Agememnon: Now I go to my father's house -
I give the gods my right hand, my first salute.
The ones who sent me forth have brought me home.
(He starts down from the chariot, looks
at CLYTAEMNESTRA, Stops, and
offers up a prayer.)
Victory, you have sped my way before,
now speed me to the last.
(CLYTAEMNESTRA turns fiom the king to the chorus.)
clytaemnestra:
Old nobility of Argos gathered here, I am not ashamed to tell you how I love the man. I am
older, and the fear dies away... I am human. Nothing I say was learned from others.
This is my life, my ordeal, long as the siege he laid at Troy and more demanding.
First, when a woman sits at home and the man is gone, the loneliness is terrible,
unconscionable...
and the rumours spread and fester, a runner comes with something dreadful, close on his
heels the next and his news worse, and they shout it out and the whole house can hear; and
wounds - if he took one wound for each report
to penetrate these walls, he's gashed like a dragnet, more, if he had only died... for each d**h
that swelled his record, he could boast like a triple-bodied Geryon risen from the grave, '
Three shrouds I dug from the earth, one for every body
that went down!'
The rumours broke like fever, broke and then rose higher. There were times they cut me
down and eased my throat from the noose. I wavered between the living and the dead.
(Turning to Agamemnon.)
And so
our child is gone, not standing by our side,
the bond of our dearest pledges, mine and yours;
by all rights our child should be here...
Orestes. You seem startled.
You needn't be. Our loyal brother-in-arms
will take good care of him, Strophios the Phocian.
He warned from the start we court two griefs in one.
You risk all on the wars - and what if the people
rise up howling for the king, and anarchy
should dash our plans?
Men, it is their nature, trampling on the fighter once he's down.
Our child is gone. That is my self-defence "and it is true.
For me, the tears that welled like springs are dry. I have no tears to spare. I'd watch till late at
night, my eyes still burn, I sobbed by the torch I lit for you alone.
Glancing towards the palace.THE ORESTEIA
I never let it die ... but in my dreams
the high thin wail of a gnat would rouse me,
piercing like a trumpet - I could see you
suffer more than all
the hours that slept with me could ever bear.
I endured it all.