her hence at once,That she may follow him she stole from me.

Cassandra: Nay, drag me not; for I with joy will go,Outstripping your desire. How eagerlyI hasten to my Phrygians, to tellThe news: the ocean covered with the wrecksOf Argive ships; Mycenae overthrown;The leader of a thousand leaders slain(And thus atoning for the woes of Troy)By woman's gift of wantonness and guile.Make haste! I falter not, but thank the gods,That I have lived to see my land avenged.

Clytemnestra: O maddened wretch, thy death I wait to see.

Cassandra: A fateful madness waits as well for thee.