THE ORESTEIA

Athena:

Behold, with gracious heart well pleased

I for my citizens do grant
Fulfilment of this covenant:
And here, their wrath at length appeased,
These mighty deities shall stay,
For theirs it is by right to sway
The lot that rules our mortal day,
And he who hath not inly felt
Their stern decree, ere long on him,
Not knowing why and whence, the grim
Life-crushing blow is dealt.
The father's sin upon the child
Descends, and sin is silent death,
And leads him on the downward path,
By stealth beguiled,
Unto the Furies: though his state
On earth were high, and loud his boast,
Victim of silent ire and hate
He dwells among the Lost.

Chorus:

To my blessing now give ear.--

Scorching blight nor singèd air
Never blast thine olives fair!
Drouth, that wasteth bud and plant,
Keep to thine own place.Avaunt,
Famine fell, and come not hither
Stealthily to waste and wither!
Let the land, in season due,
Twice her waxing fruits renew;
Teem the kine in double measure;
Rich in new god-given treasure;
Here let men the powers adore
For sudden gifts unhoped before!
Athena:

O hearken, warders of the wall

That guards mine Athens, what a dower
Is unto her ordained and given!
For mighty is the Furies' power,
And deep-revered in courts of heaven
And realms of hell; and clear to all
They weave thy doom, mortality!
And some in joy and peace shall sing;
But unto other some they bring
Sad life and tear-dimmed eye.

Chorus:

And far away I ban thee and remove,

Untimely death of youths too soon brought low!
And to each maid, O gods, when time is come for love,
Grant ye a warrior's heart, a wedded life to know.
Ye too, O Fates, children of mother Night,
Whose children too are we, O goddesses
Of just award, of all by sacred right
Queens who in time and in eternity
Do rule, a present power for righteousness,
Honoured beyond all Gods, hear ye and grant my cry!

Athena:

And I too, I with joy am fain,

Hearing your voice this gift ordain
Unto my land.High thanks be thine,
Persuasion, who with eyes divine
Into my tongue didst look thy strength,
To bend and to appease at length
Those who would not be comforted.
Zeus, king of parley, doth prevail,
And ye and I will strive nor fail,
That good may stand in evil's stead,
And lasting bliss for bale.
Chorus:

And nevermore these walls within

Shall echo fierce sedition's din
Unslaked with blood and crime;
The thirsty dust shall nevermore
Suck up the darkly streaming gore
Of civic broils, shed out in wrath
And vengeance, crying death for death!
But man with man and state with state
Shall vow "The pledge of common hate
And common friendship, that for man
Hath oft made blessing out of ban,
Be ours unto all time".

Athena:

Skill they, or not, the path to find

Of favouring speech and presage kind?
Yea, even from these, who, grim and stern,
Glared anger upon you of old,
O citizens, ye now shall earn
A recompense right manifold.
Deck them aright, extol them high,
Be loyal to their loyalty,
And ye shall make your town and land
Sure, propped on Justice' saving hand,
And Fame's eternity.

Chorus:

Hail ye, all hail! and yet again, all hail

O Athens, happy in a weal secured!
O ye who sit by Zeus' right hand, nor fail
Of wisdom set among you and assured,
Loved of the well-loved Goddess-Maid! the King
Of gods doth reverence you, beneath her guarding wing.

Athena:
All hail unto each honoured guest!
Whom to the chambers of your rest
'Tis mine to lead, and to provide
The hallowed torch, the guard and guide.
Pass down, the while these altars glow
With sacred fire, to earth below
And your appointed shrine.
There dwelling, from the land restrain
The force of fate, the breath of bane,
But waft on us the gift and gain
Of Victory divine!
And ye, the men of Cranaos' seed,
I bid you now with reverence lead
These alien Powers that thus are made
Athenian evermore. To you
Fair be their will henceforth, to do
Whate'er may bless and aid!

Chorus:

Hail to you all! hail yet again,

All who love Athens, Gods and men,
Adoring her as Pallas' home!
And while ye reverence what ye grant--
My sacred shrine and hidden haunt--
Blameless and blissful be your doom!

Athena:

Once more I praise the promise of your vows,

And now I bid the golden torches' glow
Pass down before you to the hidden depth
Of earth, by mine own sacred servants borne,
Mv loyal guards of statue and of shrine.
Come forth, O flower of Theseus' Attic land,
O glorious band of children and of wives,
And ye, O train of matrons crowned with eld!
Deck you with festal robes of scarlet dye
In honour of this day: O gleaming torch,
Lead onward, that these gracious powers of earth
Henceforth be seen to bless the life of men.

Athena leads the procession downwards into the Cave of

the Furies,
under Areopagus: as they go, the escort of women and
children chant aloud.

Chant:

With loyalty we lead you; proudly go,

Night's childless children, to your home below!
("O citizens, awhile from words forbear!")
To darkness' deep primeval lair,
Far in Earth's bosom, downward fare,
Adored with prayer and sacrifice.
("O citizens, forbear your cries!")
Pass hitherward, ye powers of Dread,
With all your former wrath allayed,
Into the heart of this loved land;
With joy unto your temple wend,
The while upon your steps attend
The flames that fed upon the brand--
("Now, now ring out your chant, your joy's acclaim!")
Behind them, as they downward fare,
Let holy hands libations bear,
And torches' sacred flame.
All-seeing Zeus and Fate come down
To battle fair for Pallas' town!
"Ring out your chant, ring out your joy's acclaim!"

An Enemy of the People

Dr. Stockmann. The majority never has right on its side. Never, I say! That is one of these
social lies against which an independent, intelligent man must wage war. Who is it that
constitute the majority of the population in a country? Is it the clever folk, or the stupid?
I don't imagine you will dispute the fact that at present the stupid people are in an
absolutely overwhelming majority all the world over. But, good Lord!—you can never
pretend that it is right that the stupid folk should govern the clever ones! (Uproar and
cries.) Oh, yes—you can shout me down, I know! But you cannot answer me. The
majority has might on its side—unfortunately; but right it has not. I am in the right—I
 and a few other scattered individuals. The minority is always in the right. (Renewed
uproar.)

Hovstad. Aha!—so Dr. Stockmann has become an aristocrat since the day before yesterday!

Dr. Stockmann. I have already said that I don't intend to waste a word on the puny, narrow-
chested, short-winded crew whom we are leaving astern. Pulsating life no longer
concerns itself with them. I am thinking of the few, the scattered few amongst us, who
have absorbed new and vigorous truths. Such men stand, as it were, at the outposts, so
far ahead that the compact majority has not yet been able to come up with them; and
there they are fighting for truths that are too newly-born into the world of consciousness
to have any considerable number of people on their side as yet.

Hovstad. So the Doctor is a revolutionary now!

Dr. Stockmann. Good heavens—of course I am, Mr. Hovstad! I propose to raise a revolution
against the lie that the majority has the monopoly of the truth. What sort of truths are
they that the majority usually supports? They are truths that are of such advanced age
that they are beginning to break up. And if a truth is as old as that, it is also in a fair way
to become a lie, gentlemen. (Laughter and mocking cries.) Yes, believe me or not, as you
like; but truths are by no means as long-lived at Methuselah—as some folk imagine. A
normally constituted truth lives, let us say, as a rule seventeen or eighteen, or at most
twenty years—seldom longer. But truths as aged as that are always worn frightfully thin,
and nevertheless it is only then that the majority recognises them and recommends them
to the community as wholesome moral nourishment. There is no great nutritive value in
that sort of fare, I can assure you; and, as a doctor, I ought to know. These "majority
truths" are like last year's cured meat—like rancid, tainted ham; and they are the origin of
the moral scurvy that is rampant in our communities.

The Missing Chapter: Elias and Salome

If the honorable civil guards, after disturbing the fiesta, had directed
themselves to a place that we know before the sun set that same afternoon,
they would have without doubt encountered the one whom they were looking
for.

It is a small but picturesque hut built along the shores of the lake on an
elevation which spares it from the rise of the waters, among luxuriant bamboo
groves, betelnut and coconut trees. Little red flowers like kamantigi and
maravilla grow at the foot of the thick rustic wall made out of cut rocks, not
appearing that it was really some sort of stairway which led to the lake. The
upper part is made out of nipa palm leaves and cut wood, held down by strips
of bamboo and adorned with leaves blessed on Palm Sunday, as well as with
artificial flowers of tinsim, which come from China. An ilang-ilang tree pushes
through the open window, an intrusive branch saturates the air with aroma. An
the apex of the roof cocks and hens roost from time to time, while the rest
keep the company of ducks, turkeys and pigeons to finish off the last grains of
rice and corn scattered on some kind of
patio. 

On a batalan or bamboo porch, taking advantage of the light of day, a young

girl of some seventeen years is sewing a shirt of brilliant colors and
transparent weave. Her clothes are ragged but clean and decent. Her blouse,
like her skirt and tapis are covered with patches and stitches. All her
adornment, all her jewelry, consist of a plain turtleshell comb to keep her
simply dressed hair in place, and a
rosary of black beads hanging from her neck over her blouse.

She is graceful because she is young, has beautiful eyes, a small nose, a
diminutive mouth; because there is harmony in her features, and a sweet
expression animates them; but hers is not a beauty which instantly arrests
attention at sight. She is like one of those little flowers in the field without color
or fragrance, on which we step unwittingly, and whose beauty manifests itself
to us only when we examine them with care - unknown flowers, flowers of
elusive perfume.

Now and then she would look towards the lake whose waters are somewhat
disturbed, suspend her work and listen crefully, but not discovering anything,
return anew to her sewing with a slight sigh.

Her face lights up at the sound of footsteps; she lets go of her sewing, stands
up, smooths the creases on her skirts and waits, smiling, by the small stairway
of bamboo.

The pigeons fly, the ducks and chickens squawk and cackle as the taciturn-
looking helmsman appears, carrying firewood and a bunch of bananas which
he deposits silently on the floor, while he turns over to the young girl a
mudfish still stirring and wiggling its tail.

She examines the young man with a worried look, then places the fish in a
basin filled with water and returns to pick up her sewing, seating herself
beside the helmsman who has remained silent.
"I thought you would come from the lake, Elias," she says, opening the
conversation.

"No, I could not, Salome," answers Elias in a low voice. "The launch came and
scoured the lake. On board is one who knows me."

"God, my God," murmurs the young woman, looking anxiously at Elias.

A lengthy pause follows. The helmsman silently contemplates the swaying

bamboos moving from one side t oanother, rustling their lance-shaped leaves.

"Did you enjoy yourself much?" asks Salome.

"Enjoy! They, they enjoyed themselves," replies the young man.

"Tell me how you passed the day; hearing it from your lips will please me
much, as though I had been with all of you."

"Well...they went...they fished...they sang...and they enjoyed themselves," he

answers, distracted.

Salome, not being able to contain herself any longer, questions him with a
look and tells him:

"Elias, you are sad!"

"Sad?"

"I know you well!" exclaims the young woman. "Your life is sad...are you afraid
they might discover you?"

Something like the shadow of a smile crosses the young man's lips.

"Is there anything you lack?"

"I do not have your friendship, perhaps? Are we not poor, one like the
others?" replies Elias.

"Then why are you like this?"

"You have told me many times, Salome, that I do not say much."
Salome lowers herhead and continues sewing, then in a voice which attempts
to appear indifferent, asks once more:

"Were there many of you?"

"There were many of them!"

"Many women?"

"Many."

"Who were... the young women...the beautiful ones?"

"I do not know all of them...one was the betrothed of the rich young man who
arrived from Europe," answers Elias in an almost imperceptible voice.

"Ah, the daughter of the rich Capitan Tiago! They say she has become very
beautiful?"

"Oh, yes! very beautiful and very kind-hearted," the young man answers,
drowning a sigh.

Salome looks at him for a moment and then bows her head. 

If Elias had not been looking at the clouds which at sunset often take
capricious shapes, he would have surely seen that Salome was crying and
that two teardrops fell from her eyes on what she was sewing. This time it is
he who breaks the silence, standing up and saying:

"Farewell, Salome, the sun is gone, and as you think it is not good that the
neighbors can say that the night has caught me here...but you have been
crying!" changing his tone and frowning. "Do not deny it with your smile, you
have been crying."

"Well, yes!" she answers smiling, as her eyes fill anew with tears. "It is
because I, too, am very sad."

"And why are you sad, my good friend?"

"Because soon I will have to leave this home where I was born and where I
have grown up," answers Salome, wiping away her tears.

"And why?"

"Because it is not good that I live alone. I will go and live with my relatives in
Mindoro...soon I will be able to pay the debts my mother left me when she
died; the town fiesta comes, and my chickens and turkeys are well-fattened.
To leave a home where one has been born and raised is much more than to
leave half of one's own self...the flowers, the gardens, my doves! A storm
comes, a flood, and everything goes down to the lake!"

Elias becomes thoughtful, and then, taking her by the hand and fixing his eyes
on her, asks:

"Have you heard anybody speak ill of you? No? Did I ever molest you once?
Neither? Therefore you have become tired of my friendship and want to avoid
me."

"No, do not speak that way! If only I would get tired of your friendship!" she
interrupts. "Jesus, Mary! I live the day and night thinking of the hour in the
afternoon in which you would come. When I did not know you, whey my poor
mother lived, the morning and the evening were for me the best that God had
created: the morning, because I would see the sun rising, reflecting itself on
the waters of the lake in whose dark depths rests my father; because I woud
see my fresh flowers, their leaves which had wilted the day before grown
green again; my doves and chickens would greet me happily as if offering me
good mornings. I loved the morning because after fixing the hut, I would go in
my little boat to sell food to the fishermen who would give me fish or who
would allow me to take what was left in the folds of their nets. I loved the
evening which provided me with the sleep of the day, which would allow me to
dream in silence under these bamboo trees to the music of their leaves,
making me forget reality - and because the night would bring back my mother,
whom the panginggi separated from my side during the day.

"But since I met you, the mornings and the evenings have lost their
enchantment, and only the afternoon is beautiful to me. I sometimes think that
the morning was created to prepare oneself to enjoy the delights of the
afternoon, and the evening to dream and relish the memories and awakened
feelings. If only it were my choice to forever live the life I bear...God knows I
am happy with my lot; I do not desire more than health to work; I don't envy
the rich girls their wealth but..."
"But?"

"Nothing, I do not envy them anything while I have your friendship."

"Salome," the young man says with sharp regret, "you know my cruel past and
you know my misfortune is not of my own making. If it were not for that fate
which at times makes me think with bitterness about the love of my parents, if
it were not because I do not want my children to suffer that which my sister
and I suffered and what I still suffer, months ago you would have been my
spouse in the eyes of God, and today we should be living deep in the forest
and far away from men. But for this same love, for this future family, I have
sworn to extinguish in me the misfortune that from father to son we have
come to inherit, and it is necessary that this has to be, because
neither you nor I would like to hear our children cursing our love from which
only miseries can be thier legacy. You do well to go to your relatives' home.
Forget me, forget a foolish and useless love. Perhaps there you may find
someone who is not like me."

"Elias!" exclaims the maiden with reproach.

"You have understood me wrongly; I speak to you as I would speak to my

sister if she were alive; in my words, there is not a single complaint against
you, nor hidden thoughts. Why should I hurt you with a reproach? Believe me,
go to the home of your relatives; forget me. That, with your forgetfulness, I
may be less unfortunate. Here, you have nobdy but me, and the day that I fall
into the hands of those who persecute me, you will be left alone and solitary
for the rest of your life, if it is discovered that you were a friend of Elias's. Take
advantage of your youth and your beauty to look for a good husband whom
you deserve. No, no, you stilll do not know wht it is to live alone, alone in the
midst of humanity."

"I was counting on your accompanying me..."

"Ay!" replies Elias,shaking his head, "impossible, and today more than
ever. I have not yet found that which I came to look for here. Impossible. This
day I have lost my freedom."

And Elias recounts in a few words what transpired that morning.

"I did not ask him to save my life; I am not grateful for what he did, but for the
feeling that inspired him, and I should pay that debt. For the rest of it, in
Mindoro s anywhere else, the past will always be there, and will inevitably be
discovered."

"Well then," Salome says to him, looking at him lovingly, "at the very least,
when I have left, live here, live in this home. It will make you remember me
and I will not think, in those faraway places, that my little house has been
carried away by the hurricane or the waves. When my thoughts go back to
these shores, the memory of you and that of my home will present themselves
together. Sleep here where I have slept and dreamed....it would be as if I
myself were living with you, as if I were at your side."

"Oh!" exclaims Elias, twisting his arms with despair, "woman, you are going to
make me forget..." His eyes burn, but only for a moment.

And pulling himself away from the arms of the young woman, he flees, losing
himself in the shadows of the trees. 

Salome follows him with her eyes, remaining still and listening to the sound of
the footsteps gradually fading away.