ELECTRA.

By daring, as they dared who slew his sire!

ORESTES.

Wouldst thou dare with him, if he came, thou too,
To slay her?

ELECTRA.

             Yes; with the same axe that slew
My father!

ORESTES.

           'Tis thy message? And thy mood
Unchanging?

ELECTRA.

            Let me shed my mother's blood,
And I die happy.

ORESTES.

                 God!… I would that now
Orestes heard thee here.

ELECTRA.

                         Yet, wottest thou,
Though here I saw him, I should know him not.

ORESTES.

Surely. Ye both were children, when they wrought
Your parting.

ELECTRA.

              One alone in all this land
Would know his face.

ORESTES.

                     The thrall, methinks, whose hand
Stole him from death—or so the story ran?

ELECTRA.

He taught my father, too, an old old man
Of other days than these.

ORESTES.

                          Thy father's grave…
He had due rites and tendance?

ELECTRA.

                               What chance gave,
My father had, cast out to rot in the sun.

ORESTES.

God, 'tis too much!… To hear of such things done
Even to a stranger, stings a man…. But speak,
Tell of thy life, that I may know, and seek
Thy brother with a tale that must be heard
Howe'er it sicken. If mine eyes be blurred,
Remember, 'tis the fool that feels not. Aye,
Wisdom is full of pity; and thereby
Men pay for too much wisdom with much pain.

LEADER.

My heart is moved as this man's. I would fain
Learn all thy tale. Here dwelling on the hills
Little I know of Argos and its ills.

ELECTRA.

If I must speak—and at love's call, God knows,
I fear not—I will tell thee all; my woes,
My father's woes, and—O, since thou hast stirred
This storm of speech, thou bear him this my word—
His woes and shame! Tell of this narrow cloak
In the wind; this grime and reek of toil, that choke
My breathing; this low roof that bows my head
After a king's. This raiment … thread by thread,
'Tis I must weave it, or go bare—must bring,
Myself, each jar of water from the spring.
No holy day for me, no festival,
No dance upon the green! From all, from all
I am cut off. No portion hath my life
'Mid wives of Argos, being no true wife.
No portion where the maidens throng to praise
Castor—my Castor, whom in ancient days,
Ere he passed from us and men worshipped him,
They named my bridegroom!—
                           And she, she!… The grim
Troy spoils gleam round her throne, and by each hand
Queens of the East, my father's prisoners, stand,
A cloud of Orient webs and tangling gold.
And there upon the floor, the blood, the old
Black blood, yet crawls and cankers, like a rot
In the stone! And on our father's chariot
The murderer's foot stands glorying, and the red
False hand uplifts that ancient staff, that led
The armies of the world!… Aye, tell him how
The grave of Agamemnon, even now,
Lacketh the common honour of the dead;
A desert barrow, where no tears are shed,
No tresses hung, no gift, no myrtle spray.
And when the wine is in him, so men say,
Our mother's mighty master leaps thereon,
Spurning the slab, or pelteth stone on stone,
Flouting the lone dead and the twain that live:
"Where is thy son Orestes? Doth he give
Thy tomb good tendance? Or is all forgot?"
So is he scorned because he cometh not….

O Stranger, on my knees, I charge thee, tell
This tale, not mine, but of dumb wrongs that swell
Crowding—and I the trumpet of their pain,
This tongue, these arms, this bitter burning brain;
These dead shorn locks, and he for whom they died!
His father slew Troy's thousands in their pride;
He hath but one to kill…. O God, but one!
Is he a man, and Agamemnon's son?

LEADER.

But hold: is this thy husband from the plain,
His labour ended, hasting home again?

Enter the PEASANT.

PEASANT.

Ha, who be these? Strange men in arms before
My house! What would they at this lonely door?
Seek they for me?—Strange gallants should not stay
A woman's goings.

ELECTRA.

                  Friend and helper!—Nay,
Think not of any evil. These men be
Friends of Orestes, charged with words for me!…
Strangers, forgive his speech.

PEASANT.

                               What word have they
Of him? At least he lives and sees the day!

ELECTRA.

So fares their tale—and sure I doubt it not!

PEASANT.

And ye two still are living in his thought,
Thou and his father?

ELECTRA.

                     In his dreams we live.
An exile hath small power.

PEASANT.

                          And did he give
Some privy message?

ELECTRA.

                    None: they come as spies
For news of me.

PEASANT.

                Thine outward news their eyes
Can see; the rest, methinks, thyself will tell.

ELECTRA.

They have seen all, heard all. I trust them well.

PEASANT.

Why were our doors not open long ago?—
Be welcome, strangers both, and pass below
My lintel. In return for your glad words
Be sure all greeting that mine house affords
Is yours.—Ye followers, bear in their gear!—
Gainsay me not; for his sake are ye dear
That sent you to our house; and though my part
In life be low, I am no churl at heart.

[The PEASANT goes to the ARMED SERVANTS at the back, to help them with the baggage.

ORESTES (aside to ELECTRA).

Is this the man that shields thy maidenhood
Unknown, and will not wrong thy father's blood?

ELECTRA.

He is called my husband. 'Tis for him I toil.

ORESTES.

How dark lies honour hid! And what turmoil
In all things human: sons of mighty men
Fallen to naught, and from ill seed again
Good fruit: yea, famine in the rich man's scroll
Writ deep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul.
As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not
With pride of house uplifted, in a lot
Of unmarked life hath shown a prince's grace.