LITMIR.BIZ

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them into a net of bondage that neither young nor full-grown can overleap, the Chorus proceed to a more formal expression of their feelings in {357}

      CHORAL INTERLUDE I

       breaking, as regularly in the Choral Odes, into highly Lyrical rhythms accompanied with Music and Gesture-dance, the evolutions of which lead them alternately to Right and Left of Orchestra and back to Altar.

       Strophe I: evolutions from Altar to Right.

      Yes: it is the hand of Zeus we may trace in all this! Now what will they say who contend that the Gods care not when mortal men trample under foot the inviolable? Troy knows better now, that once relied on its abounding wealth: ah! moderate fortune is best for the seeker after Wisdom; Wealth is no bulwark to those who in wantonness have spurned the altar of the Right and Just. {375}

       Antistrophe I: evolutions front Right back to Altar, rhythm as in Strophe.

      Such a man is urged on by Impulse, offspring of Infatuation, till his mischief stands out clear, as worthless bronze stripped of its varnish. So Paris sees now his light-hearted crime has brought his city low. He came to the house of the Sons of Atreus, and stole a Queen away, leaving Shame where he had sat as Guest. {392}

       Strophe II: change of rhythm, evolutions from Altar to Left.

      She, leaving to her countrymen at home

       Wild din of spear and shield and ships of war,

       And bringing, as her dower,

       To Ilion doom of death,

       Passed very swiftly through the palace gates,

       Daring what none should dare;

       And many a wailing cry

       They raised, the minstrel prophets of the house,

       "Woe for that kingly home!

       Woe for that kingly home and for its chiefs!

       Woe for the marriage-bed and traces left

       Of wife who loved her lord!"

       There stands he silent; foully wronged and yet

       Uttering no word of scorn,

       In deepest woe perceiving she is gone;

       And in his yearning love

       For one beyond the sea,

       A ghost shall seem to queen it o'er the house;

       The grace of sculptured forms

       Is loathéd by her lord,

       And in the penury of life's bright eyes

       All Aphrodite's charm

       To utter wreck has gone. {409}

       Antistrophe II: back to Altar.

      And phantom shades that hover round in dreams

       Come full of sorrow, bringing vain delight;

       For vain it is, when one

       Sees seeming shows of good,

       And gliding through his hands the dream is gone,

       After a moment's space,

       On wings that follow still

       Upon the path where sleep goes to and fro.

       Such are the woes at home

       Upon the altar hearth, and worse than these.

       But on a wider scale for those who went

       From Hellas' ancient shore,

       A sore distress that causeth pain of heart

       Is seen in every house.

       Yea, many things there are that touch the quick:

       For those whom each did send

       He knoweth; but, instead

       Of living men, there come to each man's home

       Funereal urns alone,

       And ashes of the dead. {425}

       Strophe III: change of rhythm, evolutions from Altar to Right.

      War is a trafficker; in the rush of battle he holds scales, and for the golden coin you spend on him he sends you back lifeless shapes of men; they sent out men, the loving friends receive back well-smoothed ashes from the funeral pyre. They sing the heroic fall of some—all for another's wife; and some murmur discontent against the sons of Atreus, and some have won a grave in the land they had conquered. {441}

       Antistrophe III: evolutions repeated, but from Right back to Altar.

      So sullen discontent has been doing the work of a people's curse: therefore it is that I am awaiting with dim forebodings the full news. The Gods do not forget those who have shed much blood, and sooner or later the dark-robed Deities of the Curse consign the evil-doer to impassable, hopeless gloom. Away with the dazzling success that attracts the thunderbolt! be mine the moderate lot that neither causes nor suffers captivity. {458}

       Epode: change of rhythm and Chorus not moving from the Altar.

      The courier flame has brought good news—but who knows whether it be true?—Yet it is childish when the heart is all aglow with the message of the flame to be turned round by everchanging rumour.—Yet it is the nature of a woman to believe too soon. [Observe how the Chorus, setting out on an ode of triumph, have come back to their persistent forebodings.] {471}

       Suddenly at the Side-door on the extreme Left of the Stage (signifying distance) appears a Herald, covered with dust, crowned with olive in token of victory. The Chorus immediately fall into their Episode position to receive him, the Foreman expressing their anticipations as the Herald traverses the long stage to the point opposite the Chorus.

      EPISODE II

      Foreman of Chorus. Now we shall have a clearer message than that of the beacon-fires: all is well or … but I cannot put the other alternative. The Herald (arrived opposite the Chorus) solemnly salutes the land of Argos he had never hoped to see again, salutes the several Gods whose statues are now bright with the morning sun, especially Apollo who has proved himself a Healer, and Hermes, patron of Heralds; and then announces Agamemnon is close at hand, victorious over Troy and having sent Paris to his merited punishment.—Observe how in the parallel dialogue that follows the foreboding tone creeps in again in the midst of the news of triumph. {520}

      Chor. Joy, joy, thou herald of the Achaean host! Her. All joy is mine: I shrink from death no more. Chor. Did love for this thy fatherland so try thee? Her. So that mine eyes weep tears for very joy. Chor. Disease full sweet then this ye suffered from … Her. How so? When taught, I shall thy meaning master. Chor. Ye longed for us who yearned for you in turn. Her. Say'st thou this land its yearning host yearned o'er? Chor. Yea, so that oft I groaned in gloom of heart. Her. Whence came these bodings that an army hates? Chor. Silence I've held long since a charm for ill. Her. How, when your lords were absent, feared ye any? Chor. To use thy words, death now would welcome be. {533} The Herald, not understanding the source of the Chorus' misgiving, goes on to say of course their success is mixed: so fare all but the Gods. They have had their tossings on the sea, their exposure to the night dews till their hair is shaggy as beasts'; but why remember these now? our toil is past—so he suddenly recollects is that of the dead they have left behind—but he will shake off these feelings: Troy is captured. The Chorus feel youthful with such happy tidings. {569}

       Enter Clytaemnestra from the Palace.

      Clyt. Now they will believe me, who were saying just now that women believed too soon. What joy for a wife equal to that of a husband's return? and I have kept my trust as stainless as bronze. [Exit into Palace.] The Foreman goes on to enquire as to Menelaus:

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