Holding a burden piteous to be borne—
Gobbets of flesh, their very own, their entrails
Clearly discernible, the heart, the liver,
Of which their father ate!
In these lines we can hear the rumblings of the coming storm. When the storm has passed, when the curse has found its mark, Clytaemnestra echoes the same sentiment, thus representing herself as the divine instrument of an avenging Justice. She says to the Chorus[17]:
Ye proclaim it my deed. Yet, beware!...
’Tis the spirit of Vengeance awaking from sleep
For the banquet of Atreus of old to Thyestes cruelly given,
Putting on the resemblance of her that was queen to the dead,