Chapter V: Part 5

ORESTES. 'Tis said in few. Electra, go within, And keep my counsels in wise secrecy; For, as they killed an honourable man Deceitfully, by cunning and deceit Themselves shall find the halter. Thus Apollo, A prophet never known to lie, foretold. Myself will come, like a wayfaring man Accoutred, guest and spear-guest of this house,[f7] With Pylades, my friend, to the court gates. We both will speak with a Parnassian voice, Aping the Phocian tongue. If then it chance (As seems most like, for this whole house with ills Is sheer possessed)[n41] that with a welcome greeting No servant shall receive us, we will wait Till some one pass, and for their churlish ways Rate them thus sharply. "Sirs, why dare ye shut Inhospitable doors against the stranger,[n42] Making Ægisthus sin against the gods?" When thus I pass the threshold of his courts, And see him sitting on my father's throne, When he shall scan me face to face, and seek To hear my tale; ere he may say the word, _Whence is the stranger?_ I will lay him dead, Dressing him trimly o'er with points of steel. The Fury thus, not scanted of her banquet, Shall drink unmingled blood from Pelops' veins, The third and crowning cup.[n43] Now, sister, see to 't That all within be ordered, as shall serve My end most fitly. Ye, when ye shall speak, Speak words of happy omen; teach your tongue Both to be silent, and to speak in season. For what remains, his present aid I ask, Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.[n44] [_Exeunt._

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CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Earth breeds a fearful progeny,[n45]
To man a hostile band.
With finny monsters teems the sea,
With creeping plagues the land;
And winged portents scour mid-air,
And flaring lightnings fly,
And storms, sublimely coursing, scare
The fields of the silent sky.

ANTISTROPHE I.
But Earth begets no monster dire
Than man's own heart more dreaded,
All-venturing woman's dreadful ire,[n46]
When love to woe is wedded.
No mate with mate there gently dwells,
There peace and joy depart,
Where loveless love triumphant swells,
In fearless woman's heart.

STROPHE II.
This the light-witted may not know,
The wise shall understand,
Who hear the tale from age to age,
How Thestios' daughter, wild with rage,[n47]
Lighted the fatal brand,
The brand that burned with conscious flashes
At the cry of her new-born son;
And, when the brand had burned to ashes,
His measured course was run.

ANTISTROPHE II.
And yet a tale of bloody love
From hoary eld I know,
How Scylla gay, in gold arrayed,[n48]
The gift of Minos old, betrayed
Her father to the foe.
Sleeping all careless as he lay,
She cut the immortal hair,
And Hermes bore his life away,
From the bold and blushless fair.

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STROPHE III.
Ah me! not far needs fancy range
For tales of harshest wrong:
Here, even here, damned wedlock thrives,
And lawless loves are strong.
Within these halls, where blazes now
No holy hearth, a bloody vow
Against her liege lord's life
She vowed; and he, the king divine,
Whose look back-drove the bristling line,
Bled by a woman's knife.

ANTISTROPHE III.
O woman! woman! Lemnos saw[n49]
Your jealous fountains flow,
And, when the worst of woes is named,
It is a Lemnian woe.
From age to age the infected tale,
Far echoed by a wandering wail,
To East and West shall go;
And honor from the threshold hies,
On which the doom god-spoken lies;[n50]
Speak I not wisely so?

STROPHE IV.
Right through the heart shall pierce the blow,
When Justice is the sinner's foe,
With the avenging steel;
In vain with brief success they strove,
Who trampled on the law of Jove,
With unregarding heel.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Firm is the base of Justice. Fate,
With whetted knife, doth eager wait
At hoary Murder's door;
The Fury, with dark-bosomed ire,
Doth send the son a mission dire,
To clear the parent's score.

[_Enter_ ORESTES.

ORESTES. What, ho! dost hear no knocking? boy! within! Is none within, boy? ho! dost hear me call {119} The third time at thy portal? Is Ægisthus A man, whose ears are deaf to the strangers' cry?

SERVANT. (_appearing at the door_) Enough. I hear thee. Who thou, and whence?

ORESTES. Tell those within that a poor stranger waits Before the gate, bearer of weighty news. Speed thee; night's dusky chariot swoopeth down, And the dark hour invites the travelling man To fix his anchor 'neath some friendly roof. Thy mistress I would see, if here a mistress Rules, or thy master rather, if a master. For with a man a man may plainly deal, But nice regard for the fine feeling ear[n51] Oft mars the teller's tale, when women hear.

[_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Strangers, speak your desire. Whate'er becomes This house to give is free to you to share. Hot baths,[n52] a couch to soothe your travelled toil, Blithe welcoming eyes, and gentle tendance; these I freely give. If aught beyond ye crave, There's counsel with my lord. I'll speak to him.

ORESTES. I am a stranger come from Phocian Daulis. When I, my burden to my back well saddled, Stood for the road accoutred, lo! a man To me not known, nor of me knowing more, But seeing only that my feet were bound For Argos, thus accosted me (his name, I learned, was Strophius the Phocian): Stranger, If Argos be thy purpose, bear this message From me to whom it touches near. Orestes Is dead; charge well thy memory with the tale, And bring me mandate back, if so his friends Would have him carried to his native home, Or he with us due sepulture shall find, A sojourner for ever. A brazen urn Holds all the remnant of the much-wept man, The ashes of his clay. Thus Strophius spake: And if ye are the friends, whom chiefly grief Pricks for his loss, my mission's done; at least His parents will be grieved to hear 't.

ELECTRA.[n53] Woe's me! Sheer down we topple from proud height; harsh fate {120} Is ours to wrestle with. O jealous Curse, How dost thou eye us fatal from afar, And with thy well-trimmed bow shoot chiefly there Where thou wert least suspect! Thou hast me now A helpless captive lorn, and reft of all My trustiest friends. Orestes also gone, Whose feet above the miry slough most sure Seemed planted! Now our revelry of hope, The fair account that should have surgeoned woe, Is audited at nothing![n54]

ORESTES. Would the gods, Where happy hosts, give welcome, I were guest On a more pleasant tale! The entertained No greater joy can know than with good news To recreate his entertainer's ears; But piety forbade, nor faith allowed To lop the head of truth.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Thou shalt not fare the worse for thy bad news, Nor be less dear to us. Hadst thou been dumb, Some other tongue had vented the sad tale. But ye have travelled weary leagues to-day, And doubtless need restoring. Take him, boy, With the attendant sharers of his travel, To the men's chambers. See them well bestowed, And do all things as one, that for neglect Shall give account. Meanwhile, our lord shall know What fate hath chanced; his wit and mine shall find What solace may be for these news unkind. [_Exeunt into the house._

CHORUS.
When, O when, shall we, my sisters,
Lift the strong full-throated hymn,
To greet Orestes' triumph? Thou,
O sacred Earth, and verge revered
Of this lofty mound, where sleeps
The kingly helmsman of our State,
Hear thou, and help! prevail the hour
Of suasive wile, and smooth deceit![n55]
Herald him Hermes--lead him, thou
The nightly courier of the dead,[n56]
Through this black business of the sword!
In sooth the host hath housed a grievous guest;
For see where comes Orestes' nurse, all tears!
Where goest thou, nurse, beyond our gates to walk,
And why walks Grief, an unfee'd page, with thee!

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[_Enter_ NURSE.

NURSE. My mistress bids me bring Ægisthus quickly, To see the strangers face to face, that he May of their sad tale more assurance win From their own mouths. Herself to us doth show A murky-visaged grief; but in her eye Twinkles a secret joy, that time hath brought The consummation most devoutly wished By her--to us and Agamemnon's house Most fatal issue, if these news be true. Ægisthus, too, with a light heart will hear These Phocian tidings. O wretched me! what weight Of mingled woes from sire to son bequeathed, Have the gods burdened us withal! Myself, How many griefs have shaken my old heart; But this o'ertops them all! The rest I bore, As best I might, with patience: but Orestes, My own dear boy, my daily, hourly care, Whom from his mother's womb these breasts did suckle-- How often did I rise o' nights, and walked From room to room, to soothe his baby cries; But all my nursing now, and all my cares Fall fruitless. 'Tis a pithless thing a child, No forest whelp so helpless; one must even Wait on its humour, as the hour may bring. No voice it has to speak its fitful wants, When hunger, thirst, or Nature's need commands. The infant's belly asks no counsel. I Was a wise prophetess to all his wants, Though sometimes false, as others are. I was Nurse to the child, and fuller to its clothes, And both to one sad end. Alack the day! This double trade with little fruit I plied, What time I nursed Orestes for his father; For he is dead, and I must live to hear it. But I must go, and glad his heart, who lives Plague of this house, with news that make me weep.

CHORUS. What say'st thou, Nurse? _how_ shall thy master come?

NURSE. _How_ say'st thou? how shall I receive the question?

CHORUS. Alone, I mean, or with his guards?

NURSE. She says His spearmen shall attend him.

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CHORUS. Not so, Nurse! If thou dost hate our most hate-worthy master, Tell him to come alone, without delay, To hear glad tidings with exulting heart. The bearer of a tale can make it wear What face he pleases.[n57]

NURSE. Well! if thou mean'st well, Perhaps--

CHORUS. Perhaps that Jove may make the breeze Yet veer to us.

NURSE. How so? Our only hope, Orestes, is no more.

CHORUS. Softly, good Nurse; Thou art an evil prophet, if thou say'st so.

NURSE. How? hast thou news to a different tune?

CHORUS. Go! go! Mind thine own business, and the gods will do What thing they will do.

NURSE. Well! I'll do thy bidding! The gods lead all things to a fair conclusion!

CHORAL HYMN.[n58]
STROPHE I.
O thou, o'er all Olympian gods that be,
Supremely swaying,
With words of wisdom, when I pray to thee,
Inspire my praying.
We can but pray; to do, O Jove, is thine,
Thou great director;
Of him within, who works thy will divine,
Be thou protector!
Him raise, the orphaned son whom thou dost see
In sheer prostration;
Twofold and threefold he shall find from thee
Just compensation.

ANTISTROPHE I.
But hard the toil. Yoked to the car of Fate,
When harshly driven,
O rein him thou! his goaded speed abate
Wisely from Heaven!
Jove tempers all, steadies all things that reel;
When wildly swerveth
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From the safe line life's burning chariot wheel,
His hand preserveth.
Ye gods, that guard these gold-stored halls, this day
Receive the claimant,
Who comes, that old Wrong to young Right may pay
A purple payment.

STROPHE II.
BLOOD BEGETS BLOOD; but, when this blow shall fall,
O thou, whose dwelling
Is Delphi's fuming throat, may this be all!
Of red blood, welling
From guilty veins, enough. Henceforth may joy
Look from the eyes of the Atridan boy,
Discerning clearly
From his ancestral halls the clouds unrolled,
That hung so drearly.

ANTISTROPHE II.
And thou, O Maia's son,[f8] fair breezes blow,
The full sail swelling!
Cunning art thou through murky ways to go,
To Death's dim dwelling;
Dark are the doings of the gods; and we,
When they are clearest shown, but dimly see;
Yet faith will follow
Where Hermes leads, the leader of the dead,
And thou, Apollo.

EPODE.
Crown ye the deed; then will I freely pour
The blithe libation,
And, with pure offerings, cleanse the Atridan floor
From desecration!
Then with my prosperous hymn the lyre shall blend
Its kindly chorus,
And Argos shall be glad, and every friend
Rejoice before us!
Gird thee with manhood, boy; though hard to do,
It is thy father's work; to him be true.
And, when she cries--_Son, wilt thou kill thy_ MOTHER?
Cry--FATHER, FATHER! and with that name smother
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The rising ruth. As Perseus, when he slew
The stony Dread,[f9] was stony-hearted, do
Thy mission stoutly;
For him below, and her above,[f10] pursue
This work devoutly.
The gods by thee, in righteous judgment, show
Their grace untender!
Thou to the man, that dealt the deathful blow,
Like death shalt render.

[_Enter_ ÆGISTHUS.

ÆGISTHUS. Not uninvited come I, having heard A rumour strange, by certain strangers brought, No pleasant tale--Orestes' death. In sooth, A heavy fear-distilling sorrow this, More than a house may bear, whose wounds yet bleed, And ulcerate from the fangs of fate. But say, Is this a fact that looks us in the face, Or startling words of woman's fears begotten, That shoot like meteors through the air, and die? What proof, ye maids, what proof?

CHORUS. Our ears have heard. But go within; thyself shalt see the man; Try well the teller, e'er thou trust the tale.

ÆGISTHUS. I'll scan him well, and prove him close, if he Himself was at the death, or but repeat From blind report the news another told. It will go hard, if idle breath cheat me. My eyes are in my head, and I can see. [_Exit into the house._

CHORUS.
Jove! great Jove! What shall I say?
How with pious fervour pray,
That from thee the answer fair
Be wafted to my friendly prayer?
Now the keen-edged axe shall strike,
With a life-destroying blow;
Now, or, plunged in deep perdition,
Agamemnon's house sinks low,
Or the hearth with hope this day
Shall blaze, through all the ransomed halls,
And the son his father's wealth
Shall win, and with his sceptre sway.
{125}
In the bloody combat fresh,
He shall risk it, one with two;
Hand to hand the fight shall be.
Godlike son of Agamemnon,
Jove give strength to thee!

ÆGISTHUS. (_from within_) Ah me! I fall. Ah! Ah!

CHORUS. Hear'st thou that cry? How is't? Whose was that groan? Let's go aside, the deed being done, that we Seem not partakers of the bloody work.[n59] 'Tis ended now.

[_Enter_ SERVANT.

SERVANT. Woe's me! my murdered master! Thrice woeful deed! Ægisthus lives no more. Open the women's gates! uncase the bolts! Were needed here a Titan's strength--though that Would nothing boot the dead. Ho! hillo! ho! Are all here deaf? or do I babble breath In sleepers' ears? Where, where is Clytemnestra? What keeps my mistress? On a razor's edge Her fate now lies; the blow's already poised, That falls on her too--nor unjustly falls.

[_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Well! what's the matter? why this clamorous cry?

SERVANT. He, who was dead, has slain the quick. 'Tis so.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Ha! Thou speak'st riddles; but I understand thee. We die by guile, as guilefully we slew. Bring me an axe! an axe to kill a man! Quickly!--or conqueror or conquered, I Will fight it out. To this 'tis come at last.

[_Enter_ ORESTES, _dragging in the dead body of_ ÆGISTHUS; _with him_
PYLADES.

ORESTES. Thee next I seek. For him, he hath enough.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Ah me! my lord, my loved Ægisthus dead!

ORESTES. Dost love this man? then thou shalt sleep with him, In the same tomb. He was thy bedmate living, Be thou his comrade, dead.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Hold thee, my son! Look on this breast, to which with slumbrous eyes Thou oft hast clung, the while thy baby gum Sucked the nutritious milk.

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ORESTES. What say'st thou, Pylades? Shall I curtail the work, and spare my mother?

PYLADES. Bethink thee well; the Loxian oracles, Thy sure-pledged vows, where are they, if she live? Make every man thy foe, but fear the gods.

ORESTES. Thy voice shall rule in this; thou judgest wisely. Follow this man; here, side by side with him, I'll butcher thee. Seemed he a fairer man Than was my father when my father lived? Sleep thou, where he sleeps; him thou lovest well, And whom thou chiefly shouldst have loved thou hatedst.

CLYTEMNESTRA. I nursed thy childhood, and in peace would die.[n60]

ORESTES. Spare thee to live with me--my father's murderer?

CLYTEMNESTRA. Not I; say rather Fate ordained his death.

ORESTES. The self-same Fate ordains thee now to die.

CLYTEMNESTRA. My curse beware, the mother's curse that bore thee.

ORESTES. That cast me homeless from my father's house.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Nay; to a friendly house I lent thee, boy.

ORESTES. Being free-born, I like a slave was sold.

CLYTEMNESTRA. I trafficked not with thee. I gat no gold.

ORESTES. Worse--worse than gold--a thing too foul to name!

CLYTEMNESTRA. Name all my faults; but had thy father none?

ORESTES. Thou art a woman sitting in thy chamber.[n61] Judge not the man that goes abroad, and labours.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Hard was my lot, my child, alone, uncherished.

ORESTES. Alone by the fire, while for thy gentle ease The husband toiled.

CLYTEMNESTRA.
Thou wilt not kill me, son?

ORESTES. I kill thee not. Thyself dost kill thyself.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Beware thy mother's anger-whetted hounds.[f11]

ORESTES. My father's hounds have hunted me to thee.

CLYTEMNESTRA. The stone that sepulchres the dead art thou, And I the tear on't.

ORESTES. Cease: I voyaged here, With a fair breeze; my father's murder brought me.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Ah me! I nursed a serpent on my breast.

ORESTES.[n62] Thou hadst a prophet in thy dream, last night; And since thou kill'd the man thou shouldst have spared, The man, that now should spare thee, can but kill.

[_He drives her into the house, and there murders her._

CHORUS. There's food for sorrow here; but rather, since Orestes could not choose but scale the height {127} Of bloody enterprise, our prayer is this: That he, the eye of this great house, may live.[n63]

CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. Hall of old Priam, with sorrow unbearable, Vengeance hath come on the Argive thy foe; A pair of grim lions, a double Mars terrible,[n64] Comes to his palace, that levelled thee low. Chanced hath the doom of the guilty precisely, Even as Phœbus foretold it, and wisely Where the god pointed, was levelled the blow. Lift up the hymn of rejoicing; the lecherous, Sin-laden tyrant shall lord it no more; No more shall the mistress so bloody and treacherous Lavish the plundered Pelopidan store.

STROPHE II. Sore chastisement[n65] came on the doomed and devoted, With dark-brooding purpose and fair-smiling show; And the daughter of Jove the eternal was noted, Guiding the hand that inflicted the blow-- Bright Justice, of Jove, the Olympian daughter; But blasted they fell with the breath of her slaughter Whose deeds of injustice made Justice their foe. Her from his shrine sent the rock-throned Apollo,[n66] The will of her high-purposed sire to obey, The track of the blood-stained remorseless to follow, Winged with sure death, though she lag by the way.

EPODE. Ye rulers on Earth, fear the rulers in Heaven, No aid by the gods to the froward is given; For the bonds of our thraldom asunder are riven, And the day dawns clear. Lift up your heads; from prostration untimely Ye halls of the mighty be lifted sublimely! All-perfecting Time shall bring swift restitution, And cleanse the hearth pure from the gory pollution, Now the day dawns clear. And blithely shall welcome them Fortune the fairest,[n67] The brother and sister, with omens the rarest; Each friend of this house show the warm love thou bearest, Now the day dawns clear!

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[_Enter_ ORESTES, _with the body of_ CLYTEMNESTRA.

ORESTES. Behold this tyrant pair, my father's murderers, Usurpers of this land, and of this house Destroyers. They this throne did use in pride, And now in love, as whoso looks may guess, They lie together, all their vows fulfilled. Death to my hapless father, and to lie Themselves on a common bier--this was their vow; And they have vowed it well. Behold these toils, Wherewith they worked destruction to my father, Chained his free feet, and manacled his hands. There--spread it forth--approach--peruse it nicely. This mortal vest, that so the father--not My father, but the Sun that fathers all With light[n68]--may see what godless deed was done Here by my mother. Let him witness duly, That not unjustly I have spilt this blood-- My mother's; for Ægisthus recks me not; As an adulterer should, he died: but she, That did devise such foul detested wrong Against the lord, to whom beneath her zone She bore a burden, once so valued, now A weight that damns her; what was she?--a viper Or a torpedo--that with biteless touch Strikes numb who handles.[n69] Harsh the smoothest phrase To name the bold unrighteous will she used. And for this fowler's net--this snare--this trap-- This cloth to wrap the dead[n70]--this veil to curtain A bloody bath--teach me a name for it! Such murderous toils the ruffians use, who spill Their neighbour's blood, that they may seize his gold, And warm their heart with plenty not their own. Lodge no such mate with me! Sooner may I Live by high Heaven accursed, and childless die.

CHORUS.
A sorry work--alas! alas!
A dismal death she found.
Nor sorrow quite from man may pass
That lives above the ground.

ORESTES. A speaking proof! Behold, Ægisthus' sword Hath left its witness on this robe; the time Hath paled the murtherous spot, but where it was The sumptuous stole hath lost its radiant dye. {129} Alas! I know not, when mine eyes behold This father-murdering web, if I should own Joy lord, or grief. Let grief prevail. I grieve Our crimes, our woes, our generation doomed, Our tearful trophies blazoned with a curse.

CHORUS.
The gods so will that, soon or late,
Each mortal taste of sorrow;
A frown to-day from surly Fate,
A biting blast to-morrow.

ORESTES. Others 'twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate Is fixed and scapeless.[n71] Like a charioteer, Dragged from his course by steeds that spurned the rein, Thoughts past control usurp me. Terror lifts, Even now, the prelude to her savage hymn, Within my heart exultant. But, while yet My sober mind remains, witness ye all My friends, this solemn abjuration! Not Unjustly, when I slew, I slew my mother-- That mother, with my father's blood polluted, Of every god abhorred. And I protest The god that charmed me to the daring point Was Loxias, with his Pythian oracles, Pledging me blameless, this harsh work once done, Not done, foredooming what I will not say; All thoughts most horrible undershoot the mark. And now behold me, as a suppliant goes, With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch,[n72] Addressed for Delphi, the firm-seated shrine Of Loxias, navel of earth, where burns the flame Of fire immortal named.[n73] For I must flee This kindred blood, and hie me where the god Forespoke me refuge. Once again I call On you, and Argive men of every time, To witness my great griefs. I go an exile From this dear soil. Living, or dead, I leave These words, the one sad memory of my name.

CHORUS. Thou hast done well; yoke not thy mouth this day To evil words. Thou art the liberator Of universal Argos, justly greeted, Who from the dragon pair the head hath lopped.

[_The_ FURIES _appear in the background_.

ORESTES. Ah, me! see there! like Gorgons! look! look there! {130} All dusky-vested, and their locks entwined With knotted snakes. Away! I may not stay.

CHORUS. O son, loved of thy sire, be calm, nor let Vain phantoms fret thy soul, in triumph's hour.

ORESTES. These are no phantoms, but substantial horrors; Too like themselves they show, the infernal hounds Sent from my mother!

CHORUS. 'Tis the fresh-gouted blood Upon thy hand, that breeds thy brain's distraction.

ORESTES. Ha! how they swarm! Apollo! more--yet more! And from their fell eyes droppeth murderous gore.

CHORUS. There is atonement.[n74] Touch but Loxias' altar, And he from bloody stain shall wash thee clean.

ORESTES. Ye see them not. I see them.[n75] There!--Away! The hell-hounds hunt me: here I may not stay.

CHORUS.
Nay, but with blessing go. From fatal harm
Guard thee the god whose eyes in love behold thee![n76]
Blown hath now the third harsh tempest,
O'er the proud Atridan palace,
Floods of family woe!
First thy damned feast, Thyestes,
On thy children's flesh abhorrent;
Then the kingly man's prostration,
And thy warlike pride, Achaia,
Butchered in a bath;
Now he, too, our greeted Saviour
Red with this new woe!
When shall Fate's stern work be ended,
When shall cease the boisterous vengeance,
Hushed in slumbers low?

[The End]

THE EUMENIDES

{131}

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

ἄλγεα
Πολλὰ μἀλ᾽ ὃσσα τε μητρὸς Ἐριννύες ἐκτελέουσιν.
_Odyssey_ xi. 289.

My solitude is solitude no more, But peopled with the Furies. BYRON.

PERSONS

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THE PYTHONESS of the Temple of Apollo in Delphi. APOLLO. HERMES (Mute). THE SHADE OF CLYTEMNESTRA. CHORUS OF FURIES. PALLAS ATHENA. JUDGES of the Court of Areopagus (Mute). CONVOY OF THE FURIES.

SCENE--_First at Delphi in the Temple of Apollo; then on the Hill of Mars, Athens._

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

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THOUGH the ancient Greek religion, there can be no question, was too much the creation of mere imagination, and tended rather to cultivate a delicate sense of beauty than to strike the soul with a severe reverence before the awful majesty of the moral law, yet it is no less certain that to look upon it as altogether addressed to our sensuous emotions, however convenient for a certain shallow school of theology, would lead the calm inquirer after moral truth far away from the right track. As among the gods that rule over the elements of the physical world, Jove, according to the Homeric creed, asserts a high supremacy, which restrains the liberty of the celestial aristocracy from running into lawless licence and confusion; so the wild and wanton ebullitions of human passion, over which a Bacchus, a Venus, and a Mars preside, are not free from the constant control of a righteous Jove, and the sacred terror of a retributive Erinnys. The great lesson of a moral government, and a secret order of justice pervading the apparent confusion of the system of things of which we are a part, is sufficiently obvious in the whole structure of the two great Homeric poems; but if it exists in the midst of that sunny luxuriance of popular fancy as a felt atmosphere, it is planted by Æschylus, the thoughtful lyrist of a later age, on a visible elevation, whence, as from a natural pulpit, enveloped with dark clouds, or from a Heathen Sinai, involved in fearful thunders and lightnings, it trumpets forth its warnings, and hurls its bolts of flaming denunciation against Sin. The reader, who has gone through the two preceding pieces of this remarkable trilogy, without discovering this their deep moral significance, has read to little purpose; but it is here, in the concluding piece, that the grand doctrine of the moral government of the world is most formally enunciated; it is in the person of the Furies that the wrathful indignation of Jove against the violators of the moral law manifests itself, in the full panoply of terror, and stands out as the stern Avatar of an inexorable Justice. Here, therefore, if we will understand the moral seriousness, of which the gay Hellenic Polytheism was not without its background, let us fix our gaze. If the principles of "immutable morality," of which our great English Platonist talks so comprehensively, are to be found anywhere, they are to be found here.

{134}

The Furies (or the Εὐμενίδες, _i.e._ the _Gracious-minded_, as they are called by a delicate euphemism) are generally looked upon as the impersonations of an evil conscience, the incarnated scourges of self-reproach. In this view there is no essential error; but it may be beneficial, in entering on the perusal of the present piece, to place before the modern reader more literally the true Homeric idea of these awful Powers. In the Iliad and Odyssey, frequent mention is made of the Erinnyes; and from the circumstances, in which their names occur, in various passages of these poems, there can be no doubt that we are to view them primarily as the impersonation of an imprecation or curse, which a person, whose natural rights have been grossly violated, pronounces on the person, by whom this violation comes.[f1] Thus the father of Phoenix (Il. ix. 453), being offended by the conduct of his son in relation to one of his concubines, "loads him with frequent curses, and invokes the hated Furies"--

Πολλὰ κατηρατο, στυγερὰς δ᾽ ἐπίκεκλετ Εριννΰς,

and "the gods," it is added, "gave accomplishment to his curse, the subterranean Jove, and the awful Persephone." In the same book we find, in the narration of the war, between the Curetes and the Ætolians, about Calydon, how Althaea, the mother of Meleager, being offended with her son on account of his having slain her brother, cursed him, and invoked Pluto and Proserpine that he might die, and

Her the Fury that walketh in darkness,
Heard from Erebus' depths, with a heart that knoweth no mercy.

Both these instances relate to offences committed against the revered character of a parent; but the elder brother also has his Erinnys.--(Il. xv. 204), and even the houseless beggar--(Od. xvii. 575), and, more than all, he to whose prejudice the sacred obligation of truth and honour have been set at nought by the perjured swearer--

Mighty Jove, be thou my witness, Jove of gods supremest, best,
Earth, and Sun, and Furies dread, that underneath the ground avenge
Whoso speaks and sweareth falsely--

says Agamemnon--(Il. xix. 257)--in restoring the intact Briseis to Achilles.

Thus, according to Homer's idea, wherever there is a cry of righteous indignation, rising up to Heaven from the breast of an injured person, there may be a Fury or Furies; for they are not {135} limited or defined in any way as to number. It is not, however, on every petty occasion of common offence that these dread ministers of divine vengeance appear. Only, when deeds of a deeper darkness are done, do these daughters of primeval Night (for so Æschylus symbolises their pedigree) issue forth from their subterranean caverns. There is something volcanic in their indignation, whose eruption is too terrible to be common. They chiefly frequent the paths, that are dabbled with blood. A murdered father, or a murdered mother especially, were never known to appeal to them in vain, even though Jove's own prophet, Apollo, add his sanction to the deed. An Orestes may not hope to escape the bloody chase, which the "winged hounds," invoked by a murdered Clytemnestra, are eager to prepare--the sacred precincts of an oracular Delphi may not repel their intrusion--the scent of blood "laughs in their nostrils," and they will not be cheated of their game. Only one greatest goddess, in whose hands are the keys of her father's armoury of thunder, may withstand the full rush of these vindictive powers. Only Pallas Athena, with her panoply of Olympian strength, and her divine wisdom of reconciliation can bid them be pacified.

In order to understand thoroughly the situation of the matricide Orestes, in the present play, we must consider further the ancient doctrine of pollution attaching to an act of murder, and the consequent necessity of purification to the offender. The nature of this is distinctly set forth by Orestes himself in a reply to his sister Iphigenia, put into his mouth by Euripides. "Loxias," he says, "first sent me to Athens, and

There first arrived, no host would entertain me,
As being hated of the immortal gods,
And some, who pitied me, before me placed
Cold entertainment on a separate board;
Beneath the same roof though I lodged with them,
No interchange of living voice I knew,
But sat apart and ate my food alone."
Iphig. Taur. 954.

Like an unclean leper among the Jews, the man polluted with human blood wandered from land to land, as with a Cain's mark upon his brow, and every fellow-being shrank from his touch as from a living plague.

"For wisely thus our ancestors ordained,
That the blood-tainted man should know no joy
From sight of fellow-mortal or from touch,
But with an horrid sanctitude protected
Range the wide earth an exile."
EURIP. Orest. 512.

{136}

Under the ban of such a social excommunication as this, the first act of readmission into the fraternity of human society was performed by the sprinkling of swine's blood on the exile, a ceremony described particularly in the following passage of Apollonius Rhodius, where Jason and Medea are purified by Circe from the taint of the murder of Absyrtus:--

"First to free them from the taint of murder not to be recalled,
She above them stretched the suckling of a sow whose teats distilled
The juice that flows when birth is recent; this she cut across the
throat,
And with the crimson blood outflowing dashed the tainted suppliants'
hands.
Then with other pure libations she allayed the harm, invoking
Jove that hears the supplication of the fugitive stained with blood."
ARGON. IV. 704-9.

The other "pure libations" here mentioned include specially water, of which particular mention is made in the legend of Alcmæon, which bears a remarkable resemblance to that of Orestes, and in which it is in the sacred stream of the Achelous alone that purification is at length found, from the deeply-engrained guilt of matricide.--(Apollodor, Lib. III., c. 7.) All this, however, availed only to remove the unhallowed taint, with which human blood had defiled the murderer. It was necessary, further, that he should be tried before a competent court, and formally acquitted, as having performed every atonement and given every satisfaction that the nature of the case required. According to the consuetudinary law of Athens, there were various courts in which different cases of murder and manslaughter were tried; but of all the courts that held solemn judgment on shed blood, none was more venerable in its origin, or more weighty in its authority, than the famous court of the Areopagus; and here it is, accordingly, that, after being wearied out by the sleepless chase of his relentless pursuers, Orestes, with the advice and under the protection of Apollo, arrives to gain peace to his soul by a final verdict of acquittal from the sage elders of Athens, acting by the authority and with the direction of their wise patron-goddess, Athena.

The connection of Athena and the Areopagus with the Orestean legend gives to the present play a local interest and a patriotic hue of which the want is too often felt in the existing remains of the Attic tragedy. But Athena and the grave seniors of the hill of Ares are not the only celestial personages here, in whom an Athenian audience would find a living interest. The Furies themselves enjoyed a special reverence in the capital of Athens, under the title of Σεμνὰι θεαι, or the _dread goddesses_; and the principal seat of this worship, whether by a happy conjunction or a wise choice, was situated on {137} the north-east side (looking towards the Acropolis) of that very hill of the war god, where the venerable court that bore his name held its solemn sessions on those crimes, which it was the principal function of the Furies to avenge. Up to the present hour, the curious traveller through the wreck of Athenian grandeur sees pointed out the black rift of the rock into which the awful virgins, after accepting the pacification of Athena, are reported to have descended into their subterranean homes;[f2] and it is with this very descent, amid flaming torch-light and solemn hymns, that the great tragedian, mingling peace with fear, closes worthily the train of startling superhuman terrors which this drama exhibits.

But Æschylus is not a patriot only, and a pious worshipper of his country's gods in this play, he is also, to some small extent at least, manifestly a politician. The main feature of the constitutional history of Athens in the period immediately following the great Persian war, to which period our trilogy belongs, was the enlargement and the systematic completion of those democratic forms, of which the timocratic legislation of Solon, about a century and a-half before, had planted the first germs. Of these changes, Pericles, the man above all others who knew both to understand and to control his age, was the chief promoter; and in a policy whose main tendency was the substitution of a numerous popular for a narrow professional control of public business, it could not fail to be a main feature, that the authority of the judges of the old aristocratic courts was curtailed in favour of those bodies of paid jurymen, the institution of which is specially attributed to Pericles and his coadjutor Ephialtes.[f3] Whether these changes were politic or not, in the large sense of that word, need not be inquired here; Mr. Grote has done much to lengthen the focus of those short-sighted national spectacles, through which the English eye has been accustomed to view the classic democracies; but let it be that Pericles kept within the bounds of a wise liberty in giving a fair and a large trial to the action of democratic principles at that time and place; or let it be, on the other hand, that he overstepped the line

"Which whoso passes, or who reaches not,
Misses the mark of right"--

in either case, where decision was so difficult, and discretion so delicate, no one can accuse the thoughtful tragic poet of a stolid conservatism, when he comes forward, in this play, as the advocate of {138} the only court of high jurisdiction in Athens, now left unshaken by the great surge of those popular billows, that were yet swelling everywhere with the eager inspiration of Marathon and Salamis.[f4] The court of Areopagus was not now, since the legislation of Solon, and the further democratic movement of Cleisthenes, in any invidious or exclusive sense an aristocratic assembly, such as the close corporations of the old Roman aristocracy before the series of popular changes introduced by Licinius Stolo; it was a council, in fact, altogether without that family and hereditary element, in which the principal offence of aristocracy has always lain; its members were composed entirely (not recruited merely like our House of Lords) of those superior magistrates--archons annually elected by the people--who had retired from office. To magnify the authority of such a body, and maintain intact the few privileges that had now been left it, was, when an obvious opportunity offered, not only excusable in a great national tragedian, but imperative. One thing his political attitude in this matter certainly proves, that he was not a vulgar hunter after popularity, delighting to swell to the point of insane exaggeration the cry of the hour, but one of those men of high purpose, who prove a greater strength of patriotism by stemming the popular stream, than by swimming with it.

Besides the championship of the Court of the Areopagus, there is another political element in this rich drama, which, though of less consequence, must not be omitted. No sooner had the Persian invaders been fairly driven back from the Hellenic shore, than that old spirit of narrow local jealousy, which was the worm at the heart of Grecian political existence, broke out with renewed vigour, and gave ominous indications in the untoward affair of Tanagra, of that terrible collision which shook the two great rival powers a few years afterwards in the famous Peloponnesian war. Sparta and Athens, opposed as they were by race, by geographical position, and by political character, after some public attempts at co-operation, in which Cimon was the principal actor, shrunk back, as in quiet preparation for the great trial of strength, into a state of isolated antagonism. But, though open hostility was deferred, wise precaution could not sleep; and, accordingly, we find the Athenians, about this time, anxious to secure a base of operations, so to speak, against Sparta in the Peloponnesus, by entering into an alliance with Argos. As a genuine Athenian, Æschylus, whatever his political feelings might be towards Cimon and the Spartan party, could not but look with {139} pleasure on the additional strength which this Argive connection gave to Athens in the general council of Greece; and, accordingly, he dexterously takes advantage of the circumstance of Orestes being an Argive, to trace back the now historical union of the two countries to a period where Fancy is free to add what links she pleases to the brittle bonds of international association.

Such is a rapid sketch of the principal religious and political relations, some notion of which is necessary to enable the general English reader to enter with sympathy on the perusal of the very powerful and singular drama of the Eumenides. The professional student, of course, will not content himself with what he finds here, but will seek for complete satisfaction in the luminous pages of Thirlwall and Grote--in the learned articles of Dr. Smith's Dictionary of Antiquities, in the notes of Schoemann, and, above all, in the rare Dissertations of Ottfried Müller, accompanying his edition of the Eumenides--a work which I have read once and again with mingled admiration and delight--from which I have necessarily drawn with no stinted hand in my endeavours to comprehend the Orestean trilogy for myself, and to make it comprehensible to others; and which I most earnestly recommend to all classical students as a pattern-specimen of erudite architecture raised by the hand of a master, from whom, even in his points of most baseless speculation (as what German is without such?), more is to be learned than from the triple-fanged certainties of vulgar commentators.

THE EUMENIDES

{141}

[SCENE.--_In front of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi._

THE PYTHONESS. Old Earth, primeval prophetess, I first With these my prayers invoke; and Themis[n1] next, Who doth her mother's throne and temple both Inherit, as the legend runs; and third In lot's due course, another Earth-born maid The unforced homage of the land received, Titanian Phœbe;[f5] she in natal gift With her own name her hoary right bequeathed To Phœbus: he from rocky Delos' lake[n2] To Attica's ship-cruised bays was wafted, whence He in Parnassus fixed his sure abode. Hither with pious escort they attend him: The Sons of Vulcan pioneer his path,[n3] Smoothing the rugged desert where he comes: The thronging people own him, and king Delphos, The land's high helmsman, flings his portals wide. Jove with divinest skill his heart inspires, And now the fourth on this dread seat enthroned Sits Loxias,[f6] prophet of his father Jove.[n4] These be the gods, whom chiefly I invoke: But thee, likewise, who 'fore this temple dwellest,[n5] Pallas, I pray, and you, ye Nymphs that love The hollow Corycian rock,[n6] the frequent haunt Of pleasant birds, the home of awful gods. Thee, Bromius, too, I worship,[n7] not unweeting How, led by thee, the furious Thyads rushed To seize the godless Pentheus,[n8] ev'n as a hare Is dogged to death. And you, the fountains pure Of Pleistus,[f7] and Poseidon's[f8] mighty power[n9] I pray, and Jove most high, that crowns all things With consummation. These the gods that lead me To the prophetic seat, and may they grant me Best-omened entrance; may consulting Greeks, If any be, by custom'd lot approach; {142} For as the gods my bosom stir, I pour The fateful answer. [_She goes into the Temple, but suddenly returns._ O horrid tale to tell! O sight to see Most horrible! that drives me from the halls Of Loxias, so that I nor stand nor run, But, like a beast fourfooted stumble on, Losing the gait and station of my kind, A gray-haired woman, weaker than a child![n10] Up to the garlanded recess I walked, And on the navel-stone[f9] behold! a man With crime polluted to the altar clinging, And in his bloody hand he held a sword Dripping with recent murder, and a branch Of breezy olive, with flocks of fleecy wool All nicely tipt. Even thus I saw the man; And stretched before him an unearthly host Of strangest women, on the sacred seats Sleeping--not women, but a Gorgon brood, And worse than Gorgons, or the ravenous crew That filched the feast of Phineus[n11] (such I've seen In painted terror); but these are wingless, black, Incarnate horrors, and with breathings dire Snort unapproachable, and from their eyes Pestiferous beads of poison they distil. Such uncouth sisterhood, apparel'd so,[n12] From all affinity of gods or men Divorced, from me and from the gods be far, And from all human homes! Nor can the land, That lends these unblest hags a home, remain Uncursed by fearful scourges. But the god, Thrice-potent Loxias himself will ward His holiest shrine from lawless outrage. Him Physician, prophet, soothsayer, we call, Cleansing from guilt the blood-polluted hall. [_Exit._

[_The interior of the Delphic Temple is now presented to view._
ORESTES _is seen clinging to the navel-stone; the_ EUMENIDES
_lie sleeping on the seats around. In the background_ HERMES
_beside_ ORESTES. _Enter_ APOLLO.

APOLLO. (_to_ ORESTES) Trust me, I'll not betray thee. Far or near, Thy guardian I, and to thine every foe {143} No gentle god. Thy madded persecutors Sleep-captured lie: the hideous host is bound. Primeval virgins, hoary maids, with whom Nor god, nor man, nor beast hath known communion. For evil's sake they are: in evil depth Of rayless Tartarus, underneath the ground, They dwell, of men and of Olympian gods Abhorred. But hence! nor faint thy heart, though they Are mighty to pursue from land to land O'er measureless tracks, from rolling sea to sea, And sea-swept cities. A bitter pasture truly Was thine from Fate;[n13] but bear all stoutly. Hie thee Away to Pallas' city, and embrace Her ancient image[n14] with close-clinging arms. Just Judges there we will appoint to judge Thy cause, and with soft-soothing pleas will pluck The sting from thy offence, and free thee quite From all thy troubles. Thou know'st that I, the god, When thou didst strike, myself the blow directed.

ORESTES. Liege lord Apollo, justice to the gods Belongs; in justice, O remember me. Thy power divine assurance gives that thou Can'st make thy will a deed.

APOLLO. Fear nought. Trust me. [_To_ HERMES] And thou, true brother's blood, true father's son, Hermes, attend, and to this mission gird thee. Fulfil the happy omen of thy name, The GUIDE,[f10] and guide this suppliant on his way. For Jove respects thy function and thy pride, The prosperous convoy, and the faithful guide.

[_Exit_ HERMES, _leading_ ORESTES. APOLLO _retires_.

[_Enter_ THE SHADE OF CLYTEMNESTRA.

CLYTEMNESTRA. Sleeping? All sleeping! Ho! What need of sleepers? While I roam restless, of my fellow-dead Dishonoured and reproached, by fault of you, That when I slew swift vengeance overtook me. But being slain myself, my avengers sleep And leave my cause to drift! Hear me, sleepers! Such taunts I bear, such contumelious gibes, Yet not one god is touched with wrath to avenge {144} My death, who died by matricidal hands. Behold these wounds![n15] look through thy sleep, and see! Read with thy heart; some things the soul may scan More clearly, when the sensuous lid hath dropt, Nor garish day confounds.[n16] Full oft have ye Of my libations sipped the wineless streams, The soothing? of my sober sacrifice, The silent supper from the solemn altar, At midnight hour when only ye are worshipped. But now all this beneath your feet lies trampled. The man is gone; fled like a hind! he snaps The meshes of your toils, and makes--O shame! Your Deity a mark for scoffers' eyes To wink at! Hear me, ye infernal hags, Unhoused from hell! For my soul's peace I plead, Once Clytemnestra famous, now a dream.[n17] [_The_ CHORUS _moans._ Ye moan! the while the man hath fled, and seeks For help from those that are no friends to me.[n18] [_The_ CHORUS _moans again._ Sleep-bound art thou. Hast thou no bowels for me? My Furies sleep, and let my murderer flee. [_The_ CHORUS _groans._ Groaning and sleeping! Up! What work hast thou To do, but thine own work of sorrow? Rouse thee! [_The_ CHORUS _groans again._ Sleep and fatigue have sworn a league to bind The fearful dragon with strong mastery.

CHORUS. (_with redoubled groans and shrill cries_) Hold! seize him! seize him! seize there! there! there! hold!

CLYTEMNESTRA. Thy dream scents blood; and, like a dog that doth In dreams pursue the chase, even so dost thou At phantasms bark and howl. To work! to work! Let not fatigue o'ermaster thus thy strength, Nor slumber soothe the sense of sharpest wrong. Torture thy liver with reproachful thoughts; Reproaches are the pricks that goad the wise. Up! blow a blast of bloody breath behind him! Dry up his marrow with the fiery vengeance! Follow! give chase! pursue him to the death!

[CHORUS,[n19] _starting up in hurry and confusion._

VOICE 1. Awake! awake! rouse her as I rouse thee!

{145}

VOICE 2. Dost sleep? arise! dash drowsy sleep away! Brave dreams be prelude to brave deed! Ho, sisters!

STROPHE I.
VOICE 1.
Shame, sisters, shame!
Insult and injury!
Shame, O shame!

VOICE 2.
Shame on me, too: a bootless, fruitless shame!

VOICE 1.
Insult and injury,
Sorrow and shame!
Burden unbearable,
Shame! O shame!

VOICE 2.
The snare hath sprung: flown is the goodly game.

VOICE 3.
I slept, and when sleeping
He sprang from my keeping;
Shame, O shame!

ANTISTROPHE I.
VOICE 1.
O son of Jove, in sooth,
If thou wilt hear the truth,
Robber's thy name!

VOICE 2.
Thou being young dost overleap the old.[n20]

VOICE 1.
A suppliant, godless,
And bloodstained, I see,
And bitter to parents,
Harboured by thee.

VOICE 2.
Apollo's shrine a mother-murderer's hold!

VOICE 3.
Apollo rewardeth
Whom Justice discardeth,
And robber's his name!

STROPHE II.
VOICE 1.
A voice of reproach
Came through my sleeping,
Like a charioteer
With his swift lash sweeping.

VOICE 2.
Thorough my heart,
Thorough my liver,
Keen as the cold ice
Shot through the river.

VOICE 3.
Harsh as the headsman,
Ruthless exacter,
When tearless he scourges
The doomed malefactor.

{146}

ANTISTROPHE II.
VOICE 1.
All blushless and bold
The gods that are younger
Would rule o'er the old,
With the right of the stronger.

VOICE 2.
The Earth's navel-stone
So holy reputed,
All gouted with blood,
With fresh murder polluted,
Behold, O behold!

VOICE 3.
By the fault of the younger,
The holiest holy
Is holy no longer.

STROPHE III.
VOICE 1.
Thyself thy hearth with this pollution stained,
Thyself, a prophet, free and unconstrained.

VOICE 2.
O'er the laws of the gods
Thou hast recklessly ridden,
Dispensing to men
Gifts to mortals forbidden;

VOICE 3.
Us thou hast reft
Of our name and our glory,
Us and the Fates,
The primeval, the hoary.

ANTISTROPHE III.
VOICE 1.
I hate the god. Though underneath the ground
He hide my prey, there, too, he shall be found.

VOICE 2.
I at each shrine
Where the mortal shall bend him,
Will jealously watch,
That no god may defend him.

VOICE 3.
Go where he will,
A blood-guilty ranger,
Hotly will hound him still
I, the Avenger!

APOLLO. Begone! I charge thee, leave these sacred halls! From this prophetic cell avaunt! lest thou A feathered serpent in thy breast receive, Shot from my golden bow; and, inly pained, Thou vomit forth black froth of murdered men, Belching the clotted slaughter by thy maw Insatiate sucked. These halls suit not for thee; {147} But where beheading, eye-out-digging dooms,[n21] Abortions, butcheries, barrenness abound, Where mutilations, flayings, torturings, Make wretches groan, on pointed stakes impaled, There fix your seats; there hold the horrid feasts, In which your savage hearts exultant revel, Of gods abominate--maids whose features foul Speak your foul tempers plainly. Find a home In some grim lion's den sanguinolent, not In holy temples which your breath pollutes. Depart, ye sheep unshepherded, whom none Of all the gods may own!

CHORUS. Liege lord, Apollo, Ours now to speak, and thine to hear: thyself Not aided only, but the single cause Wert thou of all thou blamest.

APOLLO.
How so? Speak!

CHORUS. Thine was the voice that bade him kill his mother.

APOLLO. Mine was the voice bade him avenge his father.

CHORUS. All reeking red with gore thou didst receive him.

APOLLO. Not uninvited to these halls he came.

CHORUS. And we come with him. Wheresoe'er he goes, His convoy we. Our function is to follow.

APOLLO. Follow! but from this holy threshold keep Unholy feet.

CHORUS. We, where we must go, go By virtue of our office.

APOLLO. A goodly vaunt! Your office what?

CHORUS. From hearth and home we chase All mother-murderers.

APOLLO. She was murdered here, That murdered first her husband.[n22]

CHORUS. Yet should she By her own body's fruitage have been slain?