Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy

Nurse How? Speak again that I may better learn.
Chor. By spearmen followed, or himself alone?
Nurse She bids him bring his guards with lances armed.
Chor. Nay, say not that to him thy lord doth hate,
But bid him 'come alone,' (that so he hear
Without alarm), 'full speed, with joyous mind,'
Since 'secret speech with messenger goes best.'
Nurse And art thou of good cheer at this my tale?
Chor. But what if Zeus will turn the tide of ill?
Nurse How so? Orestes, our One hope is gone.
Chor. Not yet; a sorry seer might know thus much.
Nurse What say'st thou? Know'st thou aught besides my tale?
Chor. Go tell thy message; do thine errand well:
The Gods for what they care for, care enough.
Nurse I then will go, complying with thy words:
May all, by God's gift, end most happily! {769}

Exit Nurse by Right Side-Door, signifying neighborhood.

CHORAL INTERLUDE II

in four interwoven Strophes and Antistrophes, with Mesode,

invokes the Gods the house had worshipped. Zeus, father of the Gods, the twin-brothers, Apollo in his glorious shrine at Delphi, Hermes who is the conductor of enterprises: the dear son of the house is harnessed to the car of calamity, moderate its pace – and may Murder cease to breed new Murder. But the Avenger, like Perseus, must not look on the deed as he does it; as she calls the name Mother let him hurl back the cry of Father. {820}

EPISODE III

Aegisthus entering from the Right Side-Door (of Neighborhood) speaks of this summons; it may after all be women's fears 'that leap up high and die away to nought.' The Chorus say there is nothing like asking. Aeg. will do so: they cannot cheat a man with his eyes open. Exit through Central Door. {839}

Chorus, in short lyric burst, mark critical moment that decides success or failure. {853}

Then cries from within, and Porter rushes from Central Door to Door of Women's Quarters (Left Inferior), loudly summoning Clytaemnestra, and when she appears informs her 'the dead are slaying the living.' She sees in a moment the truth, and is looking hurriedly for aid, when enter, from Central Door, Orestes, joined at once by Pylades and Attendants, from Right Inferior.

Orest. 'Tis thee I seek: he there has had enough. {878} Clytaem. Ah me! my loved Aegisthus! Art thou dead? Orest. Lov'st the man? Then in the self-same tomb Shalt thou now lie, nor in his death desert him. Clytaem. [baring her bosom] Hold, boy! Respect this breast of mine, my son, Whence thou full oft, asleep, with toothless gums, Hast sucked the milk that sweetly fed thy life. Orest. What shall I do, my Pylades? Shall I Through this respect forbear to slay my mother? Pyl. Where, then, are Loxias' other oracles, The Pythian counsels, and the fast-sworn vows? Have all men hostile rather than the gods. Orest. My judgment goes with thine; thou speakest well. [To Clytaemnestra.] Follow: I mean to slay thee where he lies, For while he lived thou held'st him far above My father. Sleep thou with him in thy death, Since thou lov'st him, and whom thou should'st love hatest. Clytaem. I reared thee, and would fain grow old with thee. Orest. What! Thou live with me, who did'st slay my father? Clytaem. Fate, O my son, must share the blame of that. Orest. This fatal doom, then, it is Fate that sends. 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 Gods 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 God 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 Atè dread,
Lulled into slumber deep?

THIRD PLAY: AFTERNOON:

THE GENTLE GODDESSES

EUMENIDES[4 - Euphemism for the Furies, as the popular name 'Good Neighbours' for Mischievous Fairies.]

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 passed 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