Ho, bondmaids, up! Forget not your employ, A floor of crimson broideries to spread For the King’s path. Let all the ground be red Where those feet pass; and Justice, dark of yore, Home light him to the hearth he looks not for!
What followeth next, our sleepless care shall see Ordered as God’s good pleasure may decree. The attendants spread tapestries of crimson and gold from the Chariot to the Door of the Palace. Agamemnon does not move.
Agamemnon: Daughter of Leda, watcher of my fold, In sooth thy welcome, grave and amply told, Fitteth mine absent years. Though it had been Seemlier, methinks, some other, not my Queen, Had spoke these honours. For the rest, I say, Seek not to make me soft in woman’s way; Cry not thy praise to me wide-mouthed, nor fling Thy body down, as to some barbarous king. Nor yet with broidered hangings strew my path,
To awake the unseen ire. ’Tis God that hath Such worship; and for mortal man to press Rude feet upon this broidered loveliness … I vow there is danger in it. Let my road Be honoured, surely; but as man, not god. Rugs for the feet and yonder broidered pall … The names ring diverse! … Aye, and not to fall Suddenly blind is of all gifts the best God giveth, for I reckon no man blest
Ere to the utmost goal his race be run.
So be it; and if, as this day I have done, I shall do always, then I fear no ill.
Clytemnestra: Tell me but this, nowise against thy will …
Agamemnon: My will, be sure, shall falter not nor fade.
Clytemnestra: Was this a vow in some great peril made?
Agamemnon: Enough! I have spoke my purpose, fixed and plain.
Clytemnestra: Were Priam the conqueror … Think, would he refrain?
Agamemnon: Oh, stores of broideries would be trampled then!
Clytemnestra: Lord, care not for the cavillings of men!
Agamemnon: The murmur of a people hath strange weight.
Clytemnestra: Who feareth envy, feareth to be great.
Agamemnon: ’Tis graceless when a woman strives to lead.
Clytemnestra: When a great conqueror yields, ’tis grace indeed,
Agamemnon: So in this war thou must my conqueror be?
Clytemnestra: Yield! With good will to yield is victory!
Agamemnon: Well, if I needs must … Be it as thou hast said!
Quick! Loose me these bound slaves on which I tread, And while I walk yon wonders of the sea God grant no eye of wrath be cast on me From far! The Attendants untie his shoes. For even now it likes me not To waste mine house, thus marring underfoot The pride thereof, and wondrous broideries Bought in far seas with silver. But of these Enough.—And mark, I charge thee, this princess Of Ilion; tend her with all gentleness. God’s eye doth see, and loveth from afar, The merciful conqueror. For no slave of war Is slave by his own will. She is the prize And chosen flower of Ilion’s treasuries, Set by the soldiers’ gift to follow me.
Now therefore, seeing I am constrained by thee And do thy will, I walk in conqueror’s guise Beneath my Gate, trampling sea-crimson dyes. As he dismounts and sets foot on the Tapestries Clytemnestra’s women utter again their Cry of Triumph. The people bow or kneel as he passes.
Clytemnestra: There is the sea—its caverns who shall drain?— Breeding of many a purple-fish the stain Surpassing silver, ever fresh renewed, For robes of kings. And we, by right indued, Possess our fill thereof. Thy house, O King, Knoweth no stint, nor lack of anything.
What trampling of rich raiment, had the cry So sounded in the domes of prophesy, Would I have vowed these years, as price to pay For this dear life in peril far away! Where the root is, the leafage cometh soon To clothe an house, and spread its leafy boon Against the burning star; and, thou being come, Thou, on the midmost hearthstone of thy home, Oh, warmth in winter leapeth to thy sign. And when God’s summer melteth into wine The green grape, on that house shall coolness fall Where the true man, the master, walks his hall.
Zeus, Zeus! True Master, let my prayers be true! And, oh, forget not that thou art willed to do! She follows Agamemnon into the Palace. The retinues of both King and Queen go in after them. Cassandra remains.