_Chorus_ (_in marching rhythm as the Procession traverses the long
Stage._)
Son of Atreus, how are we to hit upon welcome that shall be fit for thee,
not missing or overshooting the mark? In both condolence and
congratulation men's faces often belie their hearts; thou who knowest
thine own sheep, should'st be able to tell kindness from flattery. We
confess, when thou wentest forth on thy expedition, thou wast to us like
a face limned by an unskilled artist, in the deed thou did'st to inspire
false courage. Now, without a thought unfriendly, we say--all is well
that ends well, and thou wilt soon hear who has deserved well of thee in
thy absence. [Observe their guarded tone.] {782}
_Agamemnon_ [_the metre now settling into ordinary 'Blank Verse'_].
First thanks to the Gods by whose help we have laid Troy low, the ruins
of which are still sending up clouds of smoke as sweet incense to the
Deities of Vengeance. And your sentiments, both then and now, I approve:
prosperity too often misses true sympathy amidst the envy it excites;
envy that has the double pang of missing its own and seeing another's
good. Experience has taught me the difference between professing and
true friends: my unwilling comrade Ulysses alone proved true to me. As
to the state we will deliberate in full counsel as to what needs
preserving, and where disease calls for surgery. At present I must give
thanks at my own hearth for my safe return.
_Here the Central Door of the Stage is thrown open, and enter
Clytaemnestra to welcome her lord, followed by attendants bearing rich
draperies of purple and dazzling colors._ {827}
_Clyt._ Notwithstanding your presence, Senators of Argos, I must pour
out my heart to my lord. Ah! a sad thing is a wife waiting at home for
her absent husband! hearing of wounds, which if true would have made you
a riddled net, of deaths enough for a three-lived Geryon: again and again
I have been stopped with the noose already on my neck! This is the
reason why you see not your son Orestes: wonder not, he is being brought
up by an ally to whom I sent him, lest danger befall us. I cannot weep;
my tears have run dry by my weepings and sleepless watchings for the
beacon. Now at ease I hail my lord--
as watch-dog of the fold,
The stay that saves the ship, of lofty roof {870}
Main column-prop, a father's only child,
Land that beyond all hope the sailor sees,
Morn of great brightness following after storm,
Clear-flowing fount to thirsty traveller.
The bare ground is not fit for the foot that has trampled on Ilion: strew
(_to Attendants_) tapestry on the floor as the Conqueror steps from his
car. The Attendants commence to lay down the draperies: _Agamemnon_
(_hastening to stop them_) rebukes Clytaemnestra for the excessive tone
of her welcome, and bids her not make him offensive to the Gods, by
assuming an honor fit for the Gods alone, no man being safe in prosperity
till he has died; fame, not foot-mats, and never to lose the path of
Wisdom, are his glories. A contest ensues [the false Clytaemnestra
anxious to entangle him in an act of Infatuation]; at last he yields, but
removes the shoe from his foot, to avert the ill omen of such
presumptuous display. He then commends the captive Cassandra to the
Queen's kind treatment, and _Clyt._ renews her lofty expressions of joy:
there is a store of purple in the palace, and many such robes would she
bestow to welcome his return, the root of the household bringing warmth
in winter and coolness in the dog-days. Ah! may Zeus work out for me
"all that I wish for." [_So Exeunt: Ag. walking barefoot on the rich
tapestry. Cassandra alone remains on the Stage in her chariot._] {949}