Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

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Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 307

by Robert Browning


  CHOROS 1.

  I, in the first place, my opinion tell you:

  — To cite the townsmen, by help-cry, to house here.

  CHOROS 2.

  To me, it seems we ought to fall upon them

  At quickest — prove the fact by sword fresh-flowing!

  CHOROS 3.

  And I, of such opinion the partaker,

  Vote — to do something: not to wait — the main point!

  CHOROS 4.

  ‘T is plain to see: for they prelude as though of

  A tyranny the signs they gave the city.

  CHOROS 5.

  For we waste time; while they, — this waiting’s glory

  Treading to ground, — allow the hand no slumber.

  CHOROS 6.

  I know not — chancing on some plan — to tell it:

  ‘T is for the doer to plan of the deed also.

  CHOROS 7.

  And I am such another: since I’m schemeless

  How to raise up again by words — a dead man!

  CHOROS 8.

  What, and, protracting life, shall we give way thus

  To the disgracers of our home, these rulers?

  CHOROS 9.

  Why, ‘t is unbearable: but to die is better:

  For death than tyranny is the riper finish!

  CHOROS 10.

  What, by the testifying “Ah me” of him,

  Shall we prognosticate the man as perished?

  CHOROS 11.

  We must quite know ere speak these things concerning:

  For to conjecture and “quite know” are two things.

  CHOROS 12.

  This same to praise I from all sides abound in —

  Clearly to know — Atreides, what he’s doing!

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Much having been before to purpose spoken,

  The opposite to say I shall not shamed be:

  For how should one, to enemies, — in semblance,

  Friends, — enmity proposing, — sorrow’s net-frame

  Enclose, a height superior to outleaping?

  To me, indeed, this struggle of old — not mindless

  Of an old victory — came: with time, I grant you!

  I stand where I have struck, things once accomplished:

  And so have done, — and this deny I shall not, —

  As that his fate was nor to fly nor ward off.

  A wrap-round with no outlet, as for fishes,

  I fence about him — the rich woe of the garment:

  I strike him twice, and in a double “Ah-me!”

  He let his limbs go — there ! And to him, fallen,

  The third blow add I, giving — of Below ground

  Zeus, guardian of the dead — the votive favour.

  Thus in the mind of him he rages, falling,

  And blowing forth a brisk blood-spatter, strikes me

  With the dark drop of slaughterous dew — rejoicing

  No less than, at the god-given dewy-comfort,

  The sown-stuff in its birth-throes from the calyx.

  Since so these things are, — Argives, my revered here, —

  Ye may rejoice — if ye rejoice: but I — boast!

  If it were fit on corpse to pour libation,

  That would be right — right over and above, too!

  The cup of evils in the house he, having

  Filled with such curses, himself coming drinks of.

  CHOROS.

  We wonder at thy tongue: since bold-mouthed truly

  Is she who in such speech boasts o’er her husband!

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Ye test me as I were a witless woman:

  But I — with heart intrepid — to you knowers

  Say (and thou — if thou wilt or praise or blame me,

  Comes to the same) — this man is Agamemnon,

  My husband, dead, the work of the right hand here,

  Ay, of a just artificer: so things are.

  CHOROS.

  What evil, O woman, food or drink, earth-bred

  Or sent from the flowing sea,

  Of such having fed

  Didst thou set on thee

  This sacrifice

  And popular cries

  Of a curse on thy head?

  Off thou hast thrown him, off hast cut

  The man from the city: but —

  Off from the city thyself shalt be

  Cut — to the citizens

  A hate immense!

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Now, indeed, thou adjudgest exile to me,

  And citizens’ hate, and to have popular curses:

  Nothing of this against the man here bringing,

  Who, no more awe-checked than as ‘t were a beast’s fate, —

  With sheep abundant in the well-fleeced graze-flocks, —

  Sacrificed his child, — dearest fruit of travail

  To me, — as song-spell against Threkian blowings.

  Not him did it behove thee hence to banish

  — Pollution’s penalty? But hearing my deeds

  Justicer rough thou art! Now, this I tell thee:

  To threaten thus — me, one prepared to have thee

  (On like conditions, thy hand conquering) o’er me

  Rule: but if God the opposite ordain us,

  Thou shalt learn — late taught, certes — to be modest.

  CHOROS.

  Greatly-intending thou art:

  Much-mindful, too, hast thou cried

  (Since thy mind, with its slaughter-outpouring part,

  Is frantic) that over the eyes, a patch

  Of blood — with blood to match —

  Is plain for a pride!

  Yet still, bereft of friends, thy fate

  Is — blow with blow to expiate!

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  And this thou hearest — of my oaths, just warrant!

  By who fulfilled things for my daughter, Justice,

  Ate, Erinus, — by whose help I slew him, —

  Not mine the fancy — Fear will tread my palace

  So long as on my hearth there burns a fire,

  Aigisthos as before well-caring for me;

  Since he to me is shield, no small, of boldness.

  Here does he lie — outrager of this female,

  Dainty of all the Chruseids under Ilion;

  And she — the captive, the soothsayer also

  And couchmate of this man, oracle-speaker,

  Faithful bed-fellow, — ay, the sailors’ benches

  They wore in common, nor unpunished did so,

  Since he is — thus! While, as for her, — swan-fashion,

  Her latest having chanted, — dying wailing

  She lies, — to him, a sweetheart: me she brought to —

  My bed’s by-nicety-the whet of dalliance.

  CHOROS.

  Alas, that some

  Fate would come

  Upon us in quickness —

  Neither much sickness

  Neither bed-keeping —

  And bear unended sleeping,

  Now that subdued

  Is our keeper, the kindest of mood!

  Having borne, for a woman’s sake, much strife —

  By a woman he withered from life!

  Ah me!

  Law-breaking Helena who, one,

  Hast many, so many souls undone

  ‘Neath Troia! and now the consummated

  Much-memorable curse

  Hast thou made flower-forth, red

  With the blood no rains disperse,

  That which was then in the House —

  Strife all-subduing, the woe of a spouse.

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Nowise, of death the fate —

  Burdened by these things — supplicate!

  Nor on Helena turn thy wrath

  As the man-destroyer, as “she who hath,

  Being but one,

  Many and many a soul undone

  Of the men, the Danaoi” —

  And
wrought immense annoy!

  CHOROS.

  Daimon, who fallest

  Upon this household and the double-raced

  Tantalidai, a rule, minded like theirs displaced,

  Thou rulest me with, now,

  Whose heart thou gallest!

  And on the body, like a hateful crow,

  Stationed, all out of tune, his chant to chant

  Doth Something vaunt!

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Now, of a truth, hast thou set upright

  Thy mouth’s opinion, —

  Naming the Sprite,

  The triply gross,

  O’er the race that has dominion:

  For through him it is that Eros

  The carnage-licker

  In the belly is bred: ere ended quite

  Is the elder throe — new ichor!

  CHOROS.

  Certainly, great of might

  And heavy of wrath, the Sprite

  Thou tellest of, in the palace

  (Woe, woe!)

  — An evil tale of a fate

  By Até’s malice

  Rendered insatiate!

  Oh, oh, —

  King, king, how shall I beweep thee?

  From friendly soul whatever say?

  Thou liest where webs of the spider o’ersweep thee

  In impious death, life breathing away.

  O me — me!

  This couch, not free.

  By a slavish death subdued thou art,

  From the hand, by the two-edged dart.

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Thou boastest this deed to be mine:

  But leave off styling me

  “The Agamemnonian wife!”

  For, showing himself in sign

  Of the spouse of the corpse thou dost see,

  Did the ancient bitter avenging-ghost

  Of Atreus, savage host,

  Pay the man here as price —

  A full-grown for the young one’s sacrifice.

  CHOROS.

  That no cause, indeed, of this killing art thou,

  Who shall be witness-bearer?

  How shall he bear it — how?

  But the sire’s avenging-ghost might be in the deed a sharer.

  He is forced on and on

  By the kin-born flowing of blood,

  — Black Ares: to where, having gone,

  He shall leave off, flowing done,

  At the frozen-child’s-flesh food.

  King, king, how shall I beweep thee?

  From friendly soul whatever say?

  Thou liest where webs of the spider o’ersweep thee

  In impious death, life breathing away.

  O me — me!

  This couch, not free!

  By a slavish death subdued thou art,

  From the hand, by the two-edged dart.

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  No death “unfit for the free”

  Do I think this man’s to be:

  For did not himself a slavish curse

  To his household decree?

  But the scion of him, myself did nurse —

  That much-bewailed Iphigeneia, he

  Having done well by, — and as well, nor worse,

  Been done to, — let him not in Haides loudly

  Bear himself proudly!

  Being by sword-destroying death amerced

  For that sword’s punishment himself inflicted first.

  CHOROS.

  I at a loss am left —

  Of a feasible scheme of mind bereft —

  Where I may turn: for the house is falling:

  I fear the bloody crash of the rain

  That ruins the roof as it bursts amain:

  The warning-drop

  Has come to a stop.

  Destiny doth Justice whet

  For other deed of hurt, on other whetstones yet.

  Woe, earth, earth — would thou hadst taken me

  Ere I saw the man I see,

  On the pallet-bed

  Of the silver-sided bath-vase, dead!

  Who is it shall bury him, who

  Sing his dirge? Can it be true

  That thou wilt dare this same to do —

  Having slain thy husband, thine own,

  To make his funeral moan:

  And for the soul of him, in place

  Of his mighty deeds, a graceless grace

  To wickedly institute? By whom

  Shall the tale of praise o’er the tomb

  At the god-like man be sent —

  From the truth of his mind as he toils intent?

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  It belongs not to thee to declare

  This object of care!

  By us did he fall — down there!

  Did he die — down there! and down, no less,

  We will bury him there, and not beneath

  The wails of the household over his death:

  But Iphigeneia, — with kindliness, —

  His daughter, — as the case requires,

  Facing him full, at the rapid-flowing

  Passage of Groans shall — both hands throwing

  Around him — kiss that kindest of sires!

  CHOROS.

  This blame comes in the place of blame:

  Hard battle it is to judge each claim.

  “He is borne away who bears away:

  And the killer has all to pay.”

  And this remains while Zeus is remaining,

  “The doer shall suffer in time” — for, such his ordaining.

  Who may cast out of the House its cursed brood?

  The race is to Até glued!

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Thou hast gone into this oracle

  With a true result. For me, then, — I will

  — To the Daimon of the Pleisthenidai

  Making an oath — with all these things comply

  Hard as they are to bear. For the rest —

  Going from out this House, a guest,

  May he wear some other family

  To nought, with the deaths of kin by kin!

  And, — keeping a little part of my goods, —

  Wholly am I contented in

  Having expelled from the royal House

  These frenzied moods

  The mutually-murderous.

  AIGISTHOS.

  O light propitious of day justice-bringing!

  I may say truly, now, that men’s avengers,

  The gods from high, of earth behold the sorrows —

  Seeing, as I have, i’ the spun robes of the Erinues,

  This man here lying, — sight to me how pleasant! —

  His father’s hands’ contrivances repaying.

  For Atreus, this land’s lord, of this man father,

  Thuestes, my own father — to speak clearly —

  His brother too, — being i’ the rule contested, —

  Drove forth to exile from both town and household:

  And, coming back, to the hearth turned, a suppliant,

  Wretched Thuestes found the fate assured him

  — Not to die, bloodying his paternal threshold

  Just there: but host-wise this man’s impious father

  Atreus, soul-keenly more than kindly, — seeming

  To joyous hold a flesh-day, — to my father

  Served up a meal, the flesh of his own children.

  The feet indeed and the hands’ top divisions

  He hid, high up and isolated sitting:

  But, their unshowing parts in ignorance taking,

  He forthwith eats food — as thou seest — perdition

  To the race: and then, ‘ware of the deed ill-omened,

  He shrieked O! — falls back, vomiting, from the carnage,

  And fate on the Pelopidai past bearing

  He prays down — putting in his curse together

  The kicking down o’ the feast — that so might perish

  The race of Pleisthenes entire: and thence is

  That it is given thee to
see this man prostrate.

  And I was rightly of this slaughter stitch-man:

  Since me, — being third from ten, — with my poor father

  He drives out — being then a babe in swathe-bands:

  But, grown up, back again has justice brought me:

  And of this man I got hold — being without-doors —

  Fitting together the whole scheme of ill-will.

  So, sweet, in fine, even to die were to me,

  Seeing, as I have, this man i’ the toils of justice!

  CHOROS.

  Aigisthos, arrogance in ills I love not.

  Dost thou say — willing, thou didst kill the man here,

  And, alone, plot this lamentable slaughter?

  I say — thy head in justice will escape not

  The people’s throwing — know that! — stones and curses!

  AIGISTHOS.

  Thou such things soundest — seated at the lower

  Oarage to those who rule at the ship’s mid-bench?

  Thou shalt know, being old, how heavy is teaching

  To one of the like age — bidden be modest!

  But chains and old age and the pangs of fasting

  Stand out before all else in teaching, — prophets

  At souls’-cure! Dost not, seeing aught, see this too?

  Against goads kick not, lest tript-up thou suffer!

  CHOROS.

  Woman, thou, — of him coming new from battle

  Houseguard — thy husband’s bed the while disgracing, —

  For the Army-leader didst thou plan this fate too?

  AIGISTHOS.

  These words too are of groans the prime-begetters!

  Truly a tongue opposed to Orpheus hast thou:

  For he led all things by his voice’s grace-charm,

  But thou, upstirring them by these wild yelpings,

  Wilt lead them! Forced, thou wilt appear the tamer!

  CHOROS.

  So — thou shalt be my king then of the Argeians —

  Who, not when for this man his fate thou plannedst,

  Daredst to do this deed — thyself the slayer!

  AIGISTHOS.

  For, to deceive him was the wife’s part, certes:

  I was looked after — foe, ay, old-begotten!

  But out of this man’s wealth will I endeavour

  To rule the citizens: and the no-man-minder

  — Him will I heavily yoke — by no means trace-horse,

  A corned-up colt! but that bad friend in darkness,

  Famine its housemate, shall behold him gentle.

  CHOROS.

  Why then, this man here, from a coward spirit,

  Didst not thou slay thyself? But, — helped, — a woman,

  The country’s pest, and that of gods o’ the country,

  Killed him! Orestes, where may he see light now?

  That coming hither back, with gracious fortune,

  Of both these he may be the all-conquering slayer?

  AIGISTHOS.

  But since this to do thou thinkest — and not talk — thou soon shalt know!

 

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