In literature a drama genre deserves your attention. Dramas are usually called plays. Every person is made up of two parts: good and evil. Due to life circumstances, the human reveals one or another side of his nature. In drama we can see the full range of emotions : it can be love, jealousy, hatred, fear, etc. The best drama books are full of dialogue. This type of drama is one of the oldest forms of storytelling and has existed almost since the beginning of humanity. Drama genre - these are events that involve a lot of people. People most often suffer in this genre, because they are selfish. People always think to themselves first, they want have a benefit.Andromache by Gilbert Murray (inspirational books to read txt) 📖
- Author: Gilbert Murray
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Alcimedon.
A very foul deed, very foul; but a gallant one! And if she would leave her lord—the hound!—she might well help to slay him!
Orestes.
He did not seek her for her righteousness; he sought her because her beauty spoke like a god to him!
[A moment's pause. A shout of several voices heard in the Court.
Alcimedon.
What is that shouting?
[Moves towards door, with Molossus; the Priest follows.
Hermione.
I heard the King's voice in it. [To her Maids.] Go, quick. See what has happened. [They also go towards the door, leaving Hermione and Orestes alone. An instant of silence; then she makes a quick movement to him.] Oh, speak!
Orestes.
Either I will take you this night or I will be slain here in the hall!
Hermione.
Oh, take me, take me! I am half dead with wearying!
Orestes.
You shall weary no more. Go forth alone at midnight to the altar of Thetis——
Hermione.
The altar of Thetis—by night! [She shows fear.
Orestes.
What do you fear? [Hermione shudders, but does not answer.] You dare not? Then, let it end the other way!
Hermione.
Dare you slay him?
Orestes.
That is no great thing!
Hermione.
And the witch, and the witch-child? [With frightened ferocity.
Orestes.
Slay her?
Hermione.
You will not? You will not? Oh, then, I dare not go to you!
[Orestes looks at her with surprise and some repulsion; the women and Alcimus return, followed by Pyrrhus and Molossus, with some armour: after them Andromache and some retainers.
Maid.
A gift for Molossus! The King has given him a helmet and shield and spear!
Molossus.
And greaves, too, with bronze rims!
Pyrrhus.
Not yet, my boy! [As Molossus would fit a greave on.] Bad luck before a banquet.
Alcimus.
Wait till the morning, my lad!
Pyrrhus.
[With sudden displeasure, seeing the blood-gifts.] What mean all these carpets, and the bowl yonder?
Andromache.
They are gifts for the atonement.
Pyrrhus.
Atonement—to those dogs!
Andromache.
My King, it was the boon you granted me.
Pyrrhus.
[Turning towards Molossus.] The boy never consented!
Molossus.
I—verily I liked it not—but I gave my word. Mother made me.
Pyrrhus.
You have just slain a man, and a woman can frighten you to promising your own dishonour?
Molossus.
She did not frighten me; she—I know not how she did it!
Hermione.
[With a laugh.] Others can guess well enough how she did it!
First Maid.
[Muttering.] Sorceress!
Second Maid.
[The same.] Phrygian witch!
Alcimus.
Hold your peace, little prating foxes!
First Maid.
Oh, we all know she has witched old Alcimedon, long ago.
Molossus.
[Half crying, as Pyrrhus stands gloomily silent.] I would not make atonement to them, Father, for all the world!
Pyrrhus.
She has your word now, little fool; and mine likewise.—By the gods, woman, you have got your will, and shamed me in the eyes of all men.
Andromache.
Master, your honour is more to me than mine own. This thing shames you not; even Alcimedon deemed it wise and honourable.
Alcimus.
The boy is very young; if he were a man, belike——
Hermione.
Is Alcimedon the judge of his lord's honour?
Andromache.
But how should I ever seek to hurt your honour? Why should I wish it?
Priest.
[As Pyrrhus goes silently back to the throne.] A barbarian woman never forgets a hurt.
First Maid.
'Tis the spite of a conquered Phrygian.
Hermione.
Let her be, King! She is thinking ever of her Hector, and Astyanax whom you slew!
Andromache.
My lord——
Pyrrhus.
Peace, peace! She knows well enough that Hector is dead—and beyond the seas too. Though I were shamed to the dirt in mine own hall, Hector would not hear of it!
Hermione.
Are you sure?
Priest.
Hector himself is buried beyond the seas, but his ghost may have followed your ships to Phthia. [Coming up to the throne.] Yea, son of Achilles, though you like not my counsel, there be witches in Phrygia that can wake the dead, and tell them of shame come to their enemies, or of——
Alcimus.
There be none such in Phthia, old man! And if the dead should wake, your prating would even set them to sleep again. [Laughter, in which Pyrrhus slightly joins.
Pyrrhus.
'Tis well said, Alcimedon! These women and priests!
Priest.
Nay, but I will speak!
[Talks to Pyrrhus, round whom a group gathers, leaving Andromache alone, and Orestes near Alcimedon.
Orestes.
[Apart to Alcimedon.] Old man, you have seen Helen. Was she more beautiful than your Queen?
Alcimus.
[Looking towards Hermione, then brightening.] Nay, this is a woman like another; Helen was goddesslike, deathless and ageless for ever!
Orestes.
[To himself.] For Helen I could have done it! Alcimedon, did yonder woman ever do Helen any great wrong, anything meet for vengeance?
Alcimus.
Andromache? Why, 'twas Helen did her all the wrong!
Orestes.
Even so; and therefore she must have hated her. Did she never seek, think you, to have Helen slain?
Alcimus.
I trow not! Why, she gave her home and shelter when the folk of Troy sought to stone her.
Orestes.
[Brooding.] If she had ever plotted against Helen, I could have done it.
Pyrrhus.
[Shaking off the Priest.] Enough, enough!—Is your stranger in the hall, Andromache?
Andromache.
He is here, my lord; a man of good counsel, methinks, and like to be faithful to his guest-oath.
Pyrrhus.
He is happily come to a night of festival.—Stranger, you stand far from the fire.
[Orestes and Hermione have been trying to read one another's faces. Here Orestes turns bitterly, looks to the suits of armour on the wall, and chooses a seat near one.
Orestes.
Nay, I have a good seat.
Pyrrhus.
We will call the bard and be merry.
Orestes.
[Gloomily.] I have heard your bard but now.
Priest.
The stranger makes minstrelsy himself, as many chieftains may.
Orestes.
Ay, give me a goblet, and I will sing. I am but a rude singer, but my songs may perchance be new.
Pyrrhus.
Take him the wine. [They bring wine and a lyre.
Orestes.
There are two songs running in my ears this hour past; and I know not fully even yet which of the two is better.
Pyrrhus.
Let it be something joyful, meet for a feast-day.
Orestes.
I fancied before that one of my songs was very joyful; but now methinks there is no joy at all in either.
Pyrrhus.
[After looking at him questioningly for a moment.] Then give us a good straight battle-piece, with no cowards in it, and no slaying by stealth.
Orestes.
[Excitedly.] That it shall be! No cowards, no slaying by stealth, and a clean, hard fight! Ay, and it is the easier too!
Priest.
You will call first upon the god, stranger.
Orestes.
Assuredly; and the god can choose the end of the lay. [Chanting.
Heart of his fears, and burthen of his breath,
Queller of hate and love, hear, O Most Strong,
Most Wrathful and Unrighteous, hear, O Death!"
Men-at-Arms.
Good words! Good words!
Priest.
God avert the omen! [He goes and does purifications at the fire.
Alcimedon.
On his own head! By Thetis! this stranger has run over with evil words ever since he came.
Pyrrhus.
Choose another song, Sir Stranger! Men like not the name of Death.
Orestes.
Not death! Shall I sing of women, then? They come nearest. [Chants.
O Beauty, wild with wreckage like the sea,
Say who shall win thee, thou without a name?
O Helen, Helen, who shall die for thee?"
Alcimedon.
[Starting up.] Now, by Thetis, stranger, in shape God has made you kinglike, but within a very fool!
Hermione.
[Piteously.] My mother Helen never wished the men to die!
Orestes.
My singing mislikes you, old man? Or is it women that like you not?
Pyrrhus.
Stranger, some gayer song would better suit a day of rejoicing. Are the songs of Acarnania all sad?
Orestes.
Do the men of Phthia wince at the name of death?
Alcimedon.
We have our own bard, who can sing to our liking; and his lays will tell whether we fear death.
Orestes.
Your own bard will sing your own valour, belike? That I can ill do; for I have heard but little of the deeds of Pyrrhus.
Alcimedon.
The name of Troy has been heard, perchance, even in Acarnania?
Orestes.
But the praise of your ancestors I could make into something—something gayer, you said? Was Æacus the first of your house?
Alcimedon.
Æacus, son of Zeus.
Orestes.
[Twanging the lyre carelessly and improvising.
A strong king and a wise was Æacus,
And Zeus his father helped him in his need,
And Pelops, Lord of Hellas, loved him well!"
Alcimedon.
[Grumbling.] Æacus was no vassal of Pelops!
Orestes.
And Peleus he begat, a goodly king;
Albeit he stabbed his brother on the sand,
And wandered from his house, and begged, and lied,
And vowed a goddess held him to her breast."
[Murmurs in the hall. Orestes pauses and drinks.
Pyrrhus.
[Under his breath.] Does the man seek for strife?
Orestes.
Hermione.
Perchance his wine likes him not. [Goes down to Orestes, pours him fresh wine, and whispers.] Are you mad?
Orestes.
[In the same tone, looking in her face.] Knew you not that, long ago? [Continuing, while she goes back to the throne.
And slew by guile great Hector, and was slain.
And, though he hid from war in woman's weeds,
And though he kept his tent while others fought,
Yet gat he from his loins one son true born,
And craved not mercy, gave not gifts for blood!"
Pyrrhus.
What does the dog mean?
Orestes.
"The son is viler, viler than the sire!"
Pyrrhus.
[Starting up.] By all my fathers together, this is the end! Ho, Myrmidons!
[He snatches up the spear and shield of Molossus. The other men take arms and growl. Hermione starts up, clasping her head with both hands, and staring in terror before her. Orestes stays quietly seated.
Andromache.
[Rushing before Pyrrhus.] Your oath, O King! Your pledged hand! He is our guest!
Pyrrhus.
[Checking himself suddenly, then turning upon her.] Whose guest? You brought him here—you gave the barb to his mocking! [To the men.] Back, men! [To Andromache.] Who taught him to revile my house?
Andromache.
Nay, I have told him nothing.
Maid of Hermione.
He has been talking hours and hours with the Lady Andromache.
Andromache.
I know him not. I think he is mad.
Both Maids of Hermione.
Bewitched, perchance! [Murmurs of assent and dissent.
Pyrrhus.
Peace, hounds! [To Orestes.] Sir Guest, this woman has saved you, else, oath or no oath, had I slain you where you stand!
Hermione.
[Starting from her stupefaction.] What is that in the bowl?
Pyrrhus.
What bowl?
Hermione.
The bowl of your blood-gifts. [Pointing to it.
Pyrrhus.
My blood-gifts! [Goes to the bowl; then turns furiously on Andromache.] Woman, who gave you this gold?
Andromache.
No man gave me gold. The stranger cast a pendant of his chain to add
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