The Libation Bearers

mortals linkèd go
The heart of a woman is perilous past all perils
Of stars above or deeps below.

Strophe 2

Wist ye not, O light of mind,
Her who slew her son with hate,
Thestios’ daughter desolate,
How she wrought All her thought
To one counsel, fiery-blind,
When she burned the brand of fate,
That was twin to him and brother
From the hour of that first cry
When the babe came from the mother
Till the strong man turned to die?

Antistrophe 2

Wist ye not one loathed of old,
Who to win a foe did sell,
Cruel, him who loved her well;
Skylla, dyed with blood and pride,
Who craved the rings of Cretan gold
That Minos gave, too rich to tell;
Like a wolf at night she came
Where he lay with tranquil breath,
And she cut the Crest of Flame:
And, a-sudden, all was death.

Strophe 3

But o’er all terrors on man’s tongue
The woman’s deed of Lemnos lies;
It echoes, like an evil song,
Far off, and whensoe’er there rise
New and strange sins, in dire surmise,
Men mind them of the Lemnian wrong.
Yet surely by the Sin God’s eye
Abhorreth, mortal man shall die,
And all the glory that was his.
For who shall lift that thing on high
Which God abaseth? Not amiss
I garner to my crown of woe
These sins of Woman long ago.

Antistrophe 3

O lust so old, so hard of heart!
I lose me in the stories told,
Untimely. Have these walls no part
In ravening of desire, as bold
And evil as those deeds of old?
The House with dread thereof doth start
From dreaming. On, through woe or weal
A woman brooding planned her path,
Against a warrior robed in steel,
And armies trembled at his wrath.
And he is gone; and we must kneel
On a cold hearth and bow in fear
Before a woman’s trembling spear.

Strophe 4

Lo, the sword hovereth at the throat
For Justice’ sake. It scorneth not
What the proud man to earth has trod.
Its edge is bitter to the bone;
It stabbeth on, thro’ iron, thro’ stone,
Till it reach him who hath forgot
That Ruth which is the law of God.

Antistrophe 4

For Justice is an oak that yet
Standeth; and Doom the Smith doth whet
His blade in the dark. But what is this?
A child led to the House from lands
Far off, and blood upon his hands!
The great Erinys wreaks her debt,
Whose thought is as the vast abyss.

The scene now represents the front of the Palace of the Atridae, with one door leading to the main palace, another to the Women’s House. Dusk is approaching.28 Enter Orestes and Pylades, disguised as merchants from Phôkis, with Attendants.

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.29 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,30 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