Orestes: Ho, Warder! Hear! One knocketh at your gate! … Ho, Warder, yet again! I knock and wait. … A third time, ye within! I call ye forth; Or counts your lord the stranger nothing worth?
A Porter: Within, opening the main door.
Enough! I hear. What stranger and wherefrom?
Orestes: Go, rouse your masters. ’Tis to them I come, Bearing great news. And haste, for even now Night’s darkling chariot presseth to the brow Of heaven, and wayfarers like us must find Quick anchorage in some resthouse for our kind. Let one come forth who bears authority; A woman, if God will; but if it be A man, ’twere seemlier. With a woman, speech Trembles and words are blinded. Man can teach Man all his purpose and make clear his thought. Enter Clytemnestra from the House.
Clytemnestra: Strangers, your pleasure? If ye have need of aught All that beseems this House is yours to-day, Warm bathing and the couch that soothes away Toil, and the tendering of righteous eyes. Else, if ye come on some grave enterprise, That is man’s work; and I will find the man.
Orestes: I come from Phôkis, of the Daulian clan, And, travelling hither, bearing mine own load Of merchandise, toward Argos, as the road Branched, there was one who met me, both of us Strangers to one another: Strophius, A Phocian prince, men called him. On we strode Together, till he asked me of my road And prayed me thus: “Stranger, since other care Takes thee to Argos, prithee find me there
The kin of one Orestes. … Plainly said Is best remembered: tell them he is dead. Forget not. And howe’er their choice may run, To bear his ashes home, or leave their son In a strange grave, in death an exile still, Discover, and bring back to me their will. Tell them his ashes lie with me, inurned In a great jar of bronze, and richly mourned.” So much I tell you straight, being all I heard.
Howbeit, I know not if I speak my word To the right hearers, princes of this old Castle. Methinks his father should be told.
Clytemnestra: Ah me, So cometh the last wreck in spite of all! Curse of this House, thou foe that fear’st no fall, How dost thou spy my hidden things and mar Their peace with keen-eyed arrows from afar, Till all who might have loved me, all, are gone! And now Orestes; whom I had thought upon So wisely, walking in free ways, his gait Unsnarèd in this poison-marsh of hate! The one last hope, the healing and the prayer Of this old House, ’twas writ on empty air!
Orestes: For me, in a great House and favoured thus By fortune, ’tis by tidings prosperous I fain were known and welcomed. Pleasantest Of all ties is the tie of host and guest. But my heart told me ’twere a faithless thing To fail a comrade in accomplishing His charge, when I had pledged both word and hand.
Clytemnestra: Not for our sorrow shall thy portion stand The lowlier, nor thyself be less our friend. Another would have told us; and the end Is all one. But ’tis time that strangers who Have spent long hours in travel should have due Refreshment. Ho, there! Lead him to our broad Guest-chambers, and these comrades of his road Who follow. See they find all comfort there To assuage their way-worn bodies. And have care That in their tendance naught be found amiss. Ourselves shall with our Lord consult of this Distress, and, having yet good friends, who know My heart, take counsel how to affront the blow. Clytemnestra goes back into the Women’s House; Attendants lead Orestes and his followers through the main door.
Leader: Ye handmaidens, arise, be bold: See if our moving lips have power To aid Orestes in his hour; For sure ye loved this House of old.
Chorus: Thou holy Earth, thou holy shore Beyond the grave, where rests his head The Lord of Ships, the King, the Dead, Now list, now aid, or never more! The hour is full. The Guileful Word Descends to wrestle for the right, And Hermês guards the hour of night For him that smiteth with the sword. The Nurse enters from the Women’s House, weeping.
Leader: The stranger works some mischief, it would seem! Yonder I see Orestes’ Nurse, a-stream With tears.—How now, Kilissa, whither bound, And Grief the unbidden partner of thy round?
Nurse: The mistress bids me call Aigisthos here Quickly, to see these two, and learn more clear, As man from man, the truth of what they tell. Oh, to us slaves she makes it pitiable And grievous, and keeps hid behind her eyes The leaping laughter. Aye, ’tis a rich prize For her, and for the House stark misery, This news the travellers tell so trippingly. And, Oh, Aigisthos, he, you may be sure,
Will laugh to hear it! … Ah, I am a poor Old woman! Such a tangle as they were, The troubles in this House, and hard to bear, Long years back, and all aching in my breast! But none that hurt like this! Through all the rest … Well, I was sore, but lived them down and smiled. But little Orestes, my heart’s care, the child I took straight from his mother; and save me He had no other nurse! And, Oh, but he
Could scream and order me to tramp the dark! Aye, times enough, and trouble enough, and stark Wasted at that! A small thing at the breast, That has no sense, you tend it like a beast, By guesswork. For he never speaks, not he, A babe in swaddling clothes, if thirst maybe Or hunger comes, or any natural need. The little belly takes its way. Indeed, ’Twas oft a prophet he wanted, not a nurse;
And often enough my prophecies, of course, Came late, and then ’twas clothes to wash and dry, And fuller’s work as much as nurse’s. Aye, I followed both trades, from the day when first His father gave me Orestes to be nursed. … And now he is dead; and strangers come and tell The news to me. And this poor miserable Old woman must go tell the plunderer Who shames this house! Oh, glad he will be to hear!
Leader: How doth she bid him come? In what array?
Nurse: I take thee not. … What is it ye would say?
Leader: Comes he with spears to guard him or alone?
Nurse: She bids him bring the spearmen of the throne.
Leader: Speak not that bidding to our loathèd Lord! “Alone, quick, fearing nothing” is the word. So speak, and in thy heart let joy prevail! The teller straighteneth many a crookèd tale.
Nurse: What ails thee? Are these tidings to thy mind?
Leader: The wind is cold, but Zeus may change the wind.