something was disagreeing with him--so he stayed.
By this time the populace had also realised the turn affairs had taken,
but they very sensibly determined that it was their plain duty to
persevere with the merriment. They were, as has been mentioned before, a
simple and affectionate people, and fond of their king; so, as his
return would be even more beneficial to trade than the betrothal, they
rejoiced on, and there was nothing in the least strained or hollow in
their revelry.
And presently there was a fresh stir in the crowd, and then a rumbling
of wheels as the covered chariot from the station rolled, amidst faint
cheering, up to the palace gates, and was saluted by the one aged
sentinel who stood on guard.
'It _is_ Agamemnon,' gasped the Queen; 'he has come already--he must not
find me unprepared. I will go within.'
She had just time to retire hastily, followed by AEgisthus, before a
short stout man in faded regimentals and a cocked hat with a moulting
plume descended from the vehicle.
The Chorus, finding it left to them to do the honours, advanced in a
row, singing the ode of welcome, which they had had in rehearsal ever
since the first year of the war.
'O King,' they chanted in their cracked old trebles, 'offspring of
Atreus, and sacker of Troy!'
'Will you kindly count the boxes?' interrupted the monarch, who hated
sentiment; 'there should be four--a tin cocked-hat box, two camel-hair
trunks, and a carpet bag.'
But a Greek chorus was not easily suppressed, and they broke out again
all together, 'Nay, but with bursting hearts would we bid thee thrice
hail!'
'Once is ample, thank you,' said the King, with regal politeness; 'and I
should be really distressed if any of you were to burst on my account.
Has anybody such a thing as half a drachma about him?'
He heard no more of the ode, and the Mayor thought it advisable to roll
up his address and take his Corporation home.
Agamemnon had succeeded in borrowing the drachma, and had just turned
his back to pay the driver as Clytemnestra glided down the broad steps
to the court-yard, and, striking an attitude, addressed nobody in
particular in tones of rapturous joy.
'O happy day!' she cried very loudly, 'on which my hero husband returns
to me after a long absence, quite unexpectedly. Henceforth shall his
helmet rust upon the hat-stand, and his spear repose innocuous amongst
the umbrellas, and his breastplate shall he replace by a
chest-protector; for a shield he shall have a sunshade, and instead of
his sword he shall carry a spud. But now let me, as an exceptionally
faithful wife, greet him before ye all with----Agamemnon, _will_ you
have the goodness to tell me who that young person is in the chariot?'
was her abrupt and somewhat lame conclusion.
'Oh, there you are, eh?' said Agamemnon, turning round and presenting a
forefinger. 'How de do, my love; how de do?' ('I shan't give you another
obol!' he said to the driver, who seemed still unsatisfied.) 'So, you're
quite well, eh?' he resumed to his wife; 'plenty to say for yourself as
usual. Gad, I feel as if I hadn't been away a week--till I look at
you.... Well, we can't expect to be always young, can we? So you want to
know my little friend here? Allow me to present her to you. One moment.'
And bustling up to the chariot, he assisted from it a maiden with a pale
face, great, wild, roving eyes, and hair of tawny gold, and led her back
to his wife.
'The Princess Cassandra of Troy--my wife, Queen Clytemnestra. They tell
me this young lady can prophesy very prettily, my dear,' he remarked.
Clytemnestra bowed coldly, and said she was sure it would be vastly
amusing. Did the Princess intend giving any public entertainments?
'She is our visitor,' Agamemnon put in warningly; while Cassandra smiled
satirically, and said nothing at all.
Clytemnestra hoped she might be able to induce her to stay longer, a
week was such a _very_ short time.
'She has kindly consented to stay on a little longer, my love,' said
Agamemnon--'all her life,' in fact.'
The Queen was charmed to hear it; it was so very nice and kind of her,
particularly as strangers were apt to find the neighbourhood an
unhealthy one.
And as AEgisthus joined them just then, she presented him to the King,
with the remark that he had been the most faithful and devoted of
courtiers during the whole period of the King's absence; to which
Agamemnon replied, with the slightest of scowls, that he was delighted
to make the acquaintance of Mr. AEgisthus; and after that no one seemed
to know exactly what to say for a minute or two.
At last AEgisthus hazarded a supposition that the royal warrior had found
it warm over at Troy.
'It varied, sir,' said the monarch, uncomfortably; 'the climate varied.
I used to get very warm fighting sometimes.'
AEgisthus agreed that a battle must be hot work, and Clytemnestra
suddenly exclaimed that her husband was wearing the very same dear
shabby old uniform he had on when he went away.
'The very same,' said Agamemnon, smiling. 'I wore it all through the
campaign. Your true warrior is no dandy!'
'We were given to understand you were wounded,' remarked AEgisthus.
'Oh,' said the King, 'yes; I was considerably wounded--all over the
chest and arms. But what cared I?'
'Exactly,' said AEgisthus; 'and, curiously enough, the weapons don't seem
to have pierced your coat at all. I observe there are no patches.'
'No,' the King replied; 'so you noticed that, eh? Well, the reason of
that is that those fellows out there have a peculiar sort of way of
cutting and slashing, so as to----'
And he explained this by some elaborate illustrations with his sheathed
sword, until AEgisthus said that he thought he understood how it was
done.
But Clytemnestra suddenly, with a kitten-like girlishness that sat but
ill upon her, pounced playfully upon the weapon. 'I want to see it
drawn,' she cried; 'I want to look upon the keen flashing blade which
has penetrated the inmost recesses of so many of our country's foes. Oh,
it won't come out,' she added, as she attempted to pull it out of the
scabbard; '_do_ make it come out!'
The King tried, but the blade stuck half way, and what was visible of it
seemed thickly coated with rust; but Agamemnon said it was gore, and his
orderly must have forgotten to clean his accoutrements after the fall of
Troy. He added that it was the effect of the sea air.
'Troy really has fallen then?' asked AEgisthus. 'I suppose you stayed to
see the thing out?'
'I did, sir,' answered the monarch proudly; 'I sacked the
most fashionable quarters myself. I expect my booty will be
forwarded--shortly. Didn't you _know_ Troy was taken?' he asked
suspiciously. 'Couldn't you see the beacon I lighted just before I
started?'
The courtier murmured that it was wonderful to find so long and tedious
a journey accomplished in such capital time.
'What do you mean by that? How do you know how long it took?' demanded
Agamemnon.
'Don't you see?' said Clytemnestra. 'Why, you say you had the fire
lighted at Ida when you started; then, of course, they would see it
directly over at Lemnos, and light theirs; and then at Athos, and
then----'
'You are not a time-table, my love,' interrupted the monarch, coldly.
'I won't trouble you for all these details. Come to the point.'
'The point is,' she explained sweetly, 'that we have only just seen the
beacon flame arrive here at Arachnaeus, after leaping from height to
height across lake and plain; so that you, my dearest, must have made
the distance with almost equal celerity!'
'I came _with_ the beacon,' said Agamemnon, coughing; 'perhaps that
disposes of the difficulty?'
'Perhaps,' said the Queen; 'I mean _quite_. And now,' she continued,
after a rapid exchange of glances with AEgisthus, 'you will come indoors,
and have a nice cup of coffee and a warm bath before you do anything
else, won't you?'
He almost thought he would, he said; fighting for ten long years without
intermission was a dusty, tiring occupation, and he was accordingly
about to enter, when his eye fell on the awnings and flags and the red
stair carpet, which had been prepared for the betrothal festivities, and
he frowned.
'Now, my dear, this sort of thing is all very well, no doubt; but I
don't care about it. I'm a plain, honest ruler of men, and I hate
flummery and flattery--particularly when it all comes out of _my_
pocket! Why, you've laid down the drugget from the Throne-Room over all
this gravel. Take it up directly; I decline to walk over it. Do you
hear? This wasteful extravagance is positively sinful. Take it up!'
Clytemnestra assured him earnestly that they had had no intention of
annoying him with it--which was literally true; and suggested meekly
that for the King to stay out in the court-yard until all the
decorations were removed might be a tedious and even a ridiculous
proceeding. 'If,' she added, 'he was merely unwilling to spoil the
drugget, he might easily remove his boots, which were extremely
muddy--for a monarch's.'
'Well, well, my dear, be it so,' said the King; 'I did not intend to
chide you. It is only that I have grown so accustomed to the frugal,
hardy life of a camp, that I have imbibed a soldier's contempt for
luxury.'
And, removing his boots, he followed the Queen into the Palace, as she
led the way with a baleful expression upon her dark and inscrutable
face.
As the pair passed up the steps and between the lofty pillars, the
hounds howled from the royal kennels at the back of the Palace, and--a
stranger portent still--a meteor shot suddenly through the growing gloom
and burst in a rain of coloured stars above the house-top, while,
shortly after, a staff fell from above upon the head of one of the
Chorus--and was shivered to fragments!
* * * * *
AEgisthus had strolled away under the colonnade, and Cassandra was left
alone with the Chorus. She stood apart, mystic, moody, and impenetrable,
letting down her flowing back hair.
'You prophesy, do you not?' said the kind old men at length, wishing to
make her feel at home; 'might we beg you to favour us with a
prediction--just a little one?'
Cassandra made excuses at first, as was proper; she had a cold, and was
feeling the effects of the journey. She was really not inspired just
then, she protested, and besides, she had not touched a tripod for ages.
But, upon being pressed, she gave way at last, after declaring with a
little giggle that she was perfectly certain nobody would believe a
single word she said.
'I see before me,' she began, in a weird, sepulchral tone which she
found it impossible to keep up for many sentences, 'a proud and stately
pile--but enter not. See ye yon ghoul among the chimney-pots, yon
amphisboena in the back garden? And the scent of gore pervades it!'
'It is no happy home that is thus described!' the Chorus threw in
profesionally.
'But the Finger of Fate is slowly unwound, and the Hand of Destiny steps
in to pace the marble halls with heavy tramp. And know, old men, that
the Inevitable is not wholly unconnected with the Probable!'
At this even their politeness could not restrain a gesture of
incredulity, but she heeded it not, and continued:
'Who is this that I see next--this regal warrior bounding over the
blazing battlements in brazen panoply?'
('That must be Agamemnon,' cried the Chorus; 'the despatches mentioned
him bounding like that. Wonderful!')
'I see him,' she resumed, 'pale and prostrate--a prey to the pangs
within him, scanning the billows from his storm-tossed ship. Now he has
reached his native city. Hark! how they greet him! And, behold, a
stately matron meets him with a honeyed smile, inviting him to enter. He
yields. And then----'
Here Cassandra stopped, with the remark that that was all--as there were
limits even to the marvellous faculty of second-sight.
The Chorus were not unimpressed, for they had never seen a prediction
and its literal fulfilment in quite such close conjunction before, and
their own attempts always came wrong; but although they were agreed that
the prophecy was charming as far as it went, they began to feel slightly
afraid of the prophetess, and were secretly relieved when AEgisthus
happened to come up shortly afterwards with an offer to show her such
places of interest as Argos boasted.
But they were great authorities upon all points of etiquette and
morality, and they all remarked (when she had gone) that she displayed
an unbecoming readiness in accepting the escort of a courtier who had
not been formally introduced to her. 'That may be the custom in _Troy_,'
they said, wagging their beards, 'but if she means to behave like that
here--_well_!'
And now the last gleam of the sunset had faded, and the stars straggled
out in the pale green sky, whilst the Chorus walked up and down to keep
warm, for the evening was growing chilly.
Suddenly a loud cry broke the silence--a scream as of a strong man in
mortal agony! It struck all of them that the voice was uncommonly like
Agamemnon's, but none liked to say so, and they only observed with a
forced composure that really the cats were becoming quite a nuisance.
The cry came again, louder this time, and more distinct; it seemed to
come from the direction of the royal bath-room. 'Hi, here,
somebody--help! _They've turned on the hot water, and I can't turn it
off again!_'
After this there could be no possible doubt that there was something the
matter far more serious than cats. Agamemnon, the king of men, was
apparently in difficulties, and it was only too probable that this was
Clytemnestra's fell work.
They all ran about and fell over one another in the general flurry and
confusion, and then as they recovered their presence of mind they began
to consult upon the best course to pursue under the circumstances. Some
were of opinion that it would not be a quite unpardonable breach of
court etiquette if they were to rush into the bath-room and pull the
royal sufferer out; others, more cautious, asked for precedents in a
case of such delicacy, and they almost quarrelled, until the wisest of
them all reminded his fellows that, at all events, it was too late to
interfere then, as the monarch must certainly be hard-boiled by that
time--which relieved them from all responsibility in the happiest
manner.
At this point the Queen appeared at the head of the marble steps, down
which she glided cautiously and came towards them, evidently in a
condition of suppressed excitement.
'What a beautiful evening!' said the Chorus in unison, for they
considered it better taste not to appear to have noticed anything at all
unusual.
'Agamemnon is with his ancestors,' she replied in a fierce whisper; 'I
sewed up the sleeves of his bathing-gown and I drugged his coffee, and
then from afar I turned on the hot water. And he is boiled, and it
serves him right, and I'm glad of it--so now! But tell me, ye aged
ones,' she added with one of her quick transitions, 'have I done well?'
Now the Chorus were distinctly disgusted at her want of tact and
reserve, and would have greatly preferred not to be admitted into
confidences of so purely domestic a description, but they were not the
men to flinch from their duty.
'In our opinion, O Queen,' they replied coldly, 'the deed was a hasty
one, and accomplished without sufficient consideration.'
'Ha!' she exclaimed angrily, 'so ye would rate me like a girl! Am I not
your sovereign mistress? Guard, seize these insolents!'
And the superannuated old sentinel left his box and tottered up to seize
as many of them as he could lay hold of at once, telling the remainder
to consider themselves under arrest, which they did directly.
'Summon the populace,' Clytemnestra next commanded, and the Argives left
the fireworks obediently and assembled before the steps.
'Citizens! Argives!' she cried in a loud clear voice, 'I am sure you
will all be very sorry and disappointed to hear that your beloved
sovereign, so lately restored to us' (here she broke down with the
naturalness of a great artist)--'that our beloved sovereign is--by a
most deplorable and unaccountable lack of precaution----'
'_Alive!_' interrupted a voice from behind the Queen, and someone pushed
aside the hangings before the door of the Palace, and began to descend
the steps. It was Agamemnon himself.
Clytemnestra shrieked as she turned slowly, and confronted him in
silence for some moments; the situation was intensely dramatic, and the
Argives, a simple and affectionate people, fully appreciated this, and
never once regretted the fireworks they had abandoned.
The Queen was the first to speak: 'So,' she said, pale and panting,
'you--you've--had your bath?'
'Well--no,' said Agamemnon mildly; 'I happened to observe that someone
had thoughtfully sewn up the armholes of my dressing-gown, and that the
coffee had a particularly nasty smell in it, and so, somehow, I thought
I would rather wait. And then the boiling water came rushing in, and I
saw there had been a little mistake somewhere. So it occurred to me that
I too would dissemble and see what came of it, and I shouted for help. I
think I see it all now.'
And then he took a higher moral tone; his manner was no longer cynical;
he was not angry even--only deeply wounded, and there was something fine
and striking in the stern sadness of his brow.
'So this,' he said, 'was to have been my fate? I was to return, a
war-worn warrior, to the hearth and home from which I had been absent so
long--so long--to be ruthlessly parboiled the very moment after my
arrival, by the partner of my throne! Was this kind--was this wifely,
Clytemnestra?'
'That comes so well from you, does it not?' she retorted.
'Why--why--what do you mean?' he stammered.
'You know very well what I mean,' she said. 'Bah! why play the hypocrite
with me?'
'Is it possible,' he cried, 'that you can suspect me of not having been
near Troy all this time--tell me, Clytemnestra--is this monstrous
thing possible?'
'Quite,' she replied; 'I _know_ you haven't!'
'What--when I tell you that there is a poet, a fellow called Homer or
something, who has got a sort of reputation already by putting the
campaign into verses, rather long, but quite readable (you must order
them); well, there's a lot about _me_ in them.'
'Did Homer _see_ you there?'
'Now that's a most ridiculous question,' he protested, with a feeling
that she was coming round, and that he should convince her directly;
'the poet's blind, Clytemnestra, quite blind. But I will not argue--you
must be content with a warrior's assurance.'
She laughed. 'I'm afraid,' she said, 'that even a warrior's assurance
will find it difficult to account satisfactorily for this--and this--and
these!' And as she spoke, she handed him a variety of articles: a
folding hat, a guide to Corinth, a conversation manual, several unused
tourist tickets, one or two theatre programmes, a green veil, some
supper bills, a correct card for the Olympian races, with the names of
probable starters, and three little jointed wooden dolls.
Agamemnon took them all helplessly; all his virtuous indignation had
evaporated, and he looked very red and foolish as he said with a kind of
nervous laugh, 'You've been looking in my pockets!'
'I have,' she said, 'and now what have you to say for yourself? I don't
believe there is any such place as Troy.'
'There is indeed,' he pleaded; 'I can show it to you on the map!'
'Well,' she said, 'if there is, _you_ never went near it!'
'Send those people away,' he said, 'and I will tell you all!'
And when they had gone, he confessed everything, explaining that he
really had meant to go to Troy at first, and how, as he got nearer, he
found himself less and less inclined for fighting--until at last he
determined to travel about and see life instead, and, as he expressed
it, 'pick up a little character.'
'Well,' said Clytemnestra, 'I will have no little characters in _my_
palace, Agamemnon.'
But he protested that she had not understood him. 'And if I have erred,
my love,' he suggested humbly, 'excuse me, but I cannot help thinking
that the means devised for my correction were unnecessarily severe!'
'They were nothing of the sort,' she said; 'you deserved it all--and
worse!'
Upon this Agamemnon made haste to assure her that she had shown a very
proper spirit, and he respected her the more for it. 'And now,' he put
it to her, 'why not let bygones _be_ bygones?' But Clytemnestra's reply
was that she would be quite willing to permit this when they _were_
bygones, which, at present, she added, they were very far from being.
The King was in despair, until beneficent nature came to his assistance;
a faint chirrup was heard from a neighbouring bush, a circumstance which
he turned to admirable account.
'You hear it?' he asked tenderly, 'the dulcet strain? Know ye the note?
Ah, Clytemnestra, 'tis the owl--the blithe and tuneful owl! Owls sang on
our bridal night--can you hear their melody now and be unmoved? No, I
did but wrong ye ... a tear trembles on that eyelash, a smile flickers
upon that lip! I am pardoned. Clytemnestra--wife, embrace me ... we both
have much to forgive!'
This speech (which was not unlike some he had heard in thrilling dramas
at the 'Haemabronteion,' Corinth, where the prophetess Cassandra had been
greatly admired in her impersonations of persecuted and distracted
heroines) touched Clytemnestra's heart, in which, hard as it was, there
was a strain of sentiment--and she fell sobbing into her husband's arms.
And so all was forgotten and forgiven in the most satisfactory manner,
the Chorus (who had been considering themselves arrested until the
intellectual strain had proved almost too much for them) were released,
while it was found on inquiry that both AEgisthus and Cassandra were
missing, and no trace of either of them was ever found again; but it
was generally understood that, with a delicate unselfishness, they had
been unwilling to remain where their presence would lead to inevitable
complications.
And from that night--until the fatal day, some six short weeks
afterwards, when each, by an unfortunate oversight, partook of a mixture
which had been carefully prepared for the other--there was not a happier
royal couple in all Argos than Clytemnestra and Agamemnon.
_THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM._[1]
[Illustration: I]
I frankly admit, whatever may be the consequences of doing so, that I
was not fond of Barnjum; in fact, I detested him. Everything that fellow
said and did jarred upon me to an absolutely indescribable extent,
although I did not discover for some time that he regarded me with a
strange and unreasonable aversion.
We were so essentially unlike in almost every particular--I, with my
innate refinement and high culture, my over-fastidious exclusiveness in
the choice of associates; and he, a big, red, coarse brute, with neither
sweetness nor light, who knew himself a Philistine, and seemed to like
it--we were so unlike, that I often asked him, with a genuine desire for
information, _what_ had I in common with him?
[Footnote 1: Reprinted from _Temple Bar_ for March 1879, by permission
of the Proprietors.]
And yet it will scarcely be believed, perhaps, that with such good
reasons for keeping apart, we were continually seeking one another's
company with a zest that knew no satiety. The only explanation I can
offer for such a phenomenon is, that our mutual antipathy had become so
much a part of ourselves, that we could not let it perish for lack of
nourishment.
Perhaps we were not conscious of this at the time, and when we agreed to
go on a walking tour together in North Wales, I think it was chiefly
because we knew that we could devise no surer means of annoying one
another; but, however that may be, in an ill-starred day for my own
peace of mind, we started upon a journey from which but one of us was
fated to return.
I pass by the painful experiences of the first few days of that unhappy
tour. I will say nothing of Barnjum's grovelling animalism, of his
consummate selfishness, his more than bucolic indifference to the charms
of Nature, nor even of the mean and sordid way in which he contrived to
let me in for railway tickets and hotel bills.
I wish to tell my melancholy story with perfect impartiality, and I am
sure that I am not reduced to exciting any prejudice to secure the
sympathies of all readers.