[ She follows Agamemnon into the Palace. The retinues of both King and Queen go in after them . Cassandra remains .

Chorus .

[ Strophe 1. What is this that evermore, 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-thronèd 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, dear 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?

Second Elder .

How? Will she prophesy about her own Sorrows? That power abides when all is gone!

Cassandra .

Apollo, Apollo! Light of all that is! Mine enemy! Where hast thou led me? . . . Ha! What house is this?

Leader .

The Atreidae's castle. If thou knowest not, I Am here to help thee, and help faithfully.

Cassandra . ( whispering ).

Nay, nay. This is the house that God hateth. There be many things that know its secret; sore And evil things; murders and strangling death. 'Tis here they slaughter men . . . A splashing floor.

Second Elder .

Keen-sensed the strange maid seemeth, like a hound For blood.—And what she seeks can sure be found!

Cassandra .

The witnesses . . . I follow where they lead. The crying . . . of little children . . . near the gate: Crying for wounds that bleed: And the smell of the baked meats their father ate.

Second Elder . ( recognizing her vision, and repelled ).

Word of thy mystic power had reached our ear Long since. Howbeit we need no prophets here.

Cassandra .

Ah, ah! What would they? A new dreadful thing. A great great sin plots in the house this day; Too strong for the faithful, beyond medicining . . . And help stands far away.

Leader .

This warning I can read not, though I knew That other tale. It rings the city through.

Cassandra .

O Woman, thou! The lord who lay with thee! Wilt lave with water, and then . . . How speak the end? It comes so quick. A hand . . . another hand . . . That reach, reach gropingly . . .

Leader .

I see not yet. These riddles, pierced with blind Gleams of foreboding but bemuse my mind.

Cassandra .

Ah, ah! What is it? There; it is coming clear. A net . . . some net of Hell. Nay, she that lies with him . . . is she the snare? And half of his blood upon it. It holds well . . . O Crowd of ravening Voices, be glad, yea, shout And cry for the stoning, cry for the casting out!

Second Elder .

What Fury Voices call'st thou to be hot Against this castle? Such words like me not. And deep within my breast I felt that sick And saffron drop, which creepeth to the heart To die as the last rays of life depart. Misfortune comes so quick.

Cassandra .

Ah, look! Look! Keep his mate from the Wild Bull! A tangle of raiment, see; A black horn, and a blow, and he falleth, full In the marble amid the water. I counsel ye. I speak plain. . . . Blood in the bath and treachery!

Leader .

No great interpreter of oracles Am I; but this, I think, some mischief spells. What spring of good hath seercraft ever made Up from the dark to flow? 'Tis but a weaving of words, a craft of woe, To make mankind afraid.

Cassandra .

Poor woman! Poor dead woman! . . . Yea, it is I, Poured out like water among them. Weep for me. . . . Ah! What is this place? Why must I come with thee . . . To die, only to die?

Leader .

Thou art borne on the breath of God, thou spirit wild, For thine own weird to wail, Like to that wingèd voice, that heart so sore Which, crying alway, hungereth to cry more, "Itylus, Itylus," till it sing her child Back to the nightingale.

Cassandra .

Oh, happy Singing Bird, so sweet, so clear! Soft wings for her God made, And an easy passing, without pain or tear . . . For me 'twill be torn flesh and rending blade.

Second Elder .

Whence is it sprung, whence wafted on God's breath, This anguish reasonless? This throbbing of terror shaped to melody, Moaning of evil blent with music high? Who hath marked out for thee that mystic path Through thy woe's wilderness?

Cassandra .

Alas for the kiss, the kiss of Paris, his people's bane! Alas for Scamander Water, the water my fathers drank! Long, long ago, I played about thy bank, And was cherished and grew strong; Now by a River of Wailing, by shores of Pain, Soon shall I make my song.

Leader .

How sayst thou? All too clear, This ill word thou hast laid upon thy mouth! A babe could read thee plain. It stabs within me like a serpent's tooth, The bitter thrilling music of her pain: I marvel as I hear.

Cassandra .

Alas for the toil, the toil of a City, worn unto death! Alas for my father's worship before the citadel, The flocks that bled and the tumult of their breath! But no help from them came To save Troy Towers from falling as they fell! . . . And I on the earth shall writhe, my heart aflame.

Second Elder .

Dark upon dark, new ominous words of ill! Sure there hath swept on thee some Evil Thing, Crushing, which makes thee bleed And in the torment of thy vision sing These plaining death-fraught oracles . . . Yet still, still, Their end I cannot read!

Cassandra .

[ By an effort she regains mastery of herself, and speaks directly to the Leader .

'Fore God, mine oracle shall no more hide With veils his visage, like a new-wed bride! A shining wind out of this dark shall blow, Piercing the dawn, growing as great waves grow, To burst in the heart of sunrise . . . stronger far Than this poor pain of mine. I will not mar With mists my wisdom. Be near me as I go, Tracking the evil things of long ago, And bear me witness. For this roof, there clings Music about it, like a choir which sings One-voiced, but not well-sounding, for not good The words are. Drunken, drunken, and with blood, To make them dare the more, a revelling rout Is in the rooms, which no man shall cast out, Of sister Furies. And they weave to song, Haunting the House, its first blind deed of wrong, Spurning in turn that King's bed desecrate, Defiled, which paid a brother's sin with hate. . . . Hath it missed or struck, mine arrow? Am I a poor Dreamer, that begs and babbles at the door? Give first thine oath in witness, that I know Of this great dome the sins wrought long ago.

Elder .

And how should oath of mine, though bravely sworn, Appease thee? Yet I marvel that one born Far over seas, of alien speech, should fall So apt, as though she had lived here and seen all.

Cassandra .

The Seer Apollo made me too to see.

Elder ( in a low voice ).

Was the God's heart pierced with desire for thee?

Cassandra .

Time was, I held it shame hereof to speak.

Elder .

Ah, shame is for the mighty, not the weak.

Cassandra .

We wrestled, and his breath to me was sweet.

Elder .

Ye came to the getting of children, as is meet?

Cassandra .

I swore to Loxias, and I swore a lie.

Elder .

Already thine the gift of prophecy?

Cassandra .

Already I showed my people all their path.

Elder .

And Loxias did not smite thee in his wrath?

Cassandra .

After that sin . . . no man believed me more.

Elder .

Nay, then, to us thy wisdom seemeth sure.

Cassandra .

Oh, oh! Agony, agony! Again the awful pains of prophecy Are on me, maddening as they fall. . . . Ye see them there . . . beating against the wall? So young . . . like shapes that gather in a dream . . . Slain by a hand they loved. Children they seem, Murdered . . . and in their hands they bear baked meat: I think it is themselves. Yea, flesh; I see it; And inward parts. . . . Oh, what a horrible load To carry! And their father drank their blood. From these, I warn ye, vengeance broodeth still, A lion's rage, which goes not forth to kill But lurketh in his lair, watching the high Hall of my war-gone master . . . Master? Aye; Mine, mine! The yoke is nailed about my neck. . . . Oh, lord of ships and trampler on the wreck Of Ilion, knows he not this she-wolf's tongue, Which licks and fawns, and laughs with ear up-sprung, To bite in the end like a secret death?—And can The woman? Slay a strong and armèd man? . . . What fangèd reptile like to her doth creep? Some serpent amphisbene, some Skylla, deep Housed in the rock, where sailors shriek and die, Mother of Hell blood-raging, which doth cry On her own flesh war, war without alloy . . . God! And she shouted in his face her joy, Like men in battle when the foe doth break. And feigns thanksgiving for his safety's sake! What if no man believe me? 'Tis all one. The thing which must be shall be; aye, and soon Thou too shalt sorrow for these things, and here Standing confess me all too true a seer.

Leader .

The Thyestean feast of children slain I understood, and tremble. Aye, my brain Reels at these visions, beyond guesswork true. But after, though I heard, I had lost the clue.

Cassandra .

Man, thou shalt look on Agamemnon dead.

Leader .

Peace, Mouth of Evil! Be those words unsaid!

Cassandra .

No god of peace hath watch upon that hour.

Leader .

If it must come. Forefend it, Heavenly Power!

Cassandra .

They do not think of prayer; they think of death.

Leader .

They? Say, what man this foul deed compasseth?

Cassandra .

Alas, thou art indeed fallen far astray!

Leader .

How could such deed be done? I see no way.

Cassandra .

Yet know I not the Greek tongue all too well?

Leader .

Greek are the Delphic dooms, but hard to spell.

Cassandra .

Ah! Ah! There! What a strange fire! It moves . . . It comes at me. O Wolf Apollo, mercy! O agony! . . . Why lies she with a wolf, this lioness lone, Two-handed, when the royal lion is gone? God, she will kill me! Like to them that brew Poison, I see her mingle for me too A separate vial in her wrath, and swear, Whetting her blade for him, that I must share His death . . . because, because he hath dragged me here! Oh, why these mockers at my throat? This gear Of wreathèd bands, this staff of prophecy? I mean to kill you first, before I die. Begone!

[ She tears off her prophetic habiliments; and presently throws them on the ground, and stamps on them .

Down to perdition! . . . Lie ye so? So I requite you! Now make rich in woe Some other Bird of Evil, me no more! [ Coming to herself . Ah, see! It is Apollo's self, hath tore His crown from me! Who watched me long ago In this same prophet's robe, by friend, by foe, All with one voice, all blinded, mocked to scorn: "A thing of dreams," "a beggar-maid outworn," Poor, starving and reviled, I endured all; And now the Seer, who called me till my call Was perfect, leads me to this last dismay. . . . 'Tis not the altar-stone where men did slay My father; 'tis a block, a block with gore Yet hot, that waits me, of one slain before. Yet not of God unheeded shall we lie. There cometh after, one who lifteth high The downfallen; a branch where blossometh A sire's avenging and a mother's death. Exiled and wandering, from this land outcast, One day He shall return, and set the last Crown on these sins that have his house downtrod. For, lo, there is a great oath sworn of God, His father's upturned face shall guide him home. Why should I grieve? Why pity these men's doom? I who have seen the City of Ilion Pass as she passed; and they who cast her down Have thus their end, as God gives judgement sure. . . . I go to drink my cup. I will endure To die. O Gates, Death-Gates, all hail to you! Only, pray God the blow be stricken true! Pray God, unagonized, with blood that flows Quick unto friendly death, these eyes may close!

Leader .

O full of sorrows, full of wisdom great, Woman, thy speech is a long anguish; yet, Knowing thy doom, why walkst thou with clear eyes, Like some god-blinded beast, to sacrifice?

Cassandra .

There is no escape, friends; only vain delay.

Leader .

Is not the later still the sweeter day?

Cassandra .

The day is come. Small profit now to fly.

Leader .

Through all thy griefs, Woman, thy heart is high.

Cassandra .

Alas! None that is happy hears that praise.

Leader .

Are not the brave dead blest in after days?

Cassandra .

O Father! O my brethren brave, I come!

[ She moves towards the House, but recoils shuddering .

Leader .

What frights thee? What is that thou startest from?

Cassandra .

Ah, faugh! Faugh!

Leader .

What turns thee in that blind Horror? Unless some loathing of the mind . . .

Cassandra .

Death drifting from the doors, and blood like rain!

Leader .

'Tis but the dumb beasts at the altar slain.

Cassandra .

And vapours from a charnel-house . . . See there!

Leader .

'Tis Tyrian incense clouding in the air.

Cassandra ( recovering herself again ).

So be it!—I will go, in yonder room To weep mine own and Agamemnon's doom. May death be all! Strangers, I am no bird That pipeth trembling at a thicket stirred By the empty wind. Bear witness on that day When woman for this woman's life shall pay, And man for man ill-mated low shall lie: I ask this boon, as being about to die.

Leader .

Alas, I pity thee thy mystic fate!

Cassandra .

One word, one dirge-song would I utter yet O'er mine own corpse. To this last shining Sun I pray that, when the Avenger's work is done, His enemies may remember this thing too, This little thing, the woman slave they slew! O world of men, farewell! A painted show Is all thy glory; and when life is low The touch of a wet sponge out-blotteth all. Oh, sadder this than any proud man's fall!

[ She goes into the House .

Chorus .

Great Fortune is an hungry thing, And filleth no heart anywhere, Though men with fingers menacing Point at the great house, none will dare, When Fortune knocks, to bar the door Proclaiming: "Come thou here no more!" Lo, to this man the Gods have given Great Ilion in the dust to tread And home return, emblazed of heaven; If it is writ, he too shall go Through blood for blood spilt long ago; If he too, dying for the dead, Should crown the deaths of alien years, What mortal afar off, who hears, Shall boast him Fortune's Child, and led Above the eternal tide of tears?

[ A sudden Cry from within .

Voice .

Ho! Treason in the house! I am wounded: slain.

Leader .

Hush! In the castle! 'Twas a cry Of some man wounded mortally.

Voice .

Ah God, another! I am stricken again.

Leader .

I think the deed is done. It was the King Who groaned. . . . Stand close, and think if anything . . .

[ The Old Men gather together under the shock, and debate confusedly .

Elder B .

I give you straight my judgement. Summon all The citizens to rescue. Sound a call!

Elder C .

No, no! Burst in at once without a word! In, and convict them by their dripping sword!

Elder D .

Yes; that or something like it. Quick, I say, Be doing ! 'Tis a time for no delay.

Elder E .

We have time to think. This opening . . . They have planned Some scheme to make enslavement of the land.

Elder F .

Yes, while we linger here! They take no thought Of lingering, and their sword-arm sleepeth not!

Elder G .

I have no counsel. I can speak not. Oh, Let him give counsel who can strike a blow!

Elder H .

I say as this man says. I have no trust In words to raise a dead man from the dust.

Elder I .

How mean you? Drag out our poor lives, and stand Cowering to these defilers of the land?

Elder J .

Nay, 'tis too much! Better to strive and die! Death is an easier doom than slavery.

Elder K .

We heard a sound of groaning, nothing plain, How know we—are we seers?—that one is slain?

Elder L .

Oh, let us find the truth out, ere we grow Thus passionate! To surmise is not to know.

Leader .

Break in, then! 'Tis the counsel ye all bring, And learn for sure, how is it with the King.

[ They cluster up towards the Palace Door, as though to force an entrance, when the great Door swings open, revealing Clytemnestra , who stands, axe in hand, over the dead bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra . The body of Agamemnon is wrapped in a rich crimson web. There is blood on Clytemnestra's brow, and she speaks in wild triumph .

Clytemnestra .

Oh, lies enough and more have I this day Spoken, which now I shame not to unsay. How should a woman work, to the utter end, Hate on a damnèd hater, feigned a friend; How pile perdition round him, hunter-wise, Too high for overleaping, save by lies? To me this hour was dreamed of long ago; A thing of ancient hate. 'Twas very slow In coming, but it came. And here I stand Even where I struck, with all the deed I planned Done! 'Twas so wrought—what boots it to deny?— The man could neither guard himself nor fly. An endless web, as by some fisher strung, A deadly plenteousness of robe, I flung All round him, and struck twice; and with two cries His limbs turned water and broke; and as he lies I cast my third stroke in, a prayer well-sped To Zeus of Hell, who guardeth safe his dead! So there he gasped his life out as he lay; And, gasping, the blood spouted . . . Like dark spray That splashed, it came, a salt and deathly dew; Sweet, sweet as God's dear rain-drops ever blew O'er a parched field, the day the buds are born! . . . Which things being so, ye Councillors high-born, Depart in joy, if joy ye will. For me, I glory. Oh, if such a thing might be As o'er the dead thank-offering to outpour, On this dead it were just, aye, just and more, Who filled the cup of the House with treacheries Curse-fraught, and here hath drunk it to the lees!

Leader .

We are astonied at thy speech. To fling, Wild mouth! such vaunt over thy murdered King!

Clytemnestra .

Wouldst fright me, like a witless woman? Lo, This bosom shakes not. And, though well ye know, I tell you . . . Curse me as ye will, or bless, 'Tis all one . . . This is Agamemnon; this, My husband, dead by my right hand, a blow Struck by a righteous craftsman. Aye, 'tis so.

Chorus .

Woman, what evil tree, What poison grown of the ground Or draught of the drifting sea Way to thy lips hath found, Making thee clothe thy heart In rage, yea, in curses burning When thine own people pray? Thou hast hewn, thou hast cast away; And a thing cast away thou art, A thing of hate and a spurning!

Clytemnestra .

Aye, now, for me, thou hast thy words of fate; Exile from Argos and the people's hate For ever! Against him no word was cried, When, recking not, as 'twere a beast that died, With flocks abounding o'er his wide domain, He slew his child, my love, my flower of pain, . . . Great God, as magic for the winds of Thrace! Why was not he man-hunted from his place, To purge the blood that stained him? . . . When the deed Is mine, oh, then thou art a judge indeed! But threat thy fill. I am ready, and I stand Content; if thy hand beateth down my hand, Thou rulest. If aught else be God's decree, Thy lesson shall be learned, though late it be.

Chorus .

Thy thought, it is very proud; Thy breath is the scorner's breath; Is not the madness loud In thy heart, being drunk with death? Yea, and above thy brow A star of the wet blood burneth! Oh, doom shall have yet her day, The last friend cast away, When He doth answer lie And a stab for a stab returneth!

Clytemnestra .

And heark what Oath-gods gather to my side! By my dead child's Revenge, now satisfied, By Mortal Blindness, by all Powers of Hell Which Hate, to whom in sacrifice he fell, My Hope shall walk not in the house of Fear, While on my hearth one fire yet burneth clear, One lover, one Aigisthos, as of old! What should I fear, when fallen here I hold This foe, this scorner of his wife, this toy And fool of each Chryseïs under Troy; And there withal his soothsayer and slave, His chanting bed-fellow, his leman brave, Who rubbed the galleys' benches at his side. But, oh, they had their guerdon as they died! For he lies thus, and she, the wild swan's way, Hath trod her last long weeping roundelay, And lies, his lover, ravisht o'er the main For his bed's comfort and my deep disdain.

Chorus . ( Some Elders .)

Would God that suddenly With no great agony, No long sick-watch to keep, My hour would come to me, My hour, and presently Bring the eternal, the Unawaking sleep, Now that my Shepherd, he Whose love watched over me, Lies in the deep!

Another .

For woman's sake he endured and battled well, And by a woman's hand he fell.

Others .

What hast thou done, O Helen blind of brain, O face that slew the souls on Ilion's plain, One face, one face, and many a thousand slain? The hate of old that on this castle lay, Builded in lust, a husband's evil day, Hath bloomed for thee a perfect flower again And unforgotten, an old and burning stain Never to pass away.

Clytemnestra .

Nay, pray not for the hour of death, being tried Too sore beneath these blows Neither on Helen turn thy wrath aside, The Slayer of Men, the face which hath destroyed Its thousand Danaan souls, and wrought a wide Wound that no leech can close.

Chorus .

—Daemon, whose heel is set On the House and the twofold kin Of the high Tantalidae, A power, heavy as fate, Thou wieldest through woman's sin, Piercing the heart of me! —Like a raven swoln with hate He hath set on the dead his claw, He croaketh a song to sate His fury, and calls it Law!

Clytemnestra .

Ah, call upon Him! Yea, call— And thy thought hath found its path— The Daemon who haunts this hall, The thrice-engorgèd Wrath; From him is the ache of the flesh For blood born and increased; Ere the old sore hath ceased It oozeth afresh.

Chorus .

—Indeed He is very great, And heavy his anger, He, The Daemon who guides the fate Of the old Tantalidae: Alas, alas, an evil tale ye tell Of desolate angers and insatiable! —Ah me, And yet 'tis all as Zeus hath willed, Doer of all and Cause of all; By His Word every chance doth fall, No end without Him is fulfilled; What of these things But Cometh by high Heaven's counsellings?

[ A band of Mourners has gathered within the House .

Mourners .

Ah, sorrow, sorrow! My King, my King! How shall I weep, what word shall I say? Caught in the web of this spider thing, In foul death grasping thy life away! Woe's me, woe's me, for this slavish lying, The doom of craft and the lonely dying, The iron two-edged and the hands that slay!

Clytemnestra .

And criest thou still this deed hath been My work? Nay, gaze, and have no thought That this is Agamemnon's Queen. 'Tis He, 'tis He, hath round him wrought This phantom of the dead man's wife; He, the old Wrath, the Driver of Men astray, Pursuer of Atreus for the feast defiled; To assoil an ancient debt he hath paid this life; A warrior and a crownèd King this day Atones for a slain child.

Chorus .

—That thou art innocent herein, What tongue dare boast? It cannot be, Yet from the deeps of ancient sin The Avenger may have wrought with thee. —On the red Slayer crasheth, groping wild For blood, more blood, to build his peace again, And wash like water the old frozen stain Of the torn child.

Mourners .

Ah, sorrow, sorrow! My King, my King! How shall I weep, what word shall I say? Caught in the web of this spider thing, In foul death gasping thy life away. Woe's me, woe's me, for this slavish lying, The doom of craft and the lonely dying, The iron two-edged and the hands that slay!

Clytemnestra .

And what of the doom of craft that first He planted, making the House accurst? What of the blossom from this root riven, Iphigenîa, the unforgiven? Even as the wrong was, so is the pain: He shall not laugh in the House of the slain, When the count is scored; He hath but spoilèd and paid again The due of the sword.

Chorus .

I am lost; my mind dull-eyed Knows not nor feels Whither to fly nor hide While the House reels. The noise of rain that falls On the roof affrighteth me, Washing away the walls; Rain that falls bloodily. Doth ever the sound abate? Lo, the next Hour of Fate Whetting her vengeance due On new whet-stones, for new Workings of hate.

Mourners .

Would thou hadst covered me, Earth, O Earth, Or e'er I had looked on my lord thus low, In the pallèd marble of silvern girth! What hands may shroud him, what tears may flow? Not thine, O Woman who dared to slay him, Thou durst not weep to him now, nor pray him, Nor pay to his soul the deep unworth Of gift or prayer to forget thy blow. —Oh, who with heart sincere Shall bring praise or grief To lay on the sepulchre Of the great chief?

Clytemnestra .

His burial is not thine to array. By me he fell, by me he died, I watch him to the grave, not cried By mourners of his housefolk; nay, His own child for a day like this Waits, as is seemly, and shall run By the white waves of Acheron To fold him in her arms and kiss!

Chorus .

Lo, she who was erst reviled Revileth; and who shall say? Spoil taken from them that spoiled, Life-blood. from them that slay! Surely while God ensueth His laws, while Time doth run 'Tis written: On him that doeth It shall be done. This is God's law and grace, Who then shall hunt the race Of curses from out this hall? The House is sealed withal To dreadfulness.

Clytemnestra .

Aye, thou hast found the Law, and stept In Truth's way.—Yet even now I call The Living Wrath which haunts this hall To truce and compact. I accept All the affliction he doth heap Upon me, and I charge him go Far off with his self-murdering woe To strange men's houses. I will keep Some little dower, and leave behind All else, contented utterly. I have swept the madness from the sky Wherein these brethren slew their kind.

[ As she ceases, exhausted and with the fire gone out of her , Aigisthos , with Attendants, bursts triumphantly in .

Aigisthos .

O shining day, O dawn of righteousness Fulfilled! Now, now indeed will I confess That divine watchers o'er man's death and birth Look down on all the anguish of the earth, Now that I see him lying, as I love To see him, in this net the Furies wove, To atone the old craft of his father's hand. For Atreus, this man's father, in this land Reigning, and by Thyestes in his throne Challenged—he was his brother and mine own Father—from home and city cast him out; And he, after long exile, turned about And threw him suppliant on the hearth, and won Promise of so much mercy, that his own Life-blood should reek not in his father's hall. Then did that godless brother, Atreus, call, To greet my sire—More eagerness, O God, Was there than love!—a feast of brotherhood. And, feigning joyous banquet, laid as meat Before him his dead children. The white feet And finger-fringèd hands apart he set, Veiled from all seeing, and made separate The tables. And he straightway, knowing naught, Took of those bodies, eating that which wrought No health for all his race. And when he knew The unnatural deed, back from the board he threw, Spewing that murderous gorge, and spurning brake The table, to make strong the curse he spake: "Thus perish all of Pleisthenês begot!" For that lies this man here; and all the plot Is mine, most righteously. For me, the third, When butchering my two brethren, Atreus spared And cast me with my broken sire that day, A little thing in swaddling clothes, away To exile; where I grew, and at the last Justice hath brought me home! Yea though outcast In a far land, mine arm hath reached this king; My brain, my hate, wrought all the counselling; And all is well. I have seen mine enemy Dead in the snare, and care not if I die!

Leader .

Aigisthos, to insult over the dead I like not. All the counsel, thou hast said, Was thine alone; and thine the will that spilled This piteous blood. As justice is fulfilled, Thou shalt not 'scape—so my heart presageth— The day of cursing and the hurled death.

Aigisthos .

How, thou poor oarsman of the nether row, When the main deck is master? Sayst thou so? . . . To such old heads the lesson may prove hard, I fear me, when Obedience is the word. But hunger, and bonds, and cold, help men to find Their wits.—They are wondrous healers of the mind! Hast eyes and seest not this?—Against a spike Kick not, for fear it pain thee if thou strike.

Leader . ( turning from him to Clytemnestra ).

Woman! A soldier fresh from war! To keep Watch o'er his house and shame him in his sleep . . . To plot this craft against a lord of spears . . .

[ Clytemnestra , as though in a dream, pays no heed . Aigisthos interrupts .

Aigisthos .

These be the words, old man, that lead to tears! Thou hast an opposite to Orpheus' tongue, Who chained all things with his enchanting song, For thy mad noise will put the chains on thee. Enough! Once mastered thou shalt tamer be.

Leader .

Thou master? Is old Argos so accurst? Thou plotter afar off, who never durst Raise thine own hand to affront and strike him down . . .

Aigisthos .

To entice him was the wife's work. I was known By all men here, his old confessed blood-foe. Howbeit, with his possessions I will know How to be King. And who obeys not me Shall be yoked hard, no easy trace-horse he, Corn-flushed. Hunger, and hunger's prison mate, The clammy murk, shall see his rage abate.

Leader .

Thou craven soul! Why not in open strife Slay him? Why lay the blood-sin on his wife, Staining the Gods of Argos, making ill The soil thereof? . . . But young Orestes still Liveth. Oh, Fate will guide him home again, Avenging, conquering, home to kill these twain!

Aigisthos .

'Fore God, if 'tis your pleasure thus to speak and do, ye soon shall hear! Ho there, my trusty pikes, advance! There cometh business for the spear.

[ A body of Spearmen, from concealment outside, rush in and dominate the stage .

Leader .

Ho there, ye Men of Argos! Up! Stand and be ready, sword from sheath!

Aigisthos .

By Heaven, I also, sword in hand, am ready, and refuse not death!

Leader .

Come, find it! We accept thy word. Thou offerest what we hunger for.

[ Some of the Elders draw swords with the Leader; others have collapsed with weakness. Men from Agamemnon's retinue have gathered and prepare for battle, when, before they can come to blows , Clytemnestra breaks from her exhausted silence .

Clytemnestra .

Nay, peace, O best-belovèd! Peace! And let us work no evil more. Surely the reaping of the past is a full harvest, and not good, And wounds enough are everywhere.—Let us not stain ourselves with blood. Ye reverend Elders, go your ways, to his own dwelling every one, Ere things be wrought for which men suffer.—What we did must needs be done. And if of all these strifes we now may have no more, oh, I will kneel And praise God, bruisèd though we be beneath the Daemon's heavy heel. This is the word a woman speaks, to hear if any man will deign.

Aigisthos .

And who are these to burst in flower of folly thus of tongue and brain, And utter words of empty sound and perilous, tempting Fortune's frown, And leave wise counsel all forgot, and gird at him who wears the crown?

Leader .

To cringe before a caitiff's crown, it squareth not with Argive ways.

Aigisthos . ( sheathing his sword and turning from them ).

Bah, I will be a hand of wrath to fall on thee in after days.

Leader .

Not so, if God in after days shall guide Orestes home again!

Aigisthos .

I know how men in exile feed on dreams . . . and know such food is vain.

Leader .

Go forward and wax fat! Defile the right for this thy little hour!

Aigisthos .

I spare thee now. Know well for all this folly thou shalt feel my power.

Leader .

Aye, vaunt thy greatness, as a bird beside his mate doth vaunt and swell.

Clytemnestra .

Vain hounds are baying round thee; oh, forget them! Thou and I shall dwell As Kings in this great House. We two at last will order all things well.

[ The Elders and the remains of Agamemnon's retinue retire sullenly, leaving the Spearmen in possession . Clytemnestra and Aigisthos turn and enter the Palace .

Layout 2

NOTES TO THE AGAMEMNON

The chief characters in the play belong to one family, as is shown by the two genealogies:—

(Also, a sister of Agamemnon, name variously given, married Strophios, and was the mother of Pylades.)

P. 1. l. 1.]—The Watchman, like most characters in Greek tragedy, comes from the Homeric tradition, though in Homer ( Od. iv. 524) he is merely a servant of Aigisthos.

P. 2, l. 28, Women's triumph cry.]—This cry of the women recurs several times in the play: cf. p. 26, ll. 587 ff., p. 55, l. 1234. It is conventionally represented by "ololû"; as the cry to Apollo, Paian is "I-ê," l. 146, and Cassandra's sob is "ototoi" or "otototoi," p. 47.

Pp. 3 f., ll. 40 ff.]—With this silent scene of Clytemnestra's, compare the long silence of Cassandra below, and the silence of Prometheus in that play until his torturers have left him. See the criticism of Aeschylus in Aristophanes, Frogs , ll. 911–920, pp. 68, 69 in my translation.

P. 5, l. 104, Sign of the War-Way.]—i.e. an ominous sign seen by the army as it started on its journey. In Homer, Iliad , ll. 305–329, it is a snake which eats the nine young of a mother bird and then the mother, and is turned into stone afterwards.—All through this chorus the language of the prophet Calchas is intentionally obscure and riddling—the style of prophesy.

P. 7, l. 146, But I-ê, i-ê.]—(Pronounce Ee-ay .) Calchas, catching sight in his vision of the further consequences which Artemis will exact if she fulfils the sign, calls on Apollo Paian, the Healer, to check her.

P. 7, l. 160, Zeus, whate'er He be.]—This conception of Zeus is expressed also in Aeschylus' Suppliant Women , and was probably developed in the Prometheus Trilogy. See my Rise of the Greek Epic , p. 291 (Ed. 2).

It is connected with the common Greek conception of the Tritos Sôtêr —the Saviour Third. First, He who sins; next, He who avenges; third. He who saves. In vegetation worship it is the Old Year who has committed Hubris, the sin of pride, in summer; the Winter who slays him; the New Year which shall save. In mythology the three successive Rulers of Heaven are given by Hesiod as Ouranos, Kronos, Zeus (cf. Prometheus , 965 ff.), but we cannot tell if Aeschylus accepted the Hesiodic story. Cf. note on l. 246, and Clytemnestra's blasphemy at l. 1387, p. 63.

P. 9, l. 192, Winds from Strymon.]—From the great river gorge of Thrace, NNE; cf. below, l. 1418.

P. 9, l. 201, Artemis.]—Her name was terrible, because of its suggestion. She demanded the sacrifice of Agamemnon's daughter, Iphigenîa. (See Euripides' two plays, Iphigenia in Tauris and Iphigenia in Aulis .) In other poets Agamemnon has generally committed some definite sin against Artemis, but in Aeschylus the death of Iphigenîa seems to be merely one of the results of his acceptance of the Sign.

P. 10, l. 215, 'Tis a Rite of old.]—Literally "it is Themis." Human sacrifice had had a place in the primitive religion of Greece; hence Agamemnon could not reject the demand of the soldiers as an obvious crime. See Rise of Greek Epic , pp. 150–157.

P. 11, l. 246, The Third Cup.]—Regularly poured to Zeus Sôtêr, the Saviour, and accompanied by a paean or cry of joy.

P. 11, l. 256, This Heart of Argos, this frail Tower:]—i.e. themselves.

P. 11, l. 264, Glad-voiced.]—Clytemnestra is in extreme suspense, as the return of Agamemnon will mean either her destruction or her deliverance. At such a moment there must be no ill-omened word, so she challenges fate.

P. 12, l, 276, A word within that hovereth without wings.]—i.e. a presentiment. "Winged words" are words spoken, which fly from speaker to hearer. A 'wingless' word is unspoken. The phrase occurs in Homer.

Pp. 13 ff., ll. 281 ff.]—Beacon Speech. There is no need to inquire curiously into the practical possibility of this chain of beacons. Greek tragedies do not care to be exact about this kind of detail. There may well have been a tradition that Agamemnon, like the Great King of Persia, used a chain of beacons across the Aegean.—Note how vividly Clytemnestra's imagination is working in her excitement. She seems to see before her every leaping light in the chain, just as in the next speech she imagines the scene in Troy almost with the intensity of a vision.

P. 14, l. 314, Victory in the first as in the last.]—All are Victory beacons; the spirit of Victory infects them all equally. Cf. l. 854 below, where Agamemnon prays that the Victory which is now with him, or in him, may abide.

P. 15, l. 348, A woman's word.]—Her hatred and fear of Agamemnon, making her feel vividly the horrors of the sack and the peril overhanging the conquerors, have carried her dangerously far. She checks herself and apologizes for her womanlike anxiety. Cf. l. 1661, p. 77.

P. 18, ll. 409 ff., Seers they saw visions.]—A difficult and uncertain passage. I think the seers attached to the royal household (cf. Libation-Bearers , l. 37, where they are summoned to read a dream) were rather like what we call clairvoyants. Being consulted, they look into some pool of liquid or the like; there they see gradually emerging the palace, the injured King, the deserted room, and at last a wraith of Helen herself, haunting the place.

P. 21, l. 487.]—This break in the action, covering a space of several days, was first pointed out by Dr. Walter Headlam . Incidentally it removes the gravest of the difficulties raised by Dr. Verrall in his famous essay upon the plot of the Agamemnon .

P. 21, l, 495, Dry dust, own brother to the mire of war.]—i.e. "I can see by the state of his clothes, caked with dry dust which was once the mire of battle, that he comes straight from the war and can speak with knowledge." The Herald is probably (though perhaps not quite consistently) conceived as having rushed post-haste with his news.

Pp. 22 ff., Herald .] — The Herald bursts in overcome with excitement and delight, full of love for his home and everything he sees. A marked contrast to Agamemnon, ll. 810 ff. Note that his first speech confirms all the worst fears suggested by Clytemnestra. Agamemnon has committed all the sins she prayed against, and more. The terrible lines 527 ff., "Till her Gods' Houses, etc.," are very like a passage in the Persae , 811 ff., where exactly the same acts by the Persian invaders of Greece make their future punishment inevitable.

P. 22, l. 509, Pythian Lord.]—Apollo is often a sinister figure in tragedy. Cf. Sophocles Oedipus , ll. 915 ff., pp. 52 f., and the similar scene, Electra , 655 ff. Here it is a shock to the Herald to come suddenly on the god who was the chief enemy of the Greeks at Troy. One feels Apollo an evil presence also in the Cassandra scene, ll. 1071 ff., pp. 47 ff.

P. 23, l. 530, Happy among men.]—The crown of his triumph! Early Greek thought was always asking the question. What is human happiness? To the Herald Agamemnon has achieved happiness if any one ever did. Cf. the well-known story of Croesus asking Solon who was the happiest man in the world (Herodotus, I. 30–33).

P. 24, ll. 551 ff., Herald's second speech.]—The connexion of thought is: "After all, why should either of us wish to die? All has ended well." This vivid description of the actualities of war can be better appreciated now than it could in 1913.

P. 25, l. 577, These spoils.]—Spoils purporting to come from the Trojan War were extant in Greek temples in Aeschylus' day and later.

P. 26, l. 595, Our women's joy-cry.]—There seems to have been in Argos an old popular festival, celebrating with joy or mockery the supposed death of a man and a woman. Homer ( Od. iii. 309 f.) derives it from a rejoicing by Orestes over Aigisthos and Clytemnestra; cf. below, ll. 1316 ff., p. 59; Aeschylus here and Sophocles in the Electra , from a celebration by Clytemnestra of the deaths of Agamemnon and Cassandra. Probably it was really some ordinary New Year and Old Year celebration to which the poets give a tragic touch. It seems to have had a woman's "Ololugmos" in it, perhaps uttered by men. See Kaibel's note, Soph. Electra 277–281.

P. 26, l. 612, Bronze be dyed like wool.]—Impossible in the literal sense, but there is after all a way of dying a sword red!

P. 27, l. 617, Menelaüs.]—This digression about Menelaüs is due, as similar digressions generally are when they occur in Greek plays, to the poet feeling bound to follow the tradition. Homer begins his longest account of the slaying of Agamemnon by asking "Where was Menelaüs?" ( Od. iii. 249). Agamemnon could be safely attacked because he was alone. Menelaüs was away, wrecked or wind-bound.

P. 28, l. 642, Two-fold scourge.]—Ares works his will when spear crosses spear, when man meets man. Hence "two-fold."

P. 29, Chorus . The name Helena .]—There was a controversy in Aeschylus' day whether language, including names, was a matter of Convention or of Nature. Was it mere accident, and could you change the name of anything at will? Or was language a thing rooted in nature and fixed by God from of old? Aeschylus adopts the latter view: Why was this being called Helena? If one had understood God's purpose one would have seen it was because she really was "Helenâs"— Ship-destroyer . (The Herald's story of the shipwreck has suggested this particular idea.) Similarly, if a hero was called Aias, and came to great sorrow, one could see that he was so called from 'Aiai,' "Alas!"—The antistrophe seems to find a meaning in the name Paris or Alexandros, where the etymology is not so clear.

Pp- 33 f.]—Entrance of Agamemnon. The metre of the Chorus indicates marching; so that apparently the procession takes some time to move across the orchestra and get into position. Cassandra would be dressed, as a prophetess, in a robe of white reaching to the feet, covered by an agrênon , or net of wool with large meshes; she would have a staff and certain fillets or crowns. The Leader welcomes the King: he explains that, though he was against the war ten years ago, and has not changed his opinion, he is a faithful servant of the King . . . and that not all are equally so. He gave a similar hint to the Herald above, ll. 546–550, p. 24.

P. 35, Agamemnon.]—A hard, cold speech, full of pride in the earlier part, and turning to ominous threats at the end. Those who have dared to be false shall be broken.—At the end comes a note of fear, like the fear in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar . He is so full of triumph and success; he must be very careful not to provoke a fall.—Victory, Nîkê, was to the Greeks a very vivid and infectious thing. It clung to you or it deserted you. And one who was really charged with Victory, like Agamemnon, was very valuable to his friends and people. Hence they made statues of Victory wingless—so that she should not fly away. See Four Stages of Greek Religion , p. 138 note.

P. 36, Clytemnestra.]—A wonderful speech. It seems to me that Aeschylus' imagination realized all the confused passions in Clytemnestra's mind, but that his art was not yet sufficiently developed to make them all clear and explicit. She is in suspense; does Agamemnon know her guilt or not? At least, if she is to die, she wants to say something to justify or excuse herself in the eyes of the world. A touch of hysteria creeps in; why could he not have been killed in all these years? Why must he rise, like some monster from the grave, unkillable? Gradually she recovers her calm, explains clearly the suspicious point of Orestes' absence, and heaps up her words and gestures of welcome to an almost oriental fullness (which Agamemnon rebukes, ll. 918 ff., p. 39). Again, at the end, when she finds that for the time she is safe, her real feelings almost break out.

P. 38].—What is the motive of the Crimson Tapestries? I think the tangling robe must have been in the tradition, as the murder in the bath certainly was. One motive, of course, is obvious: Clytemnestra is tempting Agamemnon to sin or "go too far." He tries to resist, but the splendour of an oriental homecoming seduces him and he yields. But is that enough to account for such a curious trait in the story, and one so strongly emphasized? We are told afterwards that Clytemnestra threw over her victim an "endless web," long and rich (p. 63), to prevent his seeing or using his arms. And I cannot help suspecting that this endless web was the same as the crimson pall.

If one tries to conjecture the origin of this curious story, it is perhaps a clue to realize that the word droitê means both a bath and a sarcophagus, or rather that the thing called droitê, a narrow stone or marble vessel about seven feet long, was in pre-classical and post-classical times used as a sarcophagus, but in classical times chiefly or solely as a bath. If among the prehistoric graves at Mycenae some later peasants discovered a royal mummy or skeleton in a sarcophagus, wrapped in a robe of royal crimson, and showing signs of violent death—such as Schliemann believed that he discovered—would they not say: "We found the body of a King murdered in a bath, and wrapped round and round in a great robe?"

P. 39 f.]—Agamemnon is going through the process of temptation. He protests rather too often and yields.

P. 39, l. 931. Tell me but this.]—This little dialogue is very characteristic of Aeschylus. Euripides would have done it at three times the length and made all the points clear. In Aeschylus the subtlety is there, but it is not easy to follow.

P. 40, l. 945, These bound slaves.]—i.e. his shoes. The metaphor shows the trend of his unconscious mind.

P. 41, l. 950, This princess.]—This is the first time that the attention of the audience is drawn to Cassandra. She too is one of Aeschylus' silent figures. I imagine her pale, staring in front of her, almost as if in a trance, until terror seizes her at Clytemnestra's greeting in l. 1035, p. 45.

P. 41, l. 964, The cry.]—i.e. the cry of the possessed prophetess which rang from the inner sanctuary at Delphi and was intrepreted by the priests.—The last two lines of the speech are plain in their meaning but hard to translate. Literally: "when the full, or fulfilled, man walketh his home.—O Zeus the Fulfiller, fulfil my prayers."

P. 42, l. 976.]—The victim has been drawn into the house; the Chorus sing a low boding song: every audience at a Greek tragedy would expect next to hear a death cry from within, or to see a horrified messenger rush out. Instead of which the door opens and there is Clytemnestra: what does she want? "Come thou also!" One victim is not enough.—In the next scene we must understand the cause of Clytemnestra's impatience. If she stays too long outside, some one will warn Agamemnon; if she leaves Cassandra, she with her second sight will warn the Chorus. If Cassandra could only be got inside all would be safe!

P. 44, l. 1022, "One there was of old."]—Asklêpios, the physician, restored Hippolytus to life, and Zeus blasted him for so oversetting the laws of nature.

P. 45, l. 1040, Alcmêna's son.]—Heracles was made a slave to Omphalê, Queen of Lydia. His grumbles at his insufficient food were a theme of comedy.

P. 45, l. 1049, Belike thou canst not yet.]—Cf. below, ll. 1066 ff. The Elder speaks in sympathy. "Very likely you cannot yet bring yourself to submit."

P. 46, l. 1061, Thou show her.]—It seems odd to think that this passage has for centuries been translated as if it was all addressed to Cassandra: "But if you do not understand what I say, please indicate the same with your barbarous hand!"—What makes Cassandra at last speak? I think that the Elder probably touches her, and the touch as it were breaks the spell.

P. 47, l. 1072, Cassandra.]—"Otototoi" really takes the place of a stage direction: she utters a long low sob.—The exclamation which I have translated "Dreams!" seems to occur when people see ghosts or visions. Alcestis , 261; Prometheus , 567. Cf. Phoenissae 1296.—"Mine enemy!" The name "Apollon" suggested " apollyon ," Destroying . . . the form which is actually used in the Book of Revelation (Rev. ix. 11).

Observe how, during the lyric scene, Cassandra's vision grows steadily more definite. First vague horror of the House: then the sobbing of children, slain long ago: then, a new deed of blood coming; a woman in it: a wife: then, with a great effort, an attempt to describe the actual slaying in the bath. Lastly, the sight of herself among the slain. (This last point is greatly developed by Euripedes, Trojan Women , ll. 445 ff., pp. 33 f.)

The story of the Children of Thyestes is given below, ll. 1590 ff., p. 73. Procnê (or Philomêla) was an Attic princess who, in fury against her Thracian husband, Têreus, killed their child Itys, or Itylus, and was changed into a nightingale, to weep for him for ever.

P. 52, ll. 1178 ff.]—Dialogue. During the lyrics Cassandra has been "possessed" or "entranced": the turn to dialogue marks a conscious attempt to control herself and state plainly her message of warning. In order to prove her power, she first tells the Elders of deeds done in the past which are known to them but cannot have been known to her. When once they are convinced of her true seercraft, she will be able to warn them of what is coming!—The short 'stichomŷthia' (line for line dialogue), dealing in awed whispers with things which can hardly be spoken, leaves the story of Cassandra still a mystery. Then her self-control breaks and the power of the God sweeps irresistibly upon her; cf. below, ll. 1256 ff., where it comes at her like a visible shape of fire, a thing not uncommon with modern clairvoyants.

P. 56, l. 1252, Thou art indeed fallen far astray.]—Because they had said "what man ."

P. 56, l. 1265, These wreathed bands, this staff of prophesy.]—Cf. Trojan Women , ll. 451 ff., p. 34.

P. 60, ll. 1343 ff., The death cry; the hesitation of the Elders.]—This scene is often condemned or even ridiculed; I think, through misunderstanding. We knew the Old Men were helpless, like "dreams wandering in the day." It is essential to the story that when the crisis comes they shall be found wanting. But they are neither foolish nor cowardly; each utterance in itself is natural and characteristic, but counsels are divided. One would like to know whether Aeschylus made them speak together confusedly, as would certainly be done on the modern stage, or whether the stately conventions of Greek tragedy preferred that each speaker should finish his say. In any case, what happens is that after a moment or two of confused counsel the Elders determine to break into the Palace, but as they are mounting the steps the great doors are flung open and Clytemnestra confronts them, standing over the dead bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra.

The illusion intended is that the Elders have entered the Palace and discovered Clytemnestra. But, as the mechanical arrangements of the Greek stage were not equal to this sudden change of scene, and since also it would, even with perfect machinery, have a tiresome interrupting effect, a slight confusion or inconsistency is allowed. We are supposed to be inside the house; but as a matter of fact the supposition is soon forgotten, and the play goes on without any attention to the particular place of the action. On Clytemnestra's speech see Introduction, p. xiii .

P. 63, l. 1387, A prayer well sped to Zeus of Hell.]—As the third gift or libation was ritually given to Zeus the Saviour, Clytemnestra blasphemously suggests that her third and unnecessary blow was an acceptable gift to a sort of anti-Zeus, a Saviour of Death.

P. 65, l. 1436, Aigisthos.]—At last the name is mentioned which has been in the mind of every one!—Chrysêïs was a prisoner of war, daughter of Chrysês, priest of Apollo. Agamemnon was made to surrender her to her father, and from this arose his quarrel with Achilles, which is the subject of the Iliad.

Pp. 67–72, ll. 1468–1573, Daemon.]—The Genius or guardian spirit of the house has in this House become a Wrath, an 'Alastor' or 'Driver Astray.' See Introduction, pp. x ff.

P. 68, l. 1513, Mourners .]—This attribution of the different speeches or songs to different speakers is, of course, conjectural. Ancient dramas come down to us with no stage directions and very imperfect indications of the speakers.

P. 72, l. 1579, Aigisthos .]—The entry of Aigisthos enlivens the scene again after the brooding and bewildered end of the dialogue between Clytemnestra and the Elders. At the same time, it seems, no doubt by deliberate intention, to reduce it to commonplace. Aigisthos' self-defence is largely justified, but he is no hero.

P. 73, l. 1602, Pleisthenês.]—Apparently one of the ancestors of Atreus, but it is not clear where he comes in the genealogy. He may be identical with Pelops.

P. 74, l. 1617. Oarsman of the nether row.]—On an ancient galley, bireme or trireme, the rowers of the lower bank of oars ranked as inferior to those who used the long oars from the deck.

P. 76, l. 1654.]—Clytemnestra, see Introduction , p. xiii . She longs for peace, yet after all "Had Zimri peace who slew his master?" The end of the play leaves us waiting for the return of Orestes. In the first scene of the Libation-Bearers , he is discovered standing by night at his father's grave.