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| Character | Clytmenestra | |
|---|---|---|
| Gender | Female | |
| Age Range(s) | Adult (36-50) | |
| Type of monologue / Character is | In love, Persuasive, Descriptive, Lamenting | |
| Type | Dramatic | |
| Period | Ancient Greek | |
| Genre | Tragedy, Drama | |
| Description | Clytemnestra welcomes Agamemnon home | |
Summary
The story of the play focuses on the revenge by Clytemnestra on her husband Agamemnon. Agamemnon is the King of Argos and one of the generals in the Trojan war against Troy. Clytemnestra awaits for the return of her husband from the war so that she can kill him for having sacrificed their daughter Iphigenia during the war. When Agamemnon and his concubine Cassandra come back from the war they are eventually killed by Clytemnestra with the help of her lover Aegisthus.
In this scene King Agamemnon has just arrived to Argos on his chariot with his mistress Cassandra. After the Chorus praises him for winning the war, Clytmemnestra greets him and welcomes him home. In this monologue she declares her love for him and describes the pain that she suffered for the last ten years while she was waiting for her husband to come back from the war and had to hear countless horrible rumors about him getting wounded or killed.
In this scene King Agamemnon has just arrived to Argos on his chariot with his mistress Cassandra. After the Chorus praises him for winning the war, Clytmemnestra greets him and welcomes him home. In this monologue she declares her love for him and describes the pain that she suffered for the last ten years while she was waiting for her husband to come back from the war and had to hear countless horrible rumors about him getting wounded or killed.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
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| CLYTEMNESTRA Old men of Argos, lieges of our realm, Shame shall not bid me shrink lest ye should see The love I bear my lord. Such blushing fear Dies at the last from hearts of human kind. From mine own soul and from no alien lips, I know and will reveal the life I bore. Reluctant, through the lingering livelong years, The while my lord beleaguered Ilion's wall. First, that a wife sat sundered from her lord, In widowed solitude, was utter woe And woe, to hear how rumour's many tongues All boded evil-woe, when he who came And he who followed spake of ill on ill, Keening Lost, lost, all lost! thro' hall and bower. Had this my husband met so many wounds, As by a thousand channels rumour told, No network e'er was full of holes as he. Had he been slain, as oft as tidings came That he was dead, he well might boast him now A second Geryon of triple frame, With triple robe of earth above him laid- For that below, no matter-triply dead, Dead by one death for every form he bore. And thus distraught by news of wrath and woe, Oft for self-slaughter had I slung the noose, But others wrenched it from my neck away. Hence haps it that Orestes, thine and mine, The pledge and symbol of our wedded troth, Stands not beside us now, as he should stand. Nor marvel thou at this: he dwells with one Who guards him loyally; 'tis Phocis' king, Strophius, who warned me erst, Bethink thee, queen, What woes of doubtful issue well may fall Thy lord in daily jeopardy at Troy, While here a populace uncurbed may cry, "Down witk the council, down!" bethink thee too, 'Tis the world's way to set a harder heel On fallen power. For thy child's absence then Such mine excuse, no wily afterthought. For me, long since the gushing fount of tears Is wept away; no drop is left to shed. Dim are the eyes that ever watched till dawn, Weeping, the bale-fires, piled for thy return, Night after night unkindled. If I slept, Each sound-the tiny humming of a gnat, Roused me again, again, from fitful dreams Wherein I felt thee smitten, saw thee slain, Thrice for each moment of mine hour of sleep. All this I bore, and now, released from woe, I hail my lord as watch-dog of a fold, As saving stay-rope of a storm-tossed ship, As column stout that holds the roof aloft, As only child unto a sire bereaved, As land beheld, past hope, by crews forlorn, As sunshine fair when tempest's wrath is past, As gushing spring to thirsty wayfarer. So sweet it is to 'scape the press of pain. With such salute I bid my husband hail Nor heaven be wroth therewith! for long and hard I bore that ire of old. Sweet lord, step forth, Step from thy car, I pray-nay, not on earth Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod down Troy! Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is To spread your monarch's path with tapestry? Swift, swift, with purple strew his passage fair, That justice lead him to a home, at last, He scarcely looked to see. [The attendant women spread the tapestry.] For what remains, Zeal unsubdued by sleep shall nerve my hand To work as right and as the gods command. |
