Agamemnon and Menelaus, the sons of Atreus, held joint command of the Greek fleet and army which went to Troy to recapture Menelaus’ erring wife, Helen, and wreak vengeance on the city to which she had been enticed. Before the expedition could sail from Aulis, Agamemnon was faced with the necessity to sacrifice his daughter Iphigeneia in order to propitiate Artemis and obtain a fair wind for his passage. He did this; his fleet reached Troy, and ten years later he returned victorious. But meanwhile his wife Clytaemnestra had taken Aegisthus as her lover, and together they planned to kill Agamemnon on his return. The deed was done, and Aegisthus reigned in Agamemnon’s place. The daughters Electra and Chrysothemis lived on in the house of death for many years. But the youngest child, Orestes, had been entrusted by Electra to the care of a faithful friend who took him away and watched over him till he came to manhood, when he was bidden by Apollo to return home and avenge his father’s death.
The play tells how he came, at first unrecognized by Electra, and then, revealing himself to her, accomplished with her help the death of their father’s murderers.
*
CHARACTERS
Orestes, son of Agamemnon
Electra, daughter of Agamemnon
Chrysothemis, her sister
Clytaemnestra, her mother
Aegisthus, second husband of Clytaemnestra
Pylades, friend of Orestes (silent)
A Tutor to Orestes
Chorus of women of Mycenae
*
The scene is before the house of Agamemnon, now the house of Aegisthus, at Mycenae, overlooking the plain and city of Argos.
Enter the TUTOR, with ORESTES and PYLADES.
TUTOR: Now, son of Agamemnon, son of the great captain of the Greeks at Troy, here is a sight for you to feast your eyes on, one you have been looking forward to for many a long year. See, there is the city of your dreams, old Argos; and all the ground sacred to Inachus’ daughter, Io, whom the gadfly tormented, as the story goes. Yonder is the market-place, the Lycean they call it, from the god who killed the wolf; to the left, the famous temple of Hera.
We are at Mycenae, the treasure-house of gold; and this - this is the ancestral home of the family of Pelops, a house of death if ever there was one. It was from this house I carried you away, at your sister’s orders, on the day your father was murdered, all those years ago. I took you away, and looked after you, and brought you up to manhood, so that you might live to avenge your father’s death.
Now, my good lads, Orestes and our friend Pylades, we must make our plans and lose no time. The starry curtain of night is drawn away, and the sun is up to wake the morning-song of birds. Let us say what we have to say before anyone comes out of doors. This is the time for action; there is no drawing back now.
ORESTES: Faithful old friend, your goodness to me is beyond question. Trust a thoroughbred horse, however old, to be keen in the charge and never fail you in a tight place; like you, carrying us forward and backing us up like the best.
Listen, and I’ll tell you what I have decided, and if I’m off the mark, correct me. When I went to learn from the Pythian oracle how I was to punish my father’s murderers, the reply was that I was to go alone without men or arms to help me, and by stratagem exact the just penalty of death. That was the divine command. Our plan, then, must be for you to take an opportunity of entering the house; find out what’s going on inside, and bring us word. You won’t be recognized after all these years. No one will know you with that white hair of yours. Spin a tale that you’re a visitor from Phocis, sent by Pantheus – he’s a great ally of theirs. Tell them that Orestes is dead – take your oath on it – some accidental death, say; a fall from his chariot at the Pythian games, or some such story. Meanwhile, Pylades and I will go and visit my father’s grave – for the god ordered this – with libations and a lock of hair; then we’ll come back, with that vessel of beaten bronze that we have hidden in the wood, and deceive them with the comfortable assurance that my body has been burned to ashes and is no more.
An ill-omened action? No matter, if a pretended death will bring me true life and glory. I call no omen bad that leads to advantage in the end. I have heard stories of sages who have been reputed dead and then have come home again to be held in new and greater honour. So I am confident that from this forged death I shall rise again like a new star to dazzle my enemies.
May the land of our fathers, and the gods that guard the land,
Receive me and prosper the journey that I have made:
May the house of my fathers receive me, for whose sake
I am sent by the gods to purify and cleanse it:
Let me not be sent away unsatisfied;
Give me my birthright, my possession, and my home.
No more words; we’ll leave you to your task, old friend; now’s the time, and time is the umpire in all human business.
ELECTRA (within): Alas, alas!
TUTOR: Listen; someone weeping within; some servant probably.
ORESTES: Could it be poor Electra herself? Shall we wait and listen?
TUTOR: No, no. Apollo’s orders first. Best start the right way, with the libation to your father; that’ll put us in the way of success in all we do.
They leave the stage, ORESTES and PYLADES on one side, the TUTOR on the other.
ELECTRA comes out of the palace.
ELECTRA: Sweet light, clean air,
As wide as earth!
Each night that dies with dawn
I bring my sad songs here
And tear my breast until it bleeds.
Ask my uneasy bed
How many hours
In this afflicted house
I watch, how many tears I shed
In all his wars abroad
He knocked in vain
At the door of death. At home
My mother and her paramour,
Aegisthus, split his skull
With an axe, as a forester
Would split an oak.
And for that piteous death,
Father, there is no mouth
But mine to cry.
My bitter tears
Shall never end,
As long as I can see
This light and the winking stars.
Like the sad bird that killed her child,
Here at my father’s door
I must cry out
For all the world to hear.
Hades, Persephone,
Hermes, steward of death,
Eternal Wrath and Furies,
Children of gods,
Who see all murderers
And all adulterous thieves, come soon!
Be near me, and avenge
My father’s death, and bring
My brother home!
I have no strength. I cannot stand
Alone under this load
Of my affliction.
The CHORUS of women of Mycenae now draw near and speak to ELECTRA.
CHORUS: Child of a mother doomed to sin, Electra,
Weeping ever in endless sorrow a father
Trapped in that mother’s evil snare, that lured him
Into the hand of death, long years ago now –
So, God forgive me, may they die that did that thing.
ELECTRA: O gentle-hearted women,
I know you come to comfort me;
I know, believe me, I understand.
But I must do this, I cannot change
Or cease to mourn for my lost father.
You are so kind and good to me,
Leave me and let me weep,
Please let me weep.
CHORUS: You cannot call him back from the river of Hades,
That all must cross, with weeping and lamentation,
With helpless sorrow and grieving beyond all reason.
You’ll sicken to death; no tears can lighten the labour
Of trouble past; must you still cling to misery?
ELECTRA: A dull fool might forget
A father’s miserable death.
My way is the way of the tearful bird,
God’s messenger, that cries ‘Itys! Itys!’
Abandoned to despair. I worship Niobe,
The inconsolable, entombed in stone,
Weeping eternally
With tears unceasing.
CHORUS: You are not alone, dear child, in the sorrow
Which moves you more than the others who share your home;
Your nearest kin, your sister Chrysothemis,
And Iphianassa, they are not tired of life;
And another – who knows where
He hides his grief? – poor lad, waiting for the happiness,
When God shall bring him into his princely heritage
And great Mycenae welcomes her Orestes.
ELECTRA: He is the one I am waiting for
Always and always, everywhere I go.
I have no child, no man to love,
I carry my never-ending burden,
Washed in my tears; but he has forgotten
All that was done to him, all he has heard of us.
Messages come, but only disappointment
Follows. He wants to come,
I know he wants to come, but dare not.
CHORUS: Do not despair, dear. God in heaven
Is great, he sees and governs everything.
Commit your burden of hatred into his hands;
Neither forget your enemies nor cherish
Excessive anger against them.
Time is the sacred healer; the son of Agamemnon
Will not forget; he waits in the fields of Crisa.
Nor is the Lord of the River of Death forgetful.
ELECTRA: Half my life is wasted away
In hopeless waiting; all my strength is gone.
I have no husband at my side
To fight for me, I have borne no children.
I am only an alien slave, a menial
Drudge in the house that was my father’s,
Dressed like a slattern in coarse and ugly garments;
And for my sustenance
A beggar’s dole at a hungry table.
CHORUS: A voice cried at his coming,
A voice cried for pity
At your father’s bed, when the swift
Cut of the bronze edge flashed.
Lust and deceit were the hand and brain,
They were the parents
Of this abomination,
Whether from god or man proceeding.
ELECTRA: That was the bitterest day
I have ever known. That night,
That hideous banquet, the two
Hands that my father saw
Lifted to kill him – that made my life
Endless captivity.
For what they did
May the almighty God above
Prepare fit punishment
And turn their pomp to ashes!
CHORUS: O say no more. Remember
The harm you do yourself –
Do you not see? – the mischief
Is in your own self-torture.
Hoarder of grief, your sullen soul
Breeds strife unending;
Yet when the foe is stronger
Reason forbids to fight against him.
ELECTRA: I am beside myself,
I know. Terrors too strong
Have driven me down. And now
This passion can have no end
Till my life ends. What use is there
In comfortable words?
Leave me alone,
Kind sisters, there is no escape
From this. My sum of woe
Outruns all reckoning.
CHORUS: Yet, child, I say with all goodwill
And motherly love, you must not make
Evil more evil still.
ELECTRA: How should my misery not be endless? How
Could it ever be better to forget the dead?
Nature forbids it. That’s no law for me.
Nor could I rest,
Unfaithful to my father,
In the lap of luxury, and be content
To cage the wings of lamentation.
For if the unhappy dead
Are nothing but the dust in which they lie,
And blood not paid for blood,
There is no faith, no piety, in any man.
CHORUS: Listen, my dear; it was for your good I came,
As much as for my own; but if I cannot help you,
Have your own way; we shall always be here if you want us.
ELECTRA: I am sorry to seem so impatient, to be always complaining.
Forgive me; what else can I do? Would it not belie
My birth and breeding to see the things I have seen
Happening in my father’s house, and not complain?
Day in, day out, an endless summer of sorrow –
Hating and hated by my mother – beholden to them
For everything I may or may not do. Imagine,
Imagine what it means to see, day after day,
Aegisthus sitting in my father’s chair, wearing
The clothes he wore, pouring the same libations
At the altar where he killed him: and, last outrage,
The murderer going to his bed with her –
Must I still call her mother? – with his mistress.
For she still lives with the criminal, unashamed,
Unafraid of retribution; on the contrary, proud
Of the thing she did, she marks the happy day,
The day she treacherously killed my father,
With music and sacrifice, as each month comes round,
To thank the saving gods. And I must watch
And weep alone at the foul ceremonies
That keep his name alive – but weep in silence,
Not as my heart would have me weep. This woman,
This queen of falsehood, scolds me: ‘What!’ she says,
‘Are you the first to lose a father, then?
Is no one else in mourning? Worthless slut,
Death take you! And I pray the infernal gods
Will never deliver you from your misery!’ –
Nagging like that; except when there is rumour
Of Orestes’ coming; then she loses her temper
And raves to my face. ‘This is your doing,’ she says.
‘It’s you I have to thank for this. You stole him
Out of my arms and had him sent away.
You’ll get what you deserve, make no mistake.’
Her voice rises to a scream, and her noble lord
Stands by and takes her part – a skulking villain,
A coward hiding behind a woman’s skirts.
So I can do nothing but wait in my misery
For Orestes to come and put an end to it.
He always meant to do it, and I have waited
And waited till all the hope I ever had
Is worn away. How can you tell me to be calm
And dutiful? With evil all around me
There is nothing I can do that is not evil.
CHORUS:
Do you mean – is Aegisthus here at the present moment,
Or away from home?
ELECTRA: He is away just now.
You may be sure I should not venture out
If he were near. He is out of the town today.
CHORUS: If that is so, may I speak freely to you?
ELECTRA: Yes, while he is away. What is it you want?
CHORUS:
We want to know about your brother. What news?
Is he coming or not? We do so want to know.
ELECTRA: He promises – but his promises come to nothing.
CHORUS: A man may well be chary of such a task.
ELECTRA: Was I chary of saving his life?
CHORUS: Take heart.
He’s a good man, and will stand by his kith and kin.
ELECTRA: I trust so; else I could not have lived so long.
CHORUS: Say no more now. Here is your sister,
Chrysothemis, coming from the house with the oblations
Due to be made to those that lie below.
CHRYSOTHEMIS comes from the palace carrying sepulchral offerings.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Electra! Why are you here again, out of doors,
And holding forth in this fashion? Have you not learnt
After all this time to restrain your useless anger,
Not make a vain parade of it? I’m sure
I feel our position as bitterly as you do,
And if only I had the strength to do it, I’d show
Where my real feelings lie. But as it is,
My policy is to bow before the storm,
Not make a show of pluck, when powerless
To strike a blow. I wish you’d do the same.
O yes, it’s true that what you think is right,
Not what I say. And yet, to keep my freedom,
I know I must obey.
ELECTRA:
You ought to be ashamed, if you’re our father’s daughter,
To forget him and to take your mother’s part.
The lessons you read to me are not your own,
She taught you them. You cannot have it both ways;
Either defy her, or forget your friends
And be an obedient daughter. You said just now
That if you had the strength you’d show us all
How much you hate those two; yet here am I
Trying to help my father all I can
And you do nothing but thwart me. Must we be cowards.
As well as slaves? Why, tell me if you can
How would it help me to renounce this sorrow?
I have my life – bare life, but it is enough
As long as I can still torment my jailers
To gratify the dead – if any joy
Can touch the dead. Your way of showing resentment
Is only words; in deeds you’re on their side,
Your father’s murderers’ accomplice. Never
Would I give in to them – no, not for all
The privileges on which you pride yourself,
Your luxuries and your comforts; you can keep them.
I have my peace of mind; that is enough
For me to live on. I don’t want your position;
Neither would you, if you were not deluded.
Instead of daughter to the noblest father
That ever lived, call yourself mother’s daughter,
Then everyone will know you for what you are,
Disloyal to your dead father and your friends.
CHORUS: For the gods’ sake, do not quarrel. There is something to be said
On either side, and each might learn a lesson
From the other.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I know her arguments by heart!
I wouldn’t have brought the matter up at all,
Had I not heard of the terrible punishment
In store for her, to end her long complaining.
ELECTRA:
What punishment? Tell me of anything worse than this
That I suffer now, and I will say no more.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I will; I’ll tell you everything I know.
If you will not cease from wailing, you are to be sent
To some place where you’ll never see the light
For ever more, banished, to end your life
Singing sad dirges in a vaulted dungeon.
Think over that, and when the sentence falls,
Don’t tell me I was wrong. Be wiser now
While there is time.
ELECTRA: Is this decided, then?
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
And when Aegisthus comes, it will be done.
ELECTRA: If that is all, the sooner he comes the better.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Fool, what do you mean?
ELECTRA: If it is as you say,
Let him come quickly.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Are you out of your mind?
Can you want to suffer so?
ELECTRA: Yes, to escape
Far, far out of the sight of all of you.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
With no regret for life as you know it now?
ELECTRA: Life as I know it! How marvellously fair!
CHRYSOTHEMIS: It could be, if you chose to make it so.
ELECTRA: You mean if I betrayed my best-beloved?
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Nothing of the sort; only obey your masters.
ELECTRA: And cringe, as you do? I couldn’t find it in me.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
No one would wish you to fall by your own folly.
ELECTRA: I will fall, if need be, for my father’s sake.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: But I believe our father will pardon us.
ELECTRA: Cowards believe such comfortable things.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Well, you won’t listen to my advice.
ELECTRA: I won’t.
I’ll never be so foolish.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Then I’ll go.
ELECTRA: Where are you going? What offerings are those?
Our mother’s libations for our father’s grave.
ELECTRA: Libations! For the man she… hated most?
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
The man she killed – is what you meant to say.
ELECTRA: By whose advice? Who wanted her to do it?
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
I think she has had some frightening dream.
ELECTRA (her face lighting up with hope): O gods,
Gods of our fathers, now be with us at last!
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Why, does her fear give you some ground for hope?
ELECTRA: I cannot tell as yet. What has she seen?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I only know a little –
ELECTRA: What do you know?
Fate often hangs upon a word or two.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
I was told she saw our father returned to life,
Standing beside her; and he took the sceptre
That once was his, which now Aegisthus carries,
And planted it near the altar, where it sprouted
Into a leafy bough, casting a shadow
Over all Mycenae. This much I was told
By someone who heard her telling the Sun her dream.
That is all I know; but I know it was that vision
That made her send me here. Now will you listen
To my advice? By all the gods, I beg you
To save yourself from perishing in your folly.
Refuse, and you’ll be coming to me for help
When worse befalls.
ELECTRA (in a more friendly mood): Listen to me, my dear.
None of those things you have must touch the tomb.
You have no warrant injustice or in piety
For bringing libations or offerings to our father
From the wife who hated him. Throw them away;
Bury them deep in the ground, far from the place
Where our father sleeps. She’ll find them when she dies
Reserved to grace her own black burial!
Only the hardest woman that ever lived
Could bring herself to offer such grim gifts
To the man she killed. How can you think the dead
Could gratefully take such tributes from the fiend
That mercilessly killed and butchered him
And wiped her bloody sword upon his hair?
Will these gifts clean her hands? Never on earth.
Throw them away.
This is what you must give him…
A lock of your own bright hair… and this of mine –
In my poor state it is all I have to give –
There… it’s not glossy like yours… This girdle too,
It’s only plain, but take it. Kneel to him
And pray that he himself will come from the dead
To befriend us and help us against our enemies;
And that Orestes may be alive and coming in strength
To crush his father’s enemies under his foot;
So that when next we come to deck his grave
We may have richer ornaments than these to give him.
For truly I think it was in part his doing
That she was visited by that frightening dream.
Be that as it may; go, sister, and do this service
To help us both, and him that lies below,
The dearest and best of fathers.
CHORUS: O dear lady,
Your sister speaks from the devotion of her heart.
You would be wise to do what she has asked.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I will.
Duty is not a thing to be argued about,
But to be done, the sooner the better. But O my friends,
If I do this, help me, for the love of heaven,
By your silence. If my mother hears of it,
I may have cause to be sorry for my presumption.
She goes.
CHORUS:
This omen, if I rightly understand
Its message, and am not deceived,
Speaks with the voice of Justice, and ere long
She will be here and fighting for us
In all her righteous strength.
That dream we heard of
Breathes comfort and new courage.
Your royal father has not forgotten you,
Nor does the bronze blade sleep.
The two-edged axe that struck the impious blow
So long ago, remembers.
The Avenger lies in wait; the feet, the hands
Are closing in, the bronze hoof stamps.
When lust and murder and mockery of marriage
Have desecrated the bed, defied the law,
What can such portents mean
If not the downfall
Of culprits and confederates?
Men may well despair of interpreting
Dreams and the signs of heaven
If this night’s vision does not point the way
To a safe and happy issue.
See what a heavy load of enduring sorrow
For all our land
Was borne on Pelops’ chariot-wheels!
Thrown from his golden car
By a wicked trick,
Myrtilus went to his death
And from that day
This house has never seen the end
Of shame and misery.
Enter CLYTAEMNESTRA from the palace.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: So here you are, Electra. Wandering at your own sweet will, now that Aegisthus is away. He could at least keep you from straying out of bounds, and disgracing your family before the world. You take no notice of me, it seems, when he is not here; and yet you spread it about that I am a cruel and unjust tyrant who treats you and all you love with insult. I do not insult anybody; if I speak harshly to you, it is only because I get nothing but harsh words from you. You say it is because I caused your father’s death. It is true. I don’t forget it; and I have no wish to deny it, since it was not my doing alone; I had an ally – Justice. And you should have been on the side of Justice too, if you knew where your duty lay.
This father of yours, whom you never stop weeping for, did a thing no other Greek had dared to do, when he so ruthlessly sacrificed your sister to the gods – the child whom he had begotten, at little cost of course compared to mine who bore her. No doubt you can tell me why he did this, and for whose sake? For the Greeks, maybe? And who gave them the right to take my daughter’s life?… Or for Menelaus? Is that any reason why he should not be brought to justice for killing what was mine? Had not Menelaus two children of his own? And should not they have been the ones to die, the children of that father, that mother, the cause of the whole enterprise? Was my child’s blood sweeter to the stomach of Death than Helen’s? Or had that monstrous father transferred to Menelaus’ children all the love he had ceased to feel for mine?
If you think such a thing could be the action of a sane and prudent parent, I do not. And she that is dead would say the same, if she could. No, I’ve nothing to regret. You think I’m heartless. You would do well to make sure of your own ground before condemning others.
ELECTRA: I’m sure I have given you no provocation this time for speaking as you do. But with your leave, I would like to say what I think may be justly said for my dead father and for my sister.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Certainly you may. If you always began in that tone, it would be a pleasure to listen to you.
ELECTRA: This is my case. You admit you killed my father;
And that is the most monstrous admission you could make,
Whether you had justice on your side or not.
I say you had not; you were drawn on and cajoled
By the wiles of the miscreant whom you are living with now.
Ask Huntress Artemis what fault she punished
By withholding the winds that blow on the straits of Aulis.
I’ll tell you, since we cannot question her.
I have heard how my father, in an idle moment,
Walking in a demesne of the goddess, startled a stag,
A dappled full-antlered beast, and thoughtlessly
With a rash triumphant cry he shot it dead.
It was this that provoked the goddess, Leto’s daughter,
To detain the Greeks and make my father pay
For the creature’s life by offering up his daughter.
So she was sacrificed; there was no other way
To get the ships afloat, either for Troy
Or homeward. This was the reason why he was forced
Against his will, and after much resistance,
To make the sacrifice. It was not done
To humour Menelaus. Even if it were,
As you maintain, even if that were his object,
To help his brother, would that entitle you
To take his life? What kind of law is that?
Lay down that law, and you will bind yourself
To bitter regret. If life for life be the rule,
Justice demands your life before all others.
The excuse you plead is no excuse; explain,
If you please, what justification you have
For your present abominable way of life –
Mistress of the murderer that helped you kill my father,
Bearing his children to supplant the innocent
Legitimate offspring whom you have driven away.
Is there any excuse for this? Vengeance perhaps
For your stolen daughter’s life? If that is your plea,
It does you little credit; there’s little to boast of
In trying to make your daughter an excuse
For such an impious marriage.
But I must not lecture you; you only retort
Time and again, that I am insolent to my mother –
Mother! – more like a jailer, with the slavery
You put upon me, the insults I have to bear
From you and your partner…
And somewhere far away
Is another who barely escaped your clutches – Orestes,
In long unhappy exile. I kept him alive,
You have often said, to be your executioner.
Yes, if I could, I would have done just that,
I tell you to your face. Denounce me for it,
Denounce me in public, call me what you will –
Vile, brutal, shameless – if I am all these,
I am your true daughter!
CHORUS: She is angry now,
And little concerned with justice, if you ask me.
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
I’ve reason to be concerned with her, I think,
If this is the language she uses to her mother –
And she a grown woman. Is there anything
She will not stoop to? She has no shame at all.
ELECTRA: I am ashamed, believe me, for what I have said;
You may not think it, but I am ashamed
Of my rudeness and ill-temper. It is you,
Your hatred and ill-treatment, drive me on
To act against my nature; villainy
Is taught by vile example.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Impudent creature!
You talk a deal too much of what I do
And what I say!
ELECTRA: Not I. Your every action
Speaks for itself.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Now by the blessed Artemis,
You shall be punished, when Aegisthus comes!
ELECTRA: So you are angry now; you gave me leave
To speak my mind, and still you will not listen.
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
I have let you speak; now will you hold your tongue
And let me make my vows?
ELECTRA: Make them; my voice
Shall trouble you no longer.
CLYTAEMNESTRA (to her attendant): Lift up the fruit-offering, that I may pray to the Lord of this altar for ease from my present fears.
Phoebus, our Guardian, hear my prayer,
Though spoken under concealment,
Not openly as among friends. There stands one near me,
Before whom I dare not freely unveil my thoughts
To let her busy and malicious tongue
Plant seed of scandal in every street.
I speak as I must; hear Thou as I would be heard.
O Lord Lycean,
If it was for my good,
That dream of double-meaning that I saw this night,
Let its fulfilment come; but if for ill,
Then let it fall on those that wish me ill.
If there be any plotting in secret
Against my present welfare, hinder them;
And grant that I may long live safe from harm,
Queen of this house and country,
Living in happiness with those who love me,
As I live now,
With all my children who bear no malice
Or bitter hate against me.
Lycean Apollo, graciously hear me,
And grant to us all our desires.
The rest Thou surely knowest, though I be silent,
For Thou art a god.
And do not the sons of God see all?
Enter the TUTOR.
TUTOR: Kind ladies, am I right in thinking this is the house of King Aegisthus?
CHORUS: You are quite right, sir; it is.
TUTOR: And this lady, I think, is his wife, is she not? There is royalty in her looks.
CHORUS: Right again. It is she that stands before you.
TUTOR (to CLYTAEMNESTRA): Greetings to your Majesty.
I am the bearer of glad news from a friend, to you and to your lord Aegisthus.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: A welcome omen indeed. Tell me first, whose messenger you are.
TUTOR: The messenger of Phanoteus of Phocis, and the message one that concerns you deeply.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Tell it me. You come from a friend, so I have no fear that your message will be anything but friendly.
TUTOR: Orestes is dead; that is all.
ELECTRA: O no! I cannot bear it!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: What, what, sir? Never mind her.
TUTOR: As I said, Orestes has died.
ELECTRA: O, this is the end, the end of everything for me!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Mind your own business, you. Tell me, sir, tell me everything; how did he die?
TUTOR: I will tell you everything. It was for that purpose I was sent.
Orestes had gone to Delphi, to compete in the games which are the prime festival of Hellas; and on the proclamation of the first event, the foot-race, he stepped forward, his brilliant figure exciting the admiration of all present. His performance matched the promise, and he returned the winner of the coveted prize. After that, well – to cut a long story short – I never saw such a triumph. In point of fact, there was not an event announced in all the foot-racing in which he did not win a prize; and how they cheered him every time his name rang out: ‘Orestes of Argos, son of Agamemnon, commander-in-chief of the famous Hellenic army.’
So far, so good. But the assaults of heaven are more than the strongest man can withstand. The day for the chariotraces came, and the contest was to start at sunrise. Orestes was there, with many another competitor: an Achaean, a Spartan, two drivers of teams from Libya, and Orestes with his Thessalian horses – that makes five – an Aetolian with chestnut colts, six, a Magnesian, seven – an Aenian with a white team, and one from the sacred walls of Athens, eight, nine – and a Boeotian, ten.
The appointed stewards cast the lots for position and ranged the chariots on the starting-line; then, at the sound of the bronze trumpet, off they started, all shouting to their horses and twitching the reins in their hands. The clatter of the rattling chariots filled the whole arena, and the dust flew up as they sped along in a dense mass, each driver goading his team unmercifully in his efforts to draw clear of the rival axles and panting steeds, whose steaming breath and sweat drenched every bending back and flying wheel together.
To begin with, all went well with every chariot. Then the Aenian’s tough colts took the bit in their teeth and on the turn from the sixth to the seventh lap, ran head-on into the African. This accident led to other upsets and collisions, till the field of Crisa was a sea of wrecked and capsized chariots. The Athenian driver had seen what was coming and was clever enough to draw aside and bide his time while the oncoming wave crashed into inextricable confusion. Orestes was driving last, purposely holding his team back and pinning his faith to the final spurt; and now, seeing only one rival left in, with an exultant shout to his swift horses he drove hard ahead and the two teams raced neck and neck, now one now the other gaining a lead.
At each turn of the lap, Orestes reined in his inner trace-horse and gave the outer its head, so skilfully that his hub just cleared the post by a hair’s breadth every time; and so the poor fellow had safely rounded every lap but one without mishap to himself or his chariot. But at the last he misjudged the turn, slackened his left rein before the horse was safely round the bend, and so fouled the post. The hub was smashed across, and he was hurled over the rail entangled in the severed reins, and as he fell his horses ran wild across the course.
When the people saw his fall from the chariot, there was a cry of sympathy for the poor lad – the hero of such magnificent exploits and now the victim of such a terrible misfortune. They saw him now pinned to the ground, now rolled head over heels, till at last the other drivers got his runaway horses under control and extricated the poor mangled body, so bruised and bloody that not one of his friends could have recognized him. They carried him straight to a pyre and burned him; and shortly some men of Phocis will be bringing you a little urn of bronze that contains, alas, the dust of one of the greatest of men, so that you may lay him to rest in his native soil.
Such is my sad story, sad indeed to hear, but to us who witnessed it more terrible than anything I ever saw.
CHORUS: So now the last of our royal and ancient house
Is lost and the name blotted out for ever!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: O God,
Is this good news, or something that I must suffer
For my advantage? I cannot help but suffer,
When my own loss is the price of my own living.
TUTOR:
I did not think you would grieve so much at my news.
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Can a mother not grieve? Can any enmity sever her love for the child of her own flesh?
TUTOR: I see my errand was a thankless one.
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
No, no, not that; not thankless; you have come
To bring me proof that he is dead; proof positive
That he is dead. His life was given from mine,
And from the breast that nursed him he went out
To be a stranger in exile. From that day on
He never saw my face, yet held me guilty
Of his father’s death, and swore to punish me.
And here I lay, by day or night denied
The cloak of sleep; Time’s prisoner, condemned
To wait for loitering death. Now I am free,
Free of all fear of him, and free of her,
That even greater spoiler of my peace,
That serpent sucking out my heart’s red wine!
We shall have no more of her ugly warnings now,
And I can live in peace.
ELECTRA: O misery!
My poor Orestes… to have suffered so…
And this is your mother’s tribute to your memory!
Can this be justice?
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Justice is done to him,
Not yet to you.
ELECTRA: Goddess of Vengeance, hear
And speak for the dead!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: She has heard most faithfully
And spoken well.
ELECTRA: Gloat on your triumph, gloat!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Will you and Orestes give me leave?
ELECTRA: It is we
Who are silenced, and have no power to silence you.
CLYTAEMNESTRA (to TUTOR):
Well sir, if you could have stopped this clamorous tongue,
Your news would have been worth a mint of money.
TUTOR: I had better go, madam, if there’s nothing else –
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
Go? No, you shall not go; it wouldn’t be fair
To myself or to my friend who sent you here.
Come in; we’ll leave her here, to cry her heart out
For herself and her beloved.
She takes him into the palace.
ELECTRA: There’s a fine picture of a parent’s grief –
The mourning of a poor heartbroken mother
For a son so lost; a sneer, and she is gone.
Orestes, my darling, you are dead, how can I live?
Your going has torn the last shred of hope from my heart,
The hope that you would come again alive
To avenge your father and save your unhappy sister.
Now where can I go? No brother; no father; alone.
There is nothing for me but to go back to my slavery
In this hateful house, my father’s murderers’ house.
Can this be justice? No, I will not go back,
Nor ever set foot in the house again. Here,
Here at the door I will lie and starve to death,
For I have no friend in the world.
Let them come and kill me
If they hate me so; to kill me would be kindness;
Life is all pain to me; I want to die.
She sinks to the ground.
CHORUS: Is there no Sun to light,
No thunder in heaven, none
To smite such infamy?
ELECTRA (in broken sobs): Ah, ah…
CHORUS: Why, dear one –
ELECTRA: Ah…
CHORUS: You must not cry.
ELECTRA: Do not torment me!
CHORUS: I?
ELECTRA: Can you insult my sorrow
Speaking of hope
When he is surely dead?
CHORUS: There was a king, beguiled
To his death by a collar of gold,
Yet in the grave –
ELECTRA: Ah, ah…
CHORUS: He lived to reign.
ELECTRA: Alas.
CHORUS: Ah, the murderess –
ELECTRA: She paid with her life?
CHORUS: True.
ELECTRA: The afflicted found a friend;
He that was mine
Is lost, and I have no other.
ELECTRA: I know,
How well I know.
Through every month of the year
My river of life
Is a spate of sorrow.
CHORUS: We have seen your tears.
ELECTRA: Do not forbid me them.
This is the end –
CHORUS: The end?
ELECTRA: Of all the hope I had
Of the one that shared my royal blood.
CHORUS: All men must die.
ELECTRA: As he
Was doomed to die?
Dragged in a tangle of reins,
Trapped in a mêlée of flying hoofs?
CHORUS: A terrible end.
ELECTRA: And the worst: in a foreign land
Hidden away –
CHORUS: Ay, ay.
ELECTRA: Without my hands, my tears,
To send him safe to his resting-place.
Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS in joyful excitement.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Electra, my dearest! O I am so happy,
I had to come in almost indecent haste
To tell you at once. Such joyful news, my dear!
This is the cure for all your woes and sorrows.
ELECTRA: What cure can there be for my incurable wounds?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Orestes is here; truly, beyond a doubt
He is here, as sure as I stand before you now.
ELECTRA:
Are you mad, woman? Or making fun of the misery
That you and I both suffer?
By our hearth and home, I am not making fun.
He is here, I tell you; he has come back to us.
ELECTRA: Alas, no. What makes you believe that story?
From whom did you hear it?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I didn’t hear it from anyone;
I believe the evidence which I saw with my own eyes.
ELECTRA:
What evidence can you have seen? What light of mischief
Is this that is kindled in you? What have you seen?
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Listen, for God’s sake, to what I have to tell you,
Then tell me whether I am mad or not.
ELECTRA: Tell me, if you must.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I’ll tell you everything.
I went to the ancient tomb where our father lies,
And there, on the top of the sepulchre, I saw
The marks of a new libation of milk, and garlands
Of flowers of every kind encircling the grave.
I was astonished to see them, and looked carefully round
In case there was anyone there. But all was quiet.
So I crept nearer to the tomb; and there at its edge
I found a lock of hair, newly cut off.
And O, when I saw it, at once my heart was filled
With the thought of my best beloved, my own Orestes.
I took it up in my hands, in reverent silence,
But weeping for joy, knowing, as I knew at once,
That no one else could have brought that offering.
Who else should do such a thing but you or I?
I know it was not I; nor you – how could you,
When you are strictly forbidden to leave the house
Even for worship? Nor is it the kind of thing
Our mother likes to do, or if she did
Could do without our knowledge.
They are surely Orestes’ offerings. Courage, my dear!
No one’s fortune in life is fixed for ever.
Fate has been hard on us; who knows? – this day
May be the beginning of untold happiness.
ELECTRA: O you are a fool! I can only pity you still.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Why, Electra, aren’t you glad at what I have told you?
ELECTRA: You are in a dreamland of your own imagining.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Dreams? Why should I dream what I have seen in the daylight?
ELECTRA: He is dead, my dear. You must hope no longer
For help from him. Think no more of him.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: O no! It cannot be true. Who told you?
ELECTRA: Someone who was with him when he died.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I cannot believe it. Where is he now?
ELECTRA: In the house. Mother is making him welcome.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
How terrible! But who can have made those offerings
So generously at our father’s grave?
ELECTRA: Someone, I suppose, has put them there
In memory of Orestes who is dead.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Then all is sadness still. And to think I came
In such haste with my joyful news, in ignorance
Of the depth of our misfortune, only to find
New and worse trouble added to the old.
ELECTRA: Yes, it is true. And now, if you will listen,
You may learn how to lighten the load of our present sorrows.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Would you have me raise the dead to life again?
ELECTRA: No. That is not what I mean. I am not so foolish.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: What can I do?
ELECTRA: Be brave enough to obey me.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I am ready to do whatever may be useful.
ELECTRA: Remember, there is no success without an effort.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I know. I’ll play my part as well as I can.
ELECTRA: This is my plan, then.
You know as well as I
We haven’t a friend left; death has taken them all,
And we are alone. As long as there was any news
Of our brother alive and well, I went on hoping
For the day when he would come to settle accounts
With our father’s murderers. Now that he is dead,
I turn to you; will you be brave enough
To help me kill the man who killed our father,
Aegisthus? There, the secret’s out…
Why, woman,
What are you waiting for? What hope is there
To cling to still? A lifetime of regret
For your lost inheritance, a dismal prospect
Of ageing spinsterhood? You’ve little chance
Of ever being bride or wife; Aegisthus
Knows better than to let our tree bear fruit;
Life born from you or me would mean his death.
But if you listen to my advice, and follow it,
You will be doing your pious duty to the dead,
Our father and our brother, and live henceforth
A free woman, worthy of the name you bear,
With a marriage to be proud of. Courage is a thing
All men admire. Think what it will mean
For your good name and mine, if you do this;
How all our people will greet us with admiration,
And strangers too. ‘Look,’ they will say to their friends;
‘Those two sisters upheld the honour of their house,
Stood up to an enemy in the flush of his success,
And risked their own two lives to avenge a death.
We owe them all our love and respect; such courage
Must have honourable recognition on holy days
And state occasions.’ That is how they’ll speak of us
All over the world, to our everlasting honour
In life or in death.
Come, my dear, say you’ll do it.
Fight on your father’s side, on your brother’s side;
Put an end to my shame and yours; for shame it is,
No less, when noble natures are brought low.
CHORUS: This is a time when none should speak or listen
Without great caution.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Very true, my friends.
I think my sister would have been well-advised
To use more caution before speaking thus.
(To ELECTRA)
I wonder, Electra, what can have possessed you
To put on such bold armour, and call on me
To serve under your orders? Do you forget
You are only a woman, and weaker than your enemy?
His day is rising, ours is running out
And almost ended. Who could set a snare
For such a man, and not himself be caught
In the net of doom? Take care; this kind of talk,
If anyone hears it, will bring us from bad to worse.
Honour and glory will do us little good
If we die an ignominious death for it.
Nor is death the worst we can look for; lingering life,
And death denied, may be still deadlier.
O Electra, for pity’s sake, think what you do
Before you destroy us all and end our history
For ever. What you have said shall not go further,
I’ll see to that; nothing will come of it,
It is late, but not too late, to learn the wisdom
Of bowing, when helpless, to the powers set over us.
CHORUS: Yes, yes, Electra, listen; prudence and caution
Are the only things worth having in this life.
ELECTRA (to CHRYSOTHEMIS):
It is just as I expected. I always knew
You would have nothing to do with my proposal.
Then I must do the thing myself, alone,
For done it must be.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: It is a thousand pities
You had not shown the same determination
The day our father died. You could have done much.
ELECTRA: The will indeed was there, but the wit was weaker.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Would you could keep it so as long as you live.
ELECTRA: That means you have no intention of helping me?
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
It does. The attempt is bound to end in disaster.
ELECTRA: I admire your caution; but I despise your spirit.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I accept your insults, as I shall your thanks
When the time comes.
ELECTRA: The time will never come.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: We can but wait and see.
ELECTRA: Away with you;
You are no help to me at all.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I could be,
If you knew how to listen.
ELECTRA: Go, then, go
And tell your mother everything you’ve heard.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I do not hate you that much.
ELECTRA:
Then I hope you understand how much you hurt me.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Hurt you? When my only thought is how to save you?
ELECTRA: And must I walk by your light?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Till your own
Is clear enough to guide us both.
And yet how blind!
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Your malady exactly.
ELECTRA: Do you deny the justice of my case?
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Justice is sometimes dangerous.
ELECTRA: Heaven forbid
That I should walk by such a precept.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: Well,
If you do this thing, you’ll find that I was right.
ELECTRA:
I’ll do it; your threats don’t frighten me; I’ll do it.
CHRYSOTHEMIS:
Do you mean it, Electra? Won’t you be advised
To change your mind?
ELECTRA: I won’t be ill advised;
No good can come of that.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: You seem determined
To disagree with me.
ELECTRA: My mind has been made up
A long time now.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I’ll go, then; you cannot bear
To listen to me, nor I to give consent
To what you are doing.
ELECTRA: Go… I cannot walk
Your way, plead as you will. Don’t chase illusions;
That’s the unwisest thing of all.
CHRYSOTHEMIS: I see.
If you’re so satisfied with your own wisdom,
Then follow it. But when the trouble comes,
You’ll thank me for my warning.
Exit.
CHORUS:
Will we not learn?
Even the birds of the air
Know in their wisdom how to tend
With affectionate care
The parents to whom they owe their birth
And living. Can we in turn
Not pay
Our debts as well as they?
As there is Justice in heaven
And fire in the hand of God,
The reckoning must be made in the end.
Let the earth cry to the dead, cry
To the grave where the sons of Atreus lie,
Let a voice proclaim
The infamy, speak of the shame!
Discord within,
Dividing child from child,
Sisters at enmity, strife
Unreconciled
By charity in their daily lives.
For their father one alone
Must weep
Abandoned on the deep
Ocean of tears, Electra,
Like a bird that cries in the night
In unconsolable grief. For life
She cares no longer, she would fain
Die to rid her house of the tyranny
Of the coupled fiends. So rare
A pattern of breed we shall not see again.
For this is true nobility,
Never to shame
By life ingloriously bought
An honourable name.
You, child, have chosen so,
With those that suffer,
Armed against evil, and to win
The twofold crown,
Wisdom and piety.
Yet may your hand and weal
Ascend as high
Above your enemy’s head
As now you lie
Beneath his feet. No joy
Was ever in your path of life;
Yet you lived faithfully
In duty to God
And to the great eternal laws, and found
In these your victory.
ORESTES and PYLADES enter from the side of the stage.
PYLADES is carrying a small funeral urn.
ORESTES: If you please, good ladies, we are not sure if we are on the right road, or if we have misunderstood our directions.
CHORUS: Where are you bound for, sir, and what is your business?
ORESTES: I am trying to find the place where Aegisthus lives.
CHORUS: Then you have found it; your informant was quite correct.
ORESTES: Which of you, I wonder, would be so good as to tell them within that a long expected visitor is here?
CHORUS: That should be the privilege of the nearest of kin; and here she is.
ORESTES (to ELECTRA): Please say that some gentlemen of Phocis are asking for Aegisthus.
ELECTRA: O the sad day! – Is this the confirmation of the news that we have just heard?
ORESTES: I don’t know what news that was, lady. My message is from our elder Strophius and concerns Orestes.
ELECTRA: Tell it me, sir. – I am afraid to hear it.
ORESTES: As you see, we have brought this little urn which contains the little that is left of him – for he is dead.
ELECTRA: Yes, I see… you have it there in your hands… there is no doubt, then… O my brother!
ORESTES: You weep, lady, I know, for what has happened to Orestes. It is in truth his dust that lies here.
ELECTRA: His dust lies there… Please give it to me, sir.
I want to hold it in my hands, and weep,
Weep over this dust, and remember with tears
All my sorrow and the sorrow of all my house.
ORESTES: Who is she? (To PYLADES) Bring it to her and let her hold it.
She cannot have any ill purpose in asking for it.
No doubt she is a friend, or one of his family.
The urn is given into ELECTRA’S hands.
ELECTRA: So here is all that is left of my beloved,
Orestes; only this to remember you by,
My dearest on earth. Did I think to welcome you back
Thus, when last I parted from you – thus,
A handful of nothing? Is this the lovely child
I said goodbye to? It would have been much better
If I had died instead of trying to save you
By smuggling you away to another land
To keep you alive; you could have died that day
And shared your father’s grave – instead of this,
This cruel death in exile, far from home,
Far from your sister. And I could not be there
To wash and dress your body for the fire
Or dutifully lift the sad remains
In loving hands. All this was left for strangers
To do for you, my dearest, till you came
Home to us here, this little pot of dust.
I used to nurse you in the days gone by;
Is this the end of all that loving labour?
You were more my child than mother’s; no one else
Looked after you but I; ‘sister’ you called me,
As if you had no other. Now you are dead,
And all is ended in a day; all gone
Like dust upon the wind, now you are gone.
Our father is dead; and what am I but dead
Since you have died and gone away without me?
The fiends are laughing now; that mother-monster
Runs mad with joy; you used to send me messages,
Do you remember, secretly, about her
And how you’d soon be here to punish her.
But that’s all ended, thanks to the evil demon
That fights against you and me, the same that took
My lovely brother from me and sent home
Dust and a shadow.
O my own,
My poor dear darling,
Death lay in the way you had to walk, and I
Must die, must die with your death. O my brother,
Let me come home with you, dead with the dead,
To stay with you for ever. While you were here,
We shared and shared alike; now let me die
And be where you are, where all sorrow ends
For ever.
CHORUS: Electra, think, your father had to die,
Orestes had to die; this is a thing
We all must suffer; do not weep too much.
ORESTES: What can I say?
God help me, what can I say?
Silence will stifle me.
ELECTRA: You are distressed, sir.
What is the matter? Why do you speak so strangely?
ORESTES: You are the lady Electra, are you not?
ELECTRA: I am, to my sorrow.
ORESTES: It is a pitiful story.
ELECTRA: Can it be pity for me, sir, that distresses you?
ORESTES: To be so foully wronged, so cursed by the gods.
ELECTRA: That’s blasphemy, sir; but truly said of me.
ORESTES: Chained to this sad and solitary life.
ELECTRA: Sir, why do you gaze at me, and speak so sadly?
ORESTES: How little I knew till now of my own afflictions!
ELECTRA: What have we said that has enlightened you?
ORESTES: All that I see speaks of your load of hardship.
ELECTRA: You see but little of it.
ORESTES: Could there be more?
ELECTRA: A lodger in a house of murder –
ORESTES: Murder?
Of whom? What story is this?
ELECTRA: My father’s murder;
And I the murderers’ slave –
ORESTES: By whose compulsion?
ELECTRA: A mother’s – in name, but nothing else, a mother.
ORESTES: What are her weapons? Force, privation?
ELECTRA: Both.
Force and privation, and malice of every kind.
ORESTES:
Is there no one to help you, no one to take your part?
ELECTRA:
None – but the one whose dust you have brought before me.
ORESTES: I see; and all that I see excites my pity,
My poor unhappy friend.
ELECTRA: No other man,
You may be sure, has ever pitied me.
ORESTES: No other man has ever come that knew
ELECTRA: You come – can it be? –
As a kinsman? But from where?
ORESTES: Are these our friends?
If so, I could say more.
ELECTRA: Yes, they are friends,
They’ll not betray you.
ORESTES: Give me back the urn,
Then I will tell you everything.
ELECTRA: No, no!
For pity’s sake, don’t ask me to do that!
ORESTES: Do as I say; believe me, it will be best.
ELECTRA: The only thing I love!… Have pity, sir…
Don’t take it from me.
ORESTES: I cannot let you keep it.
ELECTRA: O am I never to lay you in your grave,
Orestes beloved?
ORESTES: You speak too rashly, lady;
This is no time for funerals.
ELECTRA: No time?
My brother dead –
ORESTES: You must not speak of that.
ELECTRA: Why must I not? Do even my dead disown me?
ORESTES: No one disowns you. And you need not weep.
ELECTRA: Not weep – over my brother’s dust – not weep?
ORESTES: It is not his. It was all a masquerade.
ELECTRA:
Where is he then? Poor lad, where have they laid him?
Tell me, where is his grave?
ORESTES: There is no grave. Only the dead have graves.
ELECTRA: Dear lad, what are you saying?
ORESTES: Only the truth.
ELECTRA: He lives?
ORESTES: As I live.
ORESTES: Look – father’s signet – do you believe me now?
ELECTRA: O light! O joy!
ORESTES: I share it.
ELECTRA: Is this indeed
Your voice again?
ORESTES: Ask for no other witness.
ELECTRA: Your hand in mine?
ORESTES: For ever.
ELECTRA: Women, women!
It is Orestes, look, women of Argos!
His death was only a trick, and by that trick
He has been given back to us!
CHORUS: We see,
My dear, we see him and are ready to weep for joy.
ELECTRA: O brother darling,
My darling’s own son,
Home at last,
Brought home to me, to see me, find me here,
As you have longed to find me!
ORESTES: Yes, I am here. But wait – say nothing yet.
ELECTRA: Why?
ORESTES: Better be silent. Someone inside might hear you.
ELECTRA: Ho, but I’m not afraid of them!
By the Virgin Artemis, no, not afraid
Of a houseful of good-for-nothings,
Women!
ORESTES: Remember, women are sometimes warriors too.
You have good cause to know it.
ELECTRA: O yes, yes…
You bring it back to me…
Nothing can hide,
Nothing can take away
Such sorrow as mine;
ORESTES: I know. But there will be a time and place
To remember what has happened.
ELECTRA: Time! Any time,
All time there is,
Will be the time
To say what must be said, and justly said,
Now that my lips are free.
ORESTES: They are. Be careful not to lose that freedom.
ELECTRA: How?
ORESTES: Say little, until the occasion gives you leave.
ELECTRA: Who could be silent at such a time,
Silent to greet your homecoming,
Brought back beyond all hope,
All dreaming?
ORESTES: I could not have come but in the gods’ good time;
They brought me back to you.
ELECTRA: Better and better!
If the hand of God
Guided you back,
Back to this home of ours,
That is a sign
Heaven is working it out.
ORESTES: I would not curb your joy; but there is danger
In too much happiness.
ELECTRA: No, no!
You have come to make me happy
This long awaited day; you found me
Burdened with grief. O never, never –
ORESTES: What?
ELECTRA: Never leave me,
Never let me be parted
From your dear face.
ORESTES: He dies that would attempt it.
ORESTES: Believe me.
ELECTRA: O dear women, women, this is the voice
I never hoped to hear again.
How could I hear it, after all my suffering,
And lock my heart in silence
Or not shout for joy?
(To ORESTES)
You are with me now;
This is the dear dear face
Which I could not forget
Through all the sorrow of my life.
ORESTES: Say no more now.
The story of your mother’s sins,
And of Aegisthus’ crimes against our house,
His wild extravagance and wanton waste,
May keep till another time; ’twould take too long.
Now we must think, where to reveal ourselves,
Or where remain in hiding, in this campaign
To end the triumph of our enemies.
And remember, you must not let your mother see
A smile upon your face, when we go in;
Be weeping still, for my pretended death.
When we have won, there will be time to smile
And rejoice to your heart’s content.
ELECTRA: Dear, I will do everything you ask me;
You are the cause of all my happiness,
I would not hinder you for all the world.
How could I fly in the face of the good genius
That serves us now?
You know – surely you know –
How things are here; Aegisthus is away,
Mother’s at home; you need not be afraid
She’ll ever see a smile upon my face;
Hatred has burned too deep in me for that.
I shall be weeping still, weeping for joy
At seeing you! To think you have come home
Twice in this hour, first dead and then alive!
How can I help my tears? It’s all so strange –
If Father were to come back now alive,
I could believe that it was really he,
And not a ghost.
And now you’ve come like that,
So tell me what to do. Had I been left
To fight alone, I would have been content
With nothing less than victory with honour,
Or honourable death.
ORESTES: Hush! I can hear
Someone coming to the doors.
ELECTRA (to ORESTES and PYLADES, as if to strangers):
Come in, gentlemen.
Your gift is not of a gratifying kind
But cannot be refused acceptance.
The TUTOR comes out of the palace.
TUTOR: Have you taken leave of your senses, you two? Are you so tired of life, or so short of commonsense you cannot see you’re standing on the brink of deadly danger, nay, up to the neck in it already? If I hadn’t been keeping a sharp look-out behind the door all this time, your plans might well have been in the house before you. Thank me for saving you from that. It’s time to stop all this speech-making and everlasting jubilation, and come in. It’s now or never; delay is fatal in these affairs.
ORESTES: Is it safe for me to go in?
TUTOR: All’s well. There’s no chance of your being recognized.
ORESTES: You’ve told them I am dead?
TUTOR: As far as this house is concerned, you’re dead and buried.
ORESTES: What do they say? Are they glad of it?
TUTOR: I’ll tell you that afterwards. For the present everything is as good – or as bad – as it can be.
ELECTRA: Who is this man, brother? Tell me, you must tell me.
ORESTES: Don’t you know?
ELECTRA: I cannot think –
ORESTES: Don’t you remember into whose arms you once entrusted me?
ELECTRA: Into whose arms? You mean –
ORESTES: Or by whose hands I was got safely away to Phocis, as you had planned?
ELECTRA: Is this the man?
Is it he who was my only faithful friend
The day my father died?
ORESTES: This is the man.
No need for further question.
ELECTRA: O great day!
O friend, our house’s only saviour – you –
It is really you, the man who has brought us two
Out of all our danger? O God bless those hands
And feet, for what they did for us! To think
That you were here so long, unrecognized,
With never a sign, bringing that awful news
Of death to torture me, and the lovely truth
Locked in your heart.
O I could call you father,
I look on you as one. Welcome, dear father.
Now I can tell you how I have hated you,
And loved you, more than any man alive,
All in a day.
TUTOR: You’d better say no more.
Of all that has happened, there will be nights in plenty,
Electra, and for every night a day,
But it’s to you two lads
That I must give the word for action.
Clytaemnestra’s alone, with none but women near her.
Delay now, and you’ll have to fight it out
With more and cleverer enemies.
ORESTES: Pylades,
There is no more time for talking. We must go in.
Salute my father’s gods, whose shrines stand here
Before his doors.
They make salutations to the shrines, and go into the house.
ELECTRA kneels to the statue of Apollo.
ELECTRA: O Lord Apollo,
Hear them with mercy, and hear my prayer too.
As I have often visited thee
With such poor offerings as my means afforded,
So now, with all I have
Of reverence and supplication,
I humbly pray and beseech thee for aid and favour
In what we now intend;
That thou mayst show to men
With what bountiful wages the gods reward the wicked.
She goes into the house.
CHORUS:
Watch now; battle and lust of blood
Move onward step by step
To the inevitable end.
There go the hunters into the house,
The hounds on the trail of the evil-doers.
There is no escaping.
Our dream’s fulfilment cannot be long delayed.
Now the defender of the dead
Creeps into his father’s house,
With a sword sharpened for blood. Hermes,
Who found the way and kept it secret,
The son of Maia,
Leads him on to the end; the waiting is over.
ELECTRA comes out.
ELECTRA: Listen, women. In a moment now
The men will do it. Wait in silence.
CHORUS: What are they doing?
ELECTRA: Standing behind her
While she prepares the urn for burial.
CHORUS: Why have you come out?
ELECTRA: To watch for Aegisthus,
In case he takes us by surprise.
They wait in silent suspense; until the voice of CLYTAEMNESTRA is heard.
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
Help! Death is upon us! Is there no one to help?
ELECTRA: There it is. Do you hear, do you hear?
CHORUS: O what terrible cries!
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
Have mercy, my son, have mercy on your mother!
ELECTRA (shouting through the closed doors):
You had none for him, nor for his father before him!
CHORUS: Now may the house and kingdom cry:
This is the end, the end of the days of affliction!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Ah!…
ELECTRA: Strike her again, strike!
CLYTAEMNESTRA: Ah!…
ELECTRA: May Aegisthus suffer the same!
CHORUS:
The curse has its way;
The dead speak from the earth;
The tide is turned and the blood
By the slain of long ago.
(ORESTES and PYLADES come out of the house.)
Here they come. Their hands are red
With the blood of the sacrifice. And who
Condemns? Not I.
ELECTRA: All right?
ORESTES: All right… if Apollo was right.
ELECTRA: Did you kill the wretch?
ORESTES: You’ll have no more indignities
To suffer from her.
CHORUS: Take care. I can see Aegisthus.
ELECTRA: Go back!
ORESTES: Where is he?
ELECTRA: Just turning out of the street,
Suspecting nothing.
He will soon be here.
CHORUS: Quick – go back into the hall;
And may all go as well as before.
ORESTES: Trust us for that.
ELECTRA: Go, go.
ORESTES: We’ll go.
ELECTRA: I’ll meet him here.
ORESTES and PYLADES go back into the house.
CHORUS: You must give him a friendly greeting
To lure him unsuspecting
To his reckoning with justice.
Enter AEGISTHUS from the town.
AEGISTHUS:
They tell me some Phocian visitors have been here
With a story of Orestes’ having lost his life
In a chariot-smash. Does anyone know where they are?
(Silence)
Electra, what have you to say?… Have you lost your tongue?
You were not used to be so modest. He’s your brother…
You must know something; you had better tell me about it.
ELECTRA:
Of course, I know all about it. It’s my duty to know
All that is happening to my nearest and dearest.
AEGISTHUS: Where are the messengers, then?
ELECTRA: They are in the house.
They have paid their respects to the mistress.
AEGISTHUS: What is their message?
Do they say he is really dead?
ELECTRA: They not only say it,
They have shown us the proof.
AEGISTHUS: Can I see it for myself?
ELECTRA: Yes, you can see it. It’s not a pretty sight.
AEGISTHUS:
This is good news – the best you have given me yet.
ELECTRA: I wish you joy of it – if you find it so.
AEGISTHUS:
Enough then. Open the doors! Let all my people
See this sight. And fools who fixed their hopes
On this poor creature, when they see his corpse,
May now accept my yoke, and not require
My whip to humble them.
ELECTRA: I need no teaching.
I have learned my lesson at last, learned how to serve
The will of those who have the upper hand.
The Palace doors are opened, disclosing ORESTES and PYLADES standing beside the body of CLYTAEMNESTRA. The body is covered. AEGISTHUS goes up and looks at it for a moment in silence.
AEGISTHUS: Surely, O God, there is example here
Of righteous retribution. If it be so,
In the presence of Nemesis, let me say no more.
Uncover the face, for I must mourn my kindred.
ORESTES: You, sir, not I, should lift this veil, and look
On what lies here, and make your kind farewell.
AEGISTHUS:
True. So I will. (To ELECTRA) Call Clytaemnestra here,
If she is in the house.
ORESTES: She is near you now,
Not far to seek.
AEGISTHUS uncovers the body.
AEGISTHUS: God, what is this?
ORESTES: Afraid?
Of whom? Strangers?
AEGISTHUS: Whose trap is this
That I have fallen into?
ORESTES: Are you so blind
You cannot tell the living from the dead?
AEGISTHUS: God help me, now I know. You are Orestes.
ORESTES: The prophet’s eyes are opened.
AEGISTHUS: This is the end…
Yet let me say one thing –
ELECTRA: Let him say nothing!
For God’s sake, brother, do not listen to him!
When a man’s hour has come, a little grace
Can do him little good. Kill him at once,
And throw his body to the gravediggers
That wait on such as he, out of our sight.
No other punishment can pay his debt
For all that I have suffered.
ORESTES (to AEGISTHUS): Go inside.
Words cannot settle the account between us,
Only your life.
AEGISTHUS: Why must I go in there?
Must this good deed be hidden from the daylight?
Strike, and have done with it.
ORESTES: I give the orders.
Go to the place in which you killed my father;
There you shall die.
AEGISTHUS: Must this roof see
The sorrows of Pelops age after age repeated
To the end of time?
ORESTES: It shall see yours, I prophesy.
AEGISTHUS:
That’s more foreknowledge than your father owned.
ORESTES: You have an answer to everything. Come now,
We’re wasting time.
AEGISTHUS: Lead on, then.
ORESTES: You go first.
AEGISTHUS: Afraid I’ll cheat you?
ORESTES: You might think to choose
An easier death. I mean to see you suffer
Up to the hilt. Could this swift justice, death,
Take all who choose to step across the law,
Law would be less defied.
AEGISTHUS goes in; ORESTES and PYLADES follow; the doors are shut.
CHORUS: Now for the House of Atreus
Freedom is won
From all her suffering,
And this day’s work well done.
EXEUNT