The Electra of Euripides Part 6

Wilt thou have it so?

I will take word to the old man. But go Quickly within, and whatso there thou find Set out for them. A woman, if her mind So turn, can light on many a pleasant thing To fill her board. And surely plenishing We have for this one day.--'Tis in such shifts As these, I care for riches, to make gifts To friends, or lead a sick man back to health With ease and plenty. Else small aid is wealth For daily gladness; once a man be done With hunger, rich and poor are all as one.

[_The_ PEASANT _goes off to the left_; ELECTRA _goes into the house._

CHORUS.

O for the ships of Troy, the beat [_Strophe_ 1.

Of oars that shimmered Innumerable, and dancing feet Of Nereids glimmered; And dolphins, drunken with the lyre, Across the dark blue prows, like fire, Did bound and quiver, To cleave the way for Thetis' son, Fleet-in-the-wind Achilles, on To war, to war, till Troy be won Beside the reedy river.

Up from Euboea's caverns came [_Antistrophe_ 1.

The Nereids, bearing Gold armour from the Lords of Flame, Wrought for his wearing: Long sought those daughters of the deep, Up Pelion's glen, up Ossa's steep Forest enchanted, Where Peleus reared alone, afar, His lost sea-maiden's child, the star Of h.e.l.las, and swift help of war When weary armies panted.

There came a man from Troy, and told [_Strophe_ 2.

Here in the haven, How, orb on orb, to strike with cold The Trojan, o'er that targe of gold, Dread shapes were graven.

All round the level rim thereof Perseus, on winged feet, above The long seas hied him; The Gorgon's wild and bleeding hair He lifted; and a herald fair, He of the wilds, whom Maia bare, G.o.d's Hermes, flew beside him.

[_Antistrophe_ 2.

But midmost, where the boss rose higher, A sun stood blazing, And winged steeds, and stars in choir, Hyad and Pleiad, fire on fire, For Hector's dazing: Across the golden helm, each way, Two taloned Sphinxes held their prey, Song-drawn to slaughter: And round the breastplate ramping came A mingled breed of lion and flame, Hot-eyed to tear that steed of fame That found Pirene's water.

The red red sword with steeds four-yoked [_Epode_.

Black-maned, was graven, That laboured, and the hot dust smoked Cloudwise to heaven.

Thou Tyndarid woman! Fair and tall Those warriors were, and o'er them all One king great-hearted, Whom thou and thy false love did slay: Therefore the tribes of Heaven one day For these thy dead shall send on thee An iron death: yea, men shall see The white throat drawn, and blood's red spray, And lips in terror parted.

[_As they cease, there enters from the left a very old man, bearing a lamb, a wineskin, and a wallet_.

OLD MAN.

Where is my little Princess? Ah, not now; But still my queen, who tended long ago The lad that was her father.... How steep-set These last steps to her porch! But faint not yet: Onward, ye failing knees and back with pain Bowed, till we look on that dear face again.

[_Enter_ ELECTRA.

Ah, daughter, is it thou?--Lo, here I am, With gifts from all my store; this suckling lamb Fresh from the ewe, green crowns for joyfulness, And creamy things new-curdled from the press.

And this long-stored juice of vintages Forgotten, cased in fragrance: scant it is, But pa.s.sing sweet to mingle nectar-wise With feebler wine.--Go, bear them in; mine eyes...

Where is my cloak?--They are all blurred with tears.

ELECTRA.

What ails thine eyes, old friend? After these years Doth my low plight still stir thy memories?

Or think'st thou of Orestes, where he lies In exile, and my father? Aye, long love Thou gavest him, and seest the fruit thereof Wasted, for thee and all who love thee!

OLD MAN.

All Wasted! And yet 'tis that lost hope withal I cannot brook. But now I turned aside To see my master's grave. All, far and wide, Was silence; so I bent these knees of mine And wept and poured drink-offerings from the wine I bear the strangers, and about the stone Laid myrtle sprays. And, child, I saw thereon Just at the censer slain, a fleeced ewe, Deep black, in sacrifice: the blood was new About it: and a tress of bright brown hair Shorn as in mourning, close. Long stood I there And wondered, of all men what man had gone In mourning to that grave.--My child, 'tis none In Argos. Did there come ... Nay, mark me now...

Thy brother in the dark, last night, to bow His head before that unadored tomb?

O come, and mark the colour of it. Come And lay thine own hair by that mourner's tress!

A hundred little things make likenesses In brethren born, and show the father's blood.

ELECTRA (_trying to mask her excitement and resist the contagion of his_).

Old heart, old heart, is this a wise man's mood?...

O, not in darkness, not in fear of men, Shall Argos find him, when he comes again, Mine own undaunted ... Nay, and if it were, What likeness could there be? My brother's hair Is as a prince's and a rover's, strong With sunlight and with strife: not like the long Locks that a woman combs.... And many a head Hath this same semblance, wing for wing, tho' bred Of blood not ours.... 'Tis hopeless. Peace, old man.

OLD MAN.

The footprints! Set thy foot by his, and scan The track of frame and muscles, how they fit!

ELECTRA.

That ground will take no footprint! All of it Is bitter stone.... It hath?... And who hath said There should be likeness in a brother's tread And sister's? His is stronger every way.

OLD MAN.

But hast thou nothing...? If he came this day And sought to show thee, is there no one sign Whereby to know him?... Stay; the robe was thine, Work of thy loom, wherein I wrapt him o'er That night and stole him through the murderers' door.

ELECTRA.

Thou knowest, when Orestes was cast out I was a child.... If I did weave some clout Of raiment, would he keep the vesture now He wore in childhood? Should my weaving grow As his limbs grew?... 'Tis lost long since. No more!

O, either 'twas some stranger pa.s.sed, and sh.o.r.e His locks for very ruth before that tomb: Or, if he found perchance, to seek his home, Some spy...

OLD MAN.

The strangers! Where are they? I fain Would see them, aye, and bid them answer plain...

ELECTRA.

Here at the door! How swift upon the thought!

_Enter_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.

OLD MAN.

High-born: albeit for that I trust them not.

The highest oft are false.... Howe'er it be,

[_Approaching them_.

I bid the strangers hail!

ORESTES.

All hail to thee, Greybeard!--Prithee, what man of all the King Trusted of old, is now this broken thing?

ELECTRA.

'Tis he that trained my father's boyhood.

ORESTES.