Book of illustrations. Euripides

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       Upon the altar hearth, and worse than these.

       But on a wider scale for those who went

       From Hellas' ancient shore,

       A sore distress that causeth pain of heart

       Is seen in every house.

       Yea, many things there are that touch the quick:

       For those whom each did send

       He knoweth; but, instead

       Of living men, there come to each man's home

       Funereal urns alone,

       And ashes of the dead. {425}

       Strophe III: change of rhythm, evolutions from Altar to Right.

      War is a trafficker; in the rush of battle he holds scales, and for the golden coin you spend on him he sends you back lifeless shapes of men; they sent out men, the loving friends receive back well-smoothed ashes from the funeral pyre. They sing the heroic fall of some—all for another's wife; and some murmur discontent against the sons of Atreus, and some have won a grave in the land they had conquered. {441}

       Antistrophe III: evolutions repeated, but from Right back to Altar.

      So sullen discontent has been doing the work of a people's curse: therefore it is that I am awaiting with dim forebodings the full news. The Gods do not forget those who have shed much blood, and sooner or later the dark-robed Deities of the Curse consign the evil-doer to impassable, hopeless gloom. Away with the dazzling success that attracts the thunderbolt! be mine the moderate lot that neither causes nor suffers captivity. {458}

       Epode: change of rhythm and Chorus not moving from the Altar.

      The courier flame has brought good news—but who knows whether it be true?—Yet it is childish when the heart is all aglow with the message of the flame to be turned round by everchanging rumour.—Yet it is the nature of a woman to believe too soon. [Observe how the Chorus, setting out on an ode of triumph, have come back to their persistent forebodings.] {471}

       Suddenly at the Side-door on the extreme Left of the Stage (signifying distance) appears a Herald, covered with dust, crowned with olive in token of victory. The Chorus immediately fall into their Episode position to receive him, the Foreman expressing their anticipations as the Herald traverses the long stage to the point opposite the Chorus.

      EPISODE II

      Foreman of Chorus. Now we shall have a clearer message than that of the beacon-fires: all is well or … but I cannot put the other alternative. The Herald (arrived opposite the Chorus) solemnly salutes the land of Argos he had never hoped to see again, salutes the several Gods whose statues are now bright with the morning sun, especially Apollo who has proved himself a Healer, and Hermes, patron of Heralds; and then announces Agamemnon is close at hand, victorious over Troy and having sent Paris to his merited punishment.—Observe how in the parallel dialogue that follows the foreboding tone creeps in again in the midst of the news of triumph. {520}

      Chor. Joy, joy, thou herald of the Achaean host! Her. All joy is mine: I shrink from death no more. Chor. Did love for this thy fatherland so try thee? Her. So that mine eyes weep tears for very joy. Chor. Disease full sweet then this ye suffered from … Her. How so? When taught, I shall thy meaning master. Chor. Ye longed for us who yearned for you in turn. Her. Say'st thou this land its yearning host yearned o'er? Chor. Yea, so that oft I groaned in gloom of heart. Her. Whence came these bodings that an army hates? Chor. Silence I've held long since a charm for ill. Her. How, when your lords were absent, feared ye any? Chor. To use thy words, death now would welcome be. {533} The Herald, not understanding the source of the Chorus' misgiving, goes on to say of course their success is mixed: so fare all but the Gods. They have had their tossings on the sea, their exposure to the night dews till their hair is shaggy as beasts'; but why remember these now? our toil is past—so he suddenly recollects is that of the dead they have left behind—but he will shake off these feelings: Troy is captured. The Chorus feel youthful with such happy tidings. {569}

       Enter Clytaemnestra from the Palace.

      Clyt. Now they will believe me, who were saying just now that women believed too soon. What joy for a wife equal to that of a husband's return? and I have kept my trust as stainless as bronze. [Exit into Palace.] The Foreman goes on to enquire as to Menelaus: the Herald would fain not answer, and brings out the Greek dread of mingling bad news with good—at last he is forced to acknowledge Menelaus has disappeared, his ship sundered from the fleet by a terrible storm in which

      They a compact swore who erst were foes,

       Ocean and Fire, {634}

      and the sea 'blossomed with wrecks of ships and dead Achaeans:' the fleet itself barely escaped. [Thus: foreboding indirectly assisted by its appearing that one of the two sons of Atreus has already been overtaken by Nemesis.] {663}

      CHORAL INTERLUDE II

      [Positions, etc., as before.]

       Strophe I: to the Right.

      Who could foresee so well and give her the name Helen—a Hell[3] to men and ships and towers? She came out of bowers of gorgeous curtains, she sailed with breezes soft as Zephyrs yet strong as Titans, and unseen reached the leafy banks of the Simois; but bloodshed was in her train, and on her track followed hosts of hunters that carried shields. {680}

       Antistrophe I: back to Altar.

      So there is a wrath that works vengeance after long waiting: to the Ilion that received her she was a dear bride: then there was a shout of 'Paris, Paris,' in the Bridal Song: now his city has celebrated a Wedding of Death, and called on Paris' name in other tones. {695}

       Strophe II: Altar to Left.

      So once a lion's cub,

       A mischief in his house,

       As foster child one reared,

       While still it loved the teats;

       In life's preluding dawn

       Tame, by the children loved,

       And fondled by the old,

       Oft in his arms 'twas held,

       Like infant newly born,

       With eyes that brightened to the hand that stroked,

       And fawning at the hest of hunger keen. {704}

       Antistrophe II: back to Altar.

      But when full-grown, it showed

       The nature of its sires;

       For it unbidden made

       A feast in recompense

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