left her, a faithful
watcher of the home, her loyalty sure, her honour undefiled. Then
follows another choral ode, similar in theme to the last, dwelling on
the woe brought by the act of Paris upon Troy, the change of the bridal
song to the trump of war and the dirge of death; contrasting, in a
profusion of splendid tropes, the beauty of Helen with the curse to
which it is bound; and insisting once more on the doom that attends
insolence and pride. At the conclusion of this song the measure changes
to a march, and the chorus turn to welcome the triumphant king.
Agamemnon enters, and behind him the veiled and silent figure of a
woman. After greeting the gods of his House, the King, in brief and
stilted phrase, acknowledges the loyalty of the chorus, but hints at
much that is amiss which it must be his first charge to set right.
Hereupon enters Clytemnestra, and in a speech of rhetorical exaggeration
tells of her anxious waiting for her lord and her inexpressible joy at
his return. In conclusion she directs that purple cloth be spread upon
his path that he may enter the house as befits a conqueror. After a show
of resistance, Agamemnon yields the point, and the contrast at which
the dramatist aims is achieved. With the pomp of an eastern monarch,
always repellent to the Greek mind, the King steps across the threshold,
steps, as the audience knows, to his death. The higher the reach of his
power and pride the more terrible and swift is the nemesis; and
Clytemnestra follows in triumph with the enigmatic cry upon her lips:
"Zeus who art god of fulfilment, fulfil my prayers." As she withdraws
the chorus begin a song of boding fear, the more terrible that it is
still indefinite. Something is going to happen--the presentiment is
sure. But what, but what? They search the night in vain. Meantime,
motionless and silent waits the figure of the veiled woman. It is
Cassandra, the prophetess, daughter of Priam of Troy, whom Agamemnon has
carried home as his prize. Clytemnestra returns to urge her to enter the
house; she makes no sign and utters no word. The queen changes her tone
from courtesy to anger and rebuke; the figure neither stirs nor speaks;
and Clytemnestra at last with an angry threat leaves her and returns to
the palace. Then, and not till then, a cry breaks from the stranger's
lips, a passionate cry to Apollo who gave her her fatal gift. All the
sombre history of the House to which she has been brought, the woe that
has b