The old men stand paralysed with fear; and before they can move a step to help, the agonized voice cries a second time:
“Oh me! Again I am smitten, to the death!”
There is an instant uproar and outcry. The palace becomes noisy with hurrying feet and clamorous voices; the old men feebly rush this way and that, unable to decide, in their weakness and senility, how to act. In the midst of the disorder, the doors of the palace are thrown open, and Clytemnestra is revealed, weapon in hand, bending over the body of Agamemnon. A dreadful hush falls; and the queen, drawing herself up before the people, deliberately confesses to the deed and declares her motives.
“I, who spake much before to serve my need,
Will here unspeak it, unappalled by shame.
... Time, and thought still brooding
On that old quarrel, brought me to this blow.
‘Tis done, and here I stand: here where I smote him!—
I so contrived it,—that I’ll ne’er deny,—
As neither loophole nor defence was left him....