Electra

On the borders of Argolis. Peasant: O ancient plain of land, the streams of Inachus, from which king Agamemnon once mounted war on a thousand ships and sailed to the land of Troy. After he had slain Priam, the ruler of Ilium, and captured the famous city of Dardanus, he came here to Argos and set up on the high temples many spoils of the barbarians. And in Troy he was successful; but at home he died by the guile of his wife Clytemnestra and the hand of Aegisthus, son of Thyestes. And he left behind the ancient scepter of Tantalus, and is dead; but Aegisthus rules the land, possessing Agamemnon’s wife, the daughter of Tyndareus. Now as for those whom he left in his house when he sailed to Troy, his son Orestes and his young daughter Electra: when Orestes was about to die at the hand of Aegisthus, his father’s old servant stole him away and gave him to Strophius to bring up in the land of the Phocians. Electra stayed in her father’s house, and when she came to the blooming season of youth, the foremost suitors of the land of Hellas asked for her in marriage. But Aegisthus feared she might bear to some chieftain a son who would avenge Agamemnon, and so he kept her at home and did not betroth her to any bridegroom.

When even this filled him with great fear, that she might secretly bear children to some noble lord, Aegisthus planned to kill her, but her mother, although cruel at heart, rescued her from his hand. For she had a pretext for having slain her husband, but she feared that she would be despised for the murder of her children. So then, for these reasons, Aegisthus devised such a scheme: he promised gold to anyone who should kill Agamemnon’s son, who had left the country as an exile, while Electra he gave in marriage to me. My ancestors were Mycenaeans; in that respect at least I am not to blame. My family was noble in race but poor in money—which is the ruin of good birth. He gave her to a powerless man so that his fear might lose its power.

For if some man of high position got her, he would have roused the sleeping blood of Agamemnon and judgment would have come at some time to Aegisthus. But I have never (Cypris knows this too) dishonored her in bed; she is still a virgin indeed.

I am ashamed to have the daughter of a wealthy man and violate her, when I was not born of equal rank. And I groan for the wretched Orestes, called my kinsman, if he shall ever return to Argos and see the unfortunate marriage of his sister.

And whoever says I am a fool if I do not touch a young girl when I have her in my house, let him know that he measures soundness of mind by worthless standards of judgment, and he himself is a fool.

Electra: O black night, nurse of the golden stars, in which I go to the river’s streams, bearing this pitcher resting on my head—not because I have come to such a point of necessity, but so that I may show to the gods Aegisthus’ insolence—and send forth laments into the wide sky, to my father.

For the deadly daughter of Tyndareus, my mother, has cast me out of the house to please her husband; since she has borne other children in her union with Aegisthus, she considers Orestes and me secondary in the home.

Peasant: Why, unhappy one, do you do this work, laboring for my sake, though you were well brought up before, and do not stop, even when I tell you this?

Electra: I hold you equal to the gods in kindness, for in my distress you have not insulted me. It is a great allotment for mortals to find a healer for ill fortune, such as I have in you. And so, even though unbidden, I ought to share your labors, relieving you of work as far as I have strength, so that you may bear it more easily. You have enough to do outside; I must keep the house in order. It is pleasant for the worker coming in from outside to find things within right.

Peasant: Go, then, if you wish; and in fact the springs are not far from my house. When it is day, I will drive the oxen to my lands and sow the fields.

For no idler, though he has the gods’ names always on his lips, can gather a livelihood without hard work. Exeunt Peasant and Electra. Enter Orestes and Pylades.

Orestes: Pylades, I hold you first among men as a kind and trusted friend to me. You alone of my friends have honored me, Orestes, being as I am in dreadful suffering from Aegisthus, who killed my father, he and my most deadly mother. I have come from the mystic shrine of the god to Argive land, and no one knows it, to repay my father’s murderers with murder.

During this past night, going to my father’s tomb, I wept and cut off a lock of my hair as an offering and sacrificed over the altar the blood of a slaughtered sheep, unnoticed by the tyrants who rule this land. And now I do not set foot within the walls, but I have come to the borders of this land combining two desires: I may escape to another country if anyone on the watch should recognize me; and, looking for my sister (for they say that she lives here, joined in marriage, and is no longer a virgin),

I may meet with her and, having her as an accomplice for murder, I may learn clearly what is happening within the walls. And now, since dawn is lifting up her bright eye, let us step aside from this path. For either some plowman or serving maid will come in our sight, from whom we may ask if my sister lives in this place. But now that I see this maidservant, bearing a weight of water on her shorn head, let us sit down, and inquire of this slave girl, if we may receive some word about the matter, Pylades, for which we have come to this land. They retire a little.

Electra: Hasten your step, it is time; go onward, onward, weeping! Ah me!

I am Agamemnon’s child, and Clytemnestra, hated daughter of Tyndareus, bore me; the citizens call me unhappy Electra.

Alas for my cruel pain and hateful life! O father, Agamemnon, you lie in Hades, by the butchery of your wife and Aegisthus.

Electra: Come, waken the same lament, take up the enjoyment of long weeping.

Electra: Hasten your step, it is time; go onward, onward, weeping. Ah me!

In what city and what household do you wander about, my wretched brother, leaving your pitiable sister in our ancestral home, to great pain?

Come to me, the unhappy one, as a deliverer from this pain, oh Zeus, Zeus, and as a defender for my father against his most hateful bloodshed; bring the wanderer to shore in Argos.

Electra: Take this pitcher from my head and put it down, so that I may cry aloud the night-time laments for my father. A wail, a song of death, of death, for you, father, under the earth, I speak the laments in which I am always engaged, day by day, tearing my skin with my nails, and striking my cropped head with my hand, for your death.

Electra: Oh, oh, tear my face; as a clear-sounding swan beside the river’s streams calls to its dearest father, dying in the crafty snares of the net, so I lament you, my unhappy father,

Electra: washed by the very last bath, in the most piteous bed of death. Oh, me, your bitter cleaving by the axe, father, the bitter plans of the way from Troy! Your wife welcomed you with no victor’s garlands or crowns, but with a two-edged sword, making you the mournful victim of Aigisthus, she got a treacherous bed-fellow.

Chorus: O Electra, daughter of Agamemnon, I have come to your rustic courtyard. A milk-drinker from Mycenae has come, he has come, a mountain walker; he reports that the Argives are proclaiming a sacrifice for the third day from now, and that all maidens are to go to Hera’s temple.

Electra: My unhappy heart beats fast, friends, but not at adornment or gold; nor will I set up choruses with the maidens of Argos and beat my foot in the mazes of the dance. By tears I pass the night; tears are my unhappy care day by day. See if my filthy hair, and the rags of my dress, will be fit for a princess, a daughter of Agamemnon, or for Troy, once taken, which remembers my father.

Chorus: Mighty is the goddess; come then, and borrow from me thick-woven clothes to wear, and gold—as a favor to me—accessories to adornment. Do you think to rule over your enemies by tears, if you do not revere the gods?

Honoring the gods not by lamentation but by prayers, you will have good fortune, child.

Electra: No god attends to the voice of the ill-fated one, or to the slaying of my father long ago. Alas for the dead, and for the living vagabond, who dwells in another land somewhere, miserably wandering to a slave’s hearth, yet born of that renowned father. I myself live in a poor man’s house, wasting my life away, an exile from my father’s house, on the mountain crags. But my mother, with a new husband, makes her home in a bed stained by blood.

Chorus Leader: Helen, your mother’s sister, is the cause of many evils to the Hellenes and to your house.

Electra: Catching sight of Orestes and Pylades Ah! Women, I have broken off my lament; strangers, who had their lair at the altar, are rising from ambush towards the household. Let us escape the villains by flight, you along the path and I to the house.

Orestes: Stay, poor girl; do not fear my hand.

Electra: O Phoebus Apollo! I beseech you to spare my life.

Orestes: May I kill others more hated than you!

Electra: Go away! Do not touch one whom you must not touch.

Orestes: There is no one I have a better right to touch.

Electra: Then why are you in ambush, with drawn sword, near my house?

Orestes: Wait and hear, and you will soon say the same.

Electra: I am still; in any case, I am yours, since you are the stronger.

Orestes: I have come to bring you word from your brother.

Electra: Oh best of friends! Is he alive or dead?

Orestes: Alive; for I want to tell you the good news first.

Electra: May you be happy, as a reward for your most welcome tidings.

Orestes: I give that blessing for us two to have in common.

Electra: Where does the unhappy one live, in his unhappy exile?

Orestes: He goes miserably about, not following the customs of any one city.

Electra: Surely he does not want for a living, day by day?

Orestes: He has that, but an exile is a helpless man at best.

Electra: What is this message you have come bringing from him?

Orestes: If you are alive, and if so, how you are.

Electra: Well then, you see first of all how withered my body is.

Orestes: Yes, so wasted with sorrow that I sigh for it.

Electra: And my head and hair, close shaven as if by a Scythian’s razor.

Orestes: Your brother and your dead father perhaps gnaw at your heart.

Electra: Alas! For what is dearer to me than they?

Orestes: Ah! What are you to your brother, do you think?

Electra: He is far away, not here to be my friend.

Orestes: Why are you living here, far from the city?

Electra: I am married, stranger; a deadly match.

Orestes: I pity your brother. Is your husband a Mycenaean?

Electra: Not one to whom my father ever hoped to give me.

Orestes: Tell me so that I may hear and inform your brother.

Electra: I live in his house, at a distance from the city.

Orestes: A ditch-digger or a herdsman is worthy of the house.

Electra: He is a man poor but noble, and respectful to me.

Orestes: What is this respect that your husband has?

Electra: He has never dared to touch me in bed.

Orestes: Does he hold some form of religious chastity, or does he think you unworthy?

Electra: He did not think himself worthy to insult my family.

Orestes: And how was he not delighted to make such a marriage?

Electra: He thinks the person who gave me did not have that right, stranger.

Orestes: I understand; he fears that he may someday be punished by Orestes.

Electra: He does fear that, but he is also a virtuous man.

Orestes: Ah! You have described a noble man, and he must be treated well.

Electra: Yes, if ever the one now absent comes home.

Orestes: But did your mother, who gave you birth, endure this?

Electra: Women love their husbands, stranger, not their children.

Orestes: Why did Aegisthus insult you in this way?

Electra: He planned for me to bear powerless children, when he gave me to such a man.

Orestes: So that you might not bear sons to punish him, of course?

Electra: That was his plan; may he make amends to me for it!

Orestes: Does your mother’s husband know that you are a virgin?

Electra: He does not know; we steal that from him by our silence.

Orestes: Are these women who hear our talk friends of yours?

Electra: They will keep both your words and mine well hidden.

Orestes: What then could Orestes do in this matter if he comes to Argos?

Electra: Do you ask this? You have said a shameful word; isn’t it the critical time now?

Orestes: But if he does come, how might he kill his father’s murderers?

Electra: By daring such things as his enemies dared against my father.

Orestes: And would you dare, with him, to kill your mother?

Electra: Yes, with that same axe by which my father died.

Orestes: Am I to tell him this, and that your purpose is steadfast?

Electra: Once I had shed my mother’s blood, I might die!

Orestes: Ah! Would that Orestes were near by, to hear that!

Electra: But, stranger, I would not know him if I saw him.

Orestes: No wonder, for you were both young when you were parted.

Electra: There is only one of my friends who would recognize him.

Orestes: The man who is said to have stolen him away from murder?

Electra: Yes, the old man, my father’s old servant.

Orestes: Did the dead man, your father, find burial?

Electra: He found what he could, cast out of the house.

Orestes: Alas, the things you have said! For perception of suffering, even another’s, gnaws at mortals. Speak, so that when I know, I may tell your brother the story, unpleasant, but necessary to hear. Pity is not present at all in clownishness, but in wise men. And indeed it is not without mischief for the wise to have overly profound thoughts.

Chorus Leader: And I have the same desire in my heart as this man. Being far from the town, I do not know the city’s scandals, and now I want to learn them.

Electra: I will speak, if I must—and one must speak to a friend—about my own and my father’s heavy misfortunes. Since you are setting the tale in motion, I entreat you, stranger, tell Orestes of our sorrows, mine and his. First of all, in what clothes I live like a beast in a stall, with what filth I am weighted down, under what roof I dwell, having lived in a royal home; I myself working hard on my clothes at the loom, or else I shall go barely clad and do without; always carrying water from the springs myself, with no share in the festival rites, no part in the dance. I turn away from married women, as a virgin; and I turn away from Castor, who sought me in marriage before he joined the gods, for I was his relative. But my mother, in the spoils of Troy, is seated on her throne, and at her chair stand slaves from Asia, my father’s plunder, fastening their Trojan robes with golden brooches. And still my father’s blood has rotted black on the wall, while the one who killed him mounts the same chariot and goes forth; and is proud to hold in his blood-stained hands the scepter with which my father used to command the Hellenes. Agamemnon’s grave, dishonoured, has not yet ever received any libations, or branch of myrtle, but his altar is barren of ornament. That famous one, my mother’s husband, leaps on the grave, they say, when soaked in drink, and pelts my father’s marble monument with stones, and dares to say this to us:

Where is your son Orestes? Is he here to defend the tomb for you nobly? Orestes is insulted in this way while absent. But, stranger, I beg you, report these things. There are many calling him to come—I am their interpreter—these hands, this tongue, my broken heart, my shorn head, and his own father. For it is shameful, if his father exterminated the Trojans but Orestes is unable to kill a man, one against one, being young and born from a more noble father.

Chorus Leader: And look, I see him, I mean your husband, on his way home, his day’s work done.

Peasant: Entering and catching sight of strangers talking to Electra. Oh! who are these strangers I see at my door? Why have they come here to my rustic gate? Do they want something from me? For it is shameful for a woman to be standing with young men.

Electra: Dearest, do not be suspicious of me; you shall hear the truth; for these strangers have come to me as messengers of news from Orestes. But, strangers, pardon him for what he said.

Peasant: What do they say? The man is alive and sees the light of day?

Electra: He is, at least in their report, and I believe them.

Peasant: Surely then he remembers something of your father’s wrongs and your own?

Electra: These are things to hope for; a man in exile is powerless.

Peasant: What message from Orestes have they come to declare?

Electra: He sent them as spies of my wrongs.

Peasant: Then they see a part of it, and perhaps you are telling them the rest.

Electra: They know; they have all these things in abundance.

Peasant: Then shouldn’t you have opened the doors to them long before? Go into the house; for in return for your good tidings, you shall find as much hospitality as my house holds in store.

Servants, take their baggage within the house. Do not contradict me, since you are friends coming from a friend; for, even if I am poor, I will not display manners that are ill-bred.

Orestes: By the gods! Is this the man who makes a fraud of your marriage, because he does not want to shame Orestes?

Electra: This is the one who is called my husband, unhappy as I am.

Orestes: Ah! There is no exact way to test a man’s worth; for human nature has confusion in it. For instance, I have seen before now the son of a noble father worth nothing, and good children from evil parents; famine in a rich man’s spirit, and a mighty soul in a poor man’s body. How then does one rightly distinguish and judge these things? By wealth? A sorry test to use.

Or by those who have nothing? But poverty has a disease, it teaches a man to be wicked in his need. But shall I turn to warfare? Who, facing the enemy’s spear, could be a witness as to who is brave? It is best to leave these matters alone, at random.

For this man, neither important in Argos, nor puffed up by the good reputation of his family, but one of the many, has been found to be the best. Do not be foolish, you who wander about full of empty notions, but judge those noble among men by their company and by their habits. For such men rule well both states and homes; while those bodies that are empty of mind are only ornaments in the market-place. For the strong arm does not await the battle any better than the weak;

this depends on natural courage. But, since Agamemnon’s son, both present and not present, for whose sake we have come, is worthy of it, let us accept a lodging in this house. Calling to his servants. We must go within this house, slaves. May a man poor but eager be a better host for me than a rich man! And so I am content with the reception into this man’s house, though I would have wanted your brother, in good fortune, to lead me to his fortunate home. Perhaps he may come; the oracles of Loxias are sure, but human prophecy I dismiss. Exeunt Orestes and Pylades.

Chorus Leader: Now more than before, Electra, I feel the warmth of joy at my heart; for perhaps good fortune, advancing with difficulty, might come to a good resting-place.

Electra: O reckless man, why, knowing the poverty of your house, did you welcome these strangers, greater than you?

Peasant: What? If they are really as noble as they seem, won’t they be equally content among great and small?

Electra: Since you, one of the small, have now made this error, go to my father’s dear old servant, who tends his flocks, an outcast from the city, by the river Tanaus which cuts a boundary between Argive land and the land of Sparta; bid him come, since these men have arrived at my house, and provide something for the guests’ meal.

He will be glad, and will offer prayers to the gods, when he hears that the child, whom he once saved, is alive. I cannot get anything from my mother or from my father’s house; for we would bring bitter news, if she, the hard-hearted, were to learn that Orestes is still alive.

Peasant: I will take this message to the old man, if you wish; but go inside the house at once and make things ready there. Surely a woman, if she wants to, can find many additions to a meal. Really there is still enough in the house to cram them with food for one day at least. It is in such cases, whenever I fail in my intentions, that I see how wealth has great power, to give to strangers, and to expend in curing the body when it falls sick; but money for our daily food comes to little; for every man when full, rich or poor, gets an equal amount. Exeunt Electra and Peasant.

Chorus: O famous ships, you that once with countless oars went to Troy, conducting dances with the Nereids, where the music-loving dolphin leapt and rolled at your dark-blue prows, bringing Achilles, the son of Thetis, light in the leap of his foot, with Agamemnon to the banks of Trojan Simois.

Chorus: The Nereids, leaving Euboea’s headlands, brought from Hephaestus’ anvil his shield-work of golden armor, up to Pelion and the glens at the foot of holy Ossa, the Nymphs’ watch-tower... where his father, the horseman, was training the son of Thetis as a light for Hellas, sea-born, swift-footed for the sons of Atreus.

Chorus: I heard, from someone who had arrived at the harbor of Nauplia from Ilium, that on the circle of your famous shield, O son of Thetis, were wrought these signs, a terror to the Phrygians: on the surrounding base of the shield’s rim, Perseus the throat-cutter, over the sea with winged sandals, was holding the Gorgon’s body, with Hermes, Zeus’ messenger, the rustic son of Maia.

Chorus: In the center of the shield the sun’s bright circle was shining on winged horses, and the heavenly chorus of stars, Pleiades, Hyades, bringing defeat to the eyes of Hector;

and upon his gold-forged helmet were sphinxes, bearing in their talons prey from singing. On his breast-plate a lioness, breathing flame, was eager in flight, with her claws, seeing the colt of Pirene.

Chorus: On the bloody hilt four-footed horses were prancing, while over their backs black dust rose up. But your adultery killed the lord of such mighty warriors, evil-minded daughter of Tyndareus! For this the gods of heaven will one day send you to death;

truly the day will come when I shall see, under your red throat, blood gushing forth at the sword.

Old man: Where, where is my young queen and mistress, Agamemnon’s child, whom I once brought up? How steep is the approach to her house, for a wrinkled old man to ascend with this foot! Still, for these friends, I must drag along my back bent double and sinking knees. Oh, daughter—for I see you now before the house—I have come, bringing you from my own sheep this newborn nursling of the flock, having drawn it away from its mother, and garlands, and cheeses I have taken from the press, and this old treasure of Dionysus, furnished with fragrance, small, but sweet to pour a cup of it into a weaker drink.

Let some one carry these gifts into the house for the guests. I have moistened my eyes with tears, and wish to wipe them off on this shred of my robe.

Electra: Why are your eyes wet, old man? Have my troubles stirred your memory, after an interval of time?

Or are you groaning over the sad exile of Orestes, and over my father, whom you once held in your arms and brought up, in vain for you and for your friends?

Old man: In vain; but still I could not endure this: for I came to his grave, an addition to my journey, and falling on it I wept for its desolation; then I opened the wine-skin which I am bringing to the guests, and poured a libation, and set myrtle-sprigs round the tomb. On the alter itself I saw a black-fleeced ram as an offering, and there was blood, not long poured out, and severed locks of yellow hair. And I wondered, child, who ever dared come to the the tomb; for it was no Argive at least. But perhaps your brother has somehow come secretly and on his return has done honor to his father’s wretched grave.

Go look to see if the color of the cut lock is the same as yours, putting it to your own hair; it is usual for those who have the same paternal blood to have a close bodily resemblance in most points.

Electra: Old man, your words are unworthy of a wise man, if you think my own brave brother would come to this land secretly for fear of Aegisthus. Then, how will a lock of hair correspond, the one made to grow in the wrestling schools of a well-bred man, the other, a woman’s lock, by combing? No, it is impossible.

But you could find in many people hair very similar, although they are not of the same blood, old man.

Old man: Then stand in the footprint and see if the tread of the boot will measure with your own foot, child.

Electra: How could there be an imprint of feet on a stony plot of ground?

And if there is, the foot of brother and sister would not be the same in size, for the male conquers.

Old man: There is not, even if your brother, coming to this land... by which you might know your loom’s weaving, in which I once stole him away from death?

Electra: Don’t you know that I was still young when Orestes was driven out of the land? And even if I had woven him a robe, how could he, a child then, have the same one now, unless his clothes grew together with his body?

But either a stranger, taking pity on his grave...

Old man: Where are the guests? I want to see them and question them about your brother.

Electra: There they are, coming quickly out of the house.

Old man: They are well-born, but that may ring false; for many of the well-born are base. However; I give the guests welcome.

Orestes: Welcome, old man! To which of your friends, Electra, does this ancient remnant of a man belong?

Electra: This is the one who brought up my father, stranger.

Orestes: What are you saying? Is this the one who stole away your brother?

Electra: This is the one who saved him, if indeed he is still alive.

Orestes: Oh! Why does he look at me, as if he were examining the clear mark impressed on a silver coin? Is he comparing me to someone?

Electra: Perhaps he is glad to see in you a companion of Orestes.

Orestes: A beloved man, yes. But why is he circling all around me?

Electra: I too am amazed, looking at this, stranger.

Old man: O mistress, daughter Electra, pray to the gods.

Electra: For what thing, present or absent?

Old man: To have a beloved treasure, which the god is revealing.

Electra: See: I call on the gods. Or whatever do you mean, old man?

Old man: Look now at this man, my child, your dearest one.

Electra: I have been looking for a long time, to see whether you have lost your mind.

Old man: Lost my mind, because I see your brother?

Electra: What do you mean, old man, by this word, unhoped for?

Old man: That I see Orestes here, Agamemnon’s son.

Electra: What mark do you see, by which I shall be persuaded?

Old man: A scar along his brow, where he fell and drew blood one day in his father’s home when chasing a fawn with you.

Electra: What are you saying? I see the sign of the fall.

Old man: Then do you hesitate to embrace your dearest one?

Electra: Not any longer, old man; for my heart is persuaded by your tokens. O you who have appeared at last, I hold you, beyond all hope.

Orestes: And you are held by me at last.

Electra: I never expected it.

Orestes: Nor did I hope.

Electra: Are you that one?

Orestes: Yes, your one ally. If I draw back the cast of the net I am aiming for—but I have confidence; or else we must no longer believe in gods, if wrong is to be victorious over right.

Chorus: You have come, you have come, oh, long-delayed day, you have lighted up, you have made visible a beacon to the city, who in long ago exile went forth from his father’s house, unhappily wandering.

A god, now, a god brings our victory, my dear. Lift up your hands, lift up your words, send prayers to the gods for your brother with fortune, with fortune, to enter the city.

Orestes: Well; I have the loving pleasures of your greeting and later I will give them back in turn. You, old man, for you have come at the right time, tell me, what should I do to avenge myself on my father’s murderer

? Do I still have any well-disposed friends in Argos? Or am I wholly bankrupt, just as my fortunes are? With whom shall I ally myself? By night or day? What course shall I take against my enemies?

Old man: Child, you have no friend in your misfortune. For this thing is a godsend indeed, to share in common, both good and bad. But you—for you have been destroyed from the foundations, in the eyes of your friends, and you have left them no hope—hear it from me and know:

all that you have is in your own arm and fortune, to win your father’s home and your city.

Orestes: What must I do then to accomplish this?

Old man: Kill Thyestes’ son and your mother.

Orestes: I have come for that victor’s crown; but how shall I grasp it?

Old man: Not by going within the walls, even if you wanted to.

Orestes: Is he well furnished with garrisons and body-guards?

Old man: You have understood; for, clearly, he is afraid of you, and does not sleep.

Orestes: Well; it is for you to plan the next step, old man.

Old man: Hear me then; for something has just come to me.

Orestes: May you reveal something good, and may I understand it.

Old man: I saw Aegisthus, when I was on my way here.

Orestes: I approve what you have said. Where was he?

Old man: Near these fields, at his stables.

Orestes: What was he doing? I see some hope, out of difficulties.

Old man: He was preparing a feast for the Nymphs, I thought.

Orestes: In return for the bringing up of children or for a coming birth?

Old man: I only know this: he was preparing to sacrifice an ox.

Orestes: With how many men? Or alone with his slaves?

Old man: No Argive was there, but a band of his own servants.

Orestes: Surely there isn’t anyone who will know me if he sees me, old man?

Old man: There are slaves, who have never even seen you.

Orestes: Would they be well disposed to me, if I should prevail?

Old man: Yes, for that is the way of slaves, luckily for you.

Orestes: However might I approach him then?

Old man: By going where he will see you as he sacrifices.

Orestes: He has fields by the road, it seems?

Old man: Yes, and when he sees you there, he will invite you to the feast.

Orestes: I shall be a bitter companion in the feast, if the god wishes it.

Old man: After that, you yourself invent something, as it falls out.

Orestes: Well said. But my mother, where is she?

Old man: At Argos; but she will join her husband for the feast.

Orestes: Why didn’t my mother set out with her husband?

Old man: From fear of the citizens’ reproach she stayed behind.

Orestes: I understand; she knows that the city suspects her.

Old man: Something like that; for an unholy woman is an object of hatred.

Orestes: How then shall I kill her and him at once?

Electra: I shall prepare my mother’s slaughter!

Orestes: And as for the other matter, fortune will ordain well.

Electra: Let this man here help us with both.

Old man: I will; but how will you find a way to kill your mother?

Electra: Go to Clytemnestra, old man, and say this: report that I have given birth to a male child.

Old man: That you have given birth some time ago, or quite recently?

Electra: Ten days ago, in which a woman who has given birth stays pure.

Old man: And how does this grant us the slaughter of your mother?

Electra: She will come, when she hears of my childbirth pangs.

Old man: How is that? Do you think she cares for you, child?

Electra: Yes; and she will weep, surely, over my child’s low rank.

Old man: Perhaps; bring your story back again to the turning-point.

Electra: Well then, if she comes, it is clear that she will die.

Old man: Yes, she will come right up to the door of your house.

Electra: Won’t it then be a little thing for her to turn aside to Hades?

Old man: May I die, once I have seen this!

Electra: First of all, old man, guide my brother—

Old man: To the place where Aegisthus is now sacrificing to the gods?

Electra: Then, going to meet my mother, give her my message.

Old man: So that the very words will seem to have been said by you.

Electra: To Orestes Your work begins at once; you have drawn the first lot in the slaughter.

Orestes: I would go, if some one would show me the way.

Old man: Yes, I can escort you myself, not against my will.

Orestes: O Zeus, god of my fathers, be also the vanquisher of my enemies—

Electra: And have pity on us; for we have suffered pitiably—

Old man: Yes, indeed, have pity on your own descendants.

Electra: And Hera, you who rule Mycenae’s altars—

Orestes: Give us victory, if we are asking for what is right.

Old man: Yes, indeed, give them the right of vengeance for their father.

Orestes: You too, father, living below the earth through an unholy deed—

Electra: And Lady Earth, to whom I give my hands—

Old man: Defend, defend these, your dearest children.

Orestes: Now come and bring with you all the dead as allies.

Electra: Those who destroyed the Trojans in war with you—

Old man: And all who hate the unholy and polluted.

Electra: Do you hear me, you who suffered dreadful things from my mother?

Old man: Your father hears everything, I know; but it is time to be on our way.

Electra: And I tell you therefore that Aegisthus is to die; if you fall dead in the struggle, I am also dead, do not count me as alive; for I will strike my heart with a two-edged sword. I will go indoors and make things ready there.

So that if a good report comes from you, the whole house will cry aloud in triumph; but, if you die, it will be the opposite of that. These are my words to you.

Orestes: I know it all.

Electra: Therefore you must be a man. Exeunt Orestes, Pylades, and Old Man. And you, women, please take care to give a shout in signal of this contest. I will keep a sword ready, holding it in my hand, for I will not ever, if defeated, submit to my enemies the right to insult my body. Exit Electra.

Chorus: The story remains in old legends that Pan, the keeper of wild beasts, breathing sweet-voiced music on his well-joined pipes, once brought from its tender mother on Argive hills a lamb with beautiful golden fleece. A herald stood on the stone platform and cried aloud, To assembly, Mycenaeans, go to assembly to see the omens given to our blessed rulers.... and they honored the house of Atreus.

Chorus: The altars of beaten gold were set out; and through the town the altar fires of the Argives blazed; the flute, handmaid of the Muse’s song, sounded its note sweetly, and lovely songs of the golden lamb swelled forth, saying that Thyestes had the luck; for he persuaded Atreus’ own wife to secret love, and carried off to his house the portent; coming before the assembly he declared that he had in his house the horned sheep with fleece of gold.

Chorus: Then, it was then that Zeus changed the radiant paths of the stars, and the light of the sun, and the bright face of dawn; and the sun drove across the western back of the sky with hot flame from heaven’s fires, while the rain-clouds went northward and Ammon’s lands grew parched and faint, not knowing moisture, robbed of heaven’s fairest showers of rain.

Chorus: It is said, but I have small belief in it, that the sun turned round his glowing throne of gold, changing it to the misfortune of mankind, for the punishment of mortals. But tales that frighten men are profitable for service to the gods; of whom you had no thought, when you killed your husband, you who are the relative of famous brothers.

Chorus Leader: Oh, oh! My friends, did you hear a noise—or did an empty notion come to me?—like the underground rumbling from Zeus? Look, the breeze rises, bringing with it a sign.

Mistress, Electra, leave the house!

Electra: Rushing out My friends, what is it? How do we stand in the contest?

Leader: I only know this; I hear a wailing that means bloodshed.

Electra: I heard it also, far off, but still heard.

Leader: Yes, the sound is coming a long way, but it is clear.

Electra: The groan was of an Argive; was it from my friends?

Leader: I don’t know; for the whole tune of the shout is confused.

Electra: You are calling out to me my death; why do I delay?

Leader: Hold back, to learn your fortune clearly.

Electra: No, no; we are vanquished; where are the messengers?

Leader: They will come; it is no trivial matter to kill a king.

Messenger: O victorious maidens of Mycenae, I report to all his friends that Orestes has conquered, and Aegisthus, the murderer of Agamemnon, lies on the ground; but we must offer prayers to the gods.

Electra: Who are you? How trustworthy is your announcement?

Messenger: Don’t you know your brother’s servant when you look at me?

Electra: O best of friends! I could not recognize your face out of fear; but now I know you well. What are you saying? Is my father’s hated murderer dead?

Messenger: He is dead; I am telling you twice what you certainly want to hear.

Electra: O gods, and all-seeing justice, at last you have come. In what way and by what form of death did he kill Thyestes’ son? I would like to learn.

Messenger: After we had left this house, we stepped onto the broad highway and went to the place where the famous King of Mycenae was. He turned out to be walking in a well-watered garden, plucking a wreath of tender myrtle-sprays for his head; when he saw us, he called out, Welcome, strangers! Who are you and from where do you come? from what country? Orestes said, We are Thessalians, going to the Alpheus river to sacrifice to Olympian Zeus. When Aegisthus heard that, he said, You must be my guests for the feast with us now, for I happen to be sacrificing an ox to the Nymphs; and if you get out of bed at dawn, it will make no difference to you. But let us go within—while he was addressing us, he took us by the hand and led us off the road—you must not refuse.

Let someone bring water immediately for my guests, so that they may stand around the altar near the basin. But Orestes said: Just now we purified ourselves in clean water from the river’s streams.

So if strangers must join in the sacrifice with citizens, Aegisthus, we are ready and will not refuse, lord. So they ended their public conversation. The slaves who formed the master’s bodyguard laid aside their spears, and all applied their hands to the work.

Some brought the bowl to catch the blood, others took up baskets, while others kindled fire and set cauldrons around the hearth, and the whole roof rang. Then your mother’s bed-fellow took barley for sprinkling, and cast it upon the altar with these words,

Nymphs of the rocks, may I and my wife, the daughter of Tyndareus, often sacrifice at home, in good fortune as now, and may my enemies suffer —meaning you and Orestes. But my master prayed for the opposite, not speaking the words aloud, that he might win his father’s house. Aegisthus took from a basket a long straight knife, and cutting off some of the calf’s hair laid it with his right hand on the sacred fire, and then cut the calf’s throat when the servants had lifted it upon their shoulders, and said this to your brother:

They boast that this is among the honorable accomplishments for the Thessalians: to cut up a bull rightly and to tame horses; take the knife, stranger, and show us if the report about the Thessalians is true.

Orestes seized in his hands the well-hammered Dorian knife and threw from his shoulders his graceful buckled robe; he chose Pylades as an assistant in the work and drove back the servants; and taking the calf by the hoof, he laid bare its white flesh, with arm outstretched, and flayed the hide quicker than a runner finishes the two laps of the horses’ race-course; and then he laid the flanks open. Aegisthus took the entrails in his hands and inspected them. Now the liver had no lobe, while the portal vein and near-by gall-bladder revealed threatening approaches to the one who was observing it.

Aegisthus was angry, but my master asked, Why are you disheartened? Stranger, I fear some treachery from abroad. Agamemnon’s son is the man I hate most, and an enemy to my house. But Orestes said, Do you really fear treachery from an exile, when you rule the city? Instead of the Dorian knife, let someone bring me a Thessalian axe and let me split the breast-bone, so that we may hold the sacrificial feast. He took the axe and cut. Now Aegisthus took up the entrails, and was inspecting and sorting them out. As he was bending down, your brother rose on tiptoe and struck him on the spine; his back-bone broke apart; with his whole body he struggled up and down, and cried out, dying hard in his blood. As soon as the servants saw it, they rushed to arms, many to fight against two; yet Pylades and Orestes in their bravery stood to face them, brandishing their weapons. Then he said: I do not come hostile to this city or to my own servants; I, the unhappy Orestes, have avenged myself on the murderer of my father;

but do not kill me, old servants of my father! They, when they heard his words, held back their spears, and he was recognized by an old man, who had been long in the household. Immediately they crowned your brother with a wreath, and shouted with joy.

And he comes bringing a head to show you, not that of the Gorgon, but of the one you hate, Aegisthus; his death today has paid in blood a bitter debt of blood.

Chorus: Set your step to the dance, my dear, like a fawn leaping high up to heaven with joy. Your brother is victorious and has accomplished the wearing of a crown... beside the streams of Alpheus. Come sing a glorious victory ode, to my dance.

Electra: O light, O blaze of the sun, drawn by its team! O earth and night, all that I saw before; now I am free to open my eyes, for Aegisthus, my father’s murderer, has fallen.

Come, let me bring out whatever adornment for hair that I have and my house contains, friends, and I shall wreath the head of my conquering brother.

Chorus: It is for you to bring adornment now for his head;

our dance, dear to the Muses, will go on. Now, those who were once our dear kings will rule our land justly, having destroyed the unjust. So let the shout, harmonious with joy, go up.

Electra: O glorious victor, Orestes, son of a father victorious in battle under Troy, receive this band for the locks of your hair. You have come home, running a contest of the stadium that was not useless, but rather killing

Aegisthus, the murderer of your father and mine. And you, his companion, Pylades, taught by a most pious father, receive a garland from my hand; for you also bear an equal part of the contest, with Orestes. May you always seem to me fortunate!

Orestes: First believe that the gods, Electra, are the leaders of our fortune, and then praise me as the servant of them and of fate. I come, having killed Aegisthus not in word but in deed; to add this proof to your knowledge,

I am bringing you his corpse, which, if you wish, you may expose as prey for wild animals or impale and press it down on a stake as spoil for birds, the children of the air; for now he is your slave, once called your master.

Electra: I am ashamed, but equally I wish to speak.

Orestes: What is it? Speak, as you are free from fear.

Electra: I am ashamed to insult the dead, for fear someone might hurl malice at me.

Orestes: There is no one who would blame you.

Electra: Our citizens are hard to please, and love scandal.

Orestes: Speak, if you need to say anything, sister; for we engaged in hostilities with him on terms without truce.

Electra: Turning to the corpse of Aegisthus Well then! Which of your evil acts shall I tell of first, as a beginning? What sort of end shall I make? What part of my speech shall I assign to the middle place? And yet I never ceased, throughout the early mornings, repeating what I wished to say to your face, if ever I were free from my old terrors. And now I am; so I will pay you back with those reproaches I wanted to make when you were alive. You destroyed me, and orphaned me and this man here of a dear father, though you were wronged in no way by us; and you made a shameful marriage with my mother, and killed her husband, who led the armies of Hellas, though you never went to Troy. You were so foolish that you really expected, in marrying my mother, that she would not be unfaithful to you, though you were wronging my father’s bed. Know that whoever ruins another’s wife, in secret love, and then is forced to take her himself, is pitiable, if he thinks that the chastity which did not govern her before will do so with him.

You lived most miserably, although you thought it otherwise; you knew well that you had made an unholy marriage, and my mother knew that she had in you an impious husband. Both being wicked, she took up your fortune, you her evil.

Among all the Argives you would hear this: That woman’s husband, not that man’s wife. Although this is a shameful thing, for the wife to rule the house and not the husband; and I hate those children who are called in the city not the sons of the man, their father, but of their mother. For instance, when a man makes a remarkable marriage, one above his rank, there is no talk of the husband but only of the wife. This deceived you the most, in your ignorance: you professed to be some one, strong in your wealth, but that is nothing, except to associate with briefly. It is nature that is secure, not wealth; for, always standing by, it takes away troubles; but prosperity, when it lives wickedly and with fools, flies out of the house, flowering for a short time.

As to your women, I am silent—for it is not good for a maiden to speak of this—but I will tell riddles that can be understood. You were insolent because you had a king’s house and were endowed with good looks. May I never have a husband with a girl’s face, but one with a man’s ways.

For the children of the latter cling to a life of arms, while the fair ones are only an ornament in the dance. Spurning the corpse with her foot Begone, knowing nothing of how you were discovered and paid the penalty in time. So let no evildoer suppose, even if he runs the first step well, that he will get the better of Justice, until he comes to the end of the finish-line and makes the last turn in life.

Chorus Leader: He did terrible things, and repaid them to you and Orestes; for Justice has great strength.

Electra: Well then; you must carry the body of this man inside and hide it, slaves, so that when my mother comes, she may not see his corpse before her slaughter.

Orestes: Wait! Let us go into another matter.

Electra: What? Those are not rescuers from Mycenae whom I see?

Orestes: No, but the mother who bore me.

Electra: Then finely she walks to the middle of the net. —And here she comes, splendid in her chariot and dress.

Orestes: What are we going to do? Shall we kill our mother?

Electra: Surely pity did not seize you, when you saw your mother?

Orestes: Ah! How can I kill her when she bore me and brought me up?

Electra: As she killed your father and mine.

Orestes: O Phoebus, you prophesied a great folly—

Electra: Where Apollo is a fool, who are the wise?

Orestes: You who declared I was to kill my mother, whom it is clearly wrong to kill.

Electra: How can you be hurt by avenging your father?

Orestes: I shall stand trial as a matricide, though I was pure before.

Electra: And by not defending your father, you will be impious.

Orestes: I, my mother—? To whom will I pay the penalty for her murder?

Electra: And to whom, if you give up our father’s vengeance?

Orestes: Was it a fiend who spoke in the likeness of the god?

Electra: Seated on the holy tripod? I do not think so.

Orestes: I cannot believe that this oracle was well prophesied.

Electra: Do not become a coward and fall into unmanliness!

Orestes: Am I to devise the same crafty scheme for her?

Electra: The same death that you gave to her husband, Aegisthus.

Orestes: I will go in; it is a dreadful task I am beginning and I will do dreadful things. If the gods approve, let it be; to me the contest is bitter and also sweet.

Orestes withdraws into the house. Chorus: Hail, Queen of the land of Argos, child of Tyndareus, and sister of those two noble sons of Zeus who dwell in the fiery heavens among the stars, whose honored office it is to save mortals in the high waves. Welcome, I give you worship equal to the blessed gods for your wealth and great prosperity. Now is the time to pay our court to your fortunes. Welcome, o queen.

Clytemnestra: Come out of the wagon, Trojan maids, and take my hand, that I may step down from the chariot.

The homes of the gods are adorned with Phrygian spoils, but I have obtained these women, choice objects from the land of Troy, in return for the daughter whom I lost, a slight reward but an ornament to my house.

Electra: And, mother—for I live as a slave in this miserable house, cast out from my father’s home—may I not take that blessed hand of yours?

Clytemnestra: These slaves are here; take no trouble on my account.

Electra: What? You sent me away from home, a captive; I was taken when my home was taken, like these, all of us orphaned of a father.

Clytemnestra: Well, your father laid such plots against those whom least of all he should have, his own family. I will tell you; although when a woman gets an evil reputation, her tongue is bitter.

In my opinion, not rightly; but it is correct for those who learn about the matter to hate, if it deserves hatred; if not, why hate at all? Now Tyndareus gave me to your father not so that I or any children I might bear should die.

But that man went from the house, taking my child, with the persuasion of a marriage with Achilles, to Aulis which held the fleet; and there he stretched Iphigenia over the pyre, and cut her white cheek. And if, as a cure for the capture of the city, or as a benefit to his house, or to save his other children, he had killed one on behalf of many, I would have pardoned him. But, because Helen was lustful and the one who had her as a wife did not know how to punish the betrayer—for these reasons he destroyed my child.

Well, although I was wronged, I would not have been angry at this, nor would I have killed my husband. But he came back to me with a girl, raving and possessed, and put her in his bed, and had two brides at once in the same house.

A woman is a foolish thing, I don’t deny it; but, this granted, whenever a husband goes astray and rejects his own bed, the woman is likely to imitate her husband and find another love. And then in us the blame shines clearly, while the men, who caused this, are not badly spoken of. Now if Menelaus had been secretly snatched from his home, should I have killed Orestes to save Menelaus, my sister’s husband? How would your father have endured this? And so isn’t it right for him to die when he had killed what was mine, since I would have suffered at his hands? I killed him, I turned where indeed it was possible to go—to his enemies. For which one of your father’s friends would have joined me in his murder? Speak, if you want to say anything, and make your retort with frankness, in what way your father died unfairly.

Chorus Leader: Justly spoken, but this justice is shameful. For a woman should yield to her husband in all things, if she has sense; anyone who does not agree does not come within the scope of what I say.

Electra: Remember, mother, those last words of yours, giving me frankness towards you.

Clytemnestra: I say it again, and I do not deny it, child.

Electra: Then will you treat me badly, when you hear it?

Clytemnestra: No, no, I will give some pleasure to your heart.

Electra: I will speak, and this is the beginning of my preface: oh, mother, I wish that you had a better heart. For though your beauty, and Helen’s, is worthy to bring you praise, yet you two were born true sisters, both frivolous, not worthy of Castor.

She was carried off, willingly ruined; and you have destroyed the bravest man in Greece, putting forward the excuse that you killed a husband for the sake of a child; for they don’t know you so well as I do. You who, before your daughter’s death was decided, as soon as your husband had started from home, were adorning the golden locks of your hair at the mirror. A wife who decks herself out for beauty, when her husband is gone from home—strike her off the list as worthless.

There is no need for her to show her pretty face out of doors, unless she is seeking some mischief. Of all the women in Hellas you were the only one I know to be joyful when Troy was fortunate, and with a clouded face when it was weaker, since you did not want Agamemnon to return from Troy.

And yet it was in your power to be chaste, and rightly; you had a husband, no worse than Aegisthus, whom Hellas chose to be its commander; and when your sister Helen had done her work, it was possible for you to achieve great fame, for the bad gives a standard of comparison to the good and provides a spectacle. But if, as you say, my father killed your daughter, what is the wrong I and and my brother have done you? How was it that after you had killed your husband, you did not assign to us our father’s home, but you brought the goods belonging to another to bed, buying your marriage with wages? And how is it that your husband is not exiled in the place of your son, nor has he died in my place, although he has killed me, alive, twice as much as my sister? If murder, giving judgment, requites murder, your son Orestes and I must kill you to avenge our father. For if that was just, then so is this.

Chorus Leader:

Clytemnestra: Child, it was always your nature to love your father. This is what happens: some children are for their fathers, others in turn love their mothers more than a father.

I will forgive you; for I do not rejoice so very much at what I have done, child.

You, a woman who has just given birth—why is your body so unwashed and meanly clad? Alas for my schemes!

I drove on in anger against my husband more than I should have.

Electra: You sigh too late, when you have no remedy. My father is dead; but why do you not recall that exile, your own wandering son?

Clytemnestra: l am afraid; I am looking to my interests, not his.

For he is angry, they say, over the murder of his father.

Electra: And why do you cause your husband to be cruel to me?

Clytemnestra: Such are his ways. You have a stubborn nature also.

Electra: Yes, for I am in distress. Yet I will cease from my anger.

Clytemnestra: And then he will no longer be harsh to you.

Electra: He is proud; for he lives in my home.

Clytemnestra: You see? Again you are rekindling new quarrels.

Electra: I am silent; I fear him—as I fear him.

Clytemnestra: Stop this talk! But why did you summon me, child?

Electra: You have heard, I suppose, that I have given birth;

in thanks for this, please sacrifice—for I do not know how—on the tenth day, as is the custom for the child. For I have no experience, being childless before.

Clytemnestra: This is work for another, the one who delivered you.

Electra: I was all alone in my labor and at the baby’s birth.

Clytemnestra: Is this household situated with no friends as neighbors?

Electra: No one is willing to have the poor as friends.

Clytemnestra: But I will go to make the tenth-day sacrifice to the gods for the child; and when I have done you this favor, I will go to the field where my husband is sacrificing to the

Nymphs. Take this team away, my attendants, and bring it to the stalls; and when you think that I have finished this sacrifice to the gods, be ready; for I must also please my husband.

Electra: Go into a poor house; but please take care that my smoke-grimed walls do not smear your robes with soot. For you will make the sacrifice to the gods that you ought to make. Going in to the house. The basket is ready, and the knife sharpened, the same that killed the bull by whose side you will lie, struck down. Even in Hades’ house you will be the bride of the one whom you slept with in life. This is the favor I will give you, and you will give me retribution for my father. Exit Electra.

Chorus: Requital for evils; the breezes of the house shift and blow. At another time my leader, my own, fell murdered in the bath, and the roof and stone walls of the house cried aloud, while he said: O cruelty! My wife, why are you murdering me on my return to my dear country in the tenth year?...

Chorus: Retribution for straying love has flowed back and brings to judgment the one who killed her wretched husband, when he came at last to his home and to the towering Cyclopean walls; with her own hand she killed him with the sharp-edged weapon, holding the axe in her hands. Unhappy husband! whatever the curse that possessed that wretched woman. Like a lioness of the hills that ranges through the meadowland woods, she accomplished these things.

within Clytemnestra: O children, by the gods, do not kill your mother.

Chorus: Do you hear her cries within the house?

Clytemnestra: O God! Ah me!

Chorus: I also wail for you, overpowered by your children. Truly the god deals out justice, whenever it befalls.

You have suffered cruelly, unhappy one, yet you did unholy things to your husband.

Chorus Leader: But here they come from the house, defiled in the newly shed blood of their mother, a triumphal rout, evidence of the pitiable sacrifice.

There is no house more pitiable than the race of Tantalus, nor has there ever been. The two corpses are shown.

Orestes: O Earth, and Zeus who sees all mortal acts, look at these loathsome bloody deeds, these two bodies lying on the earth at the blow from my hand, atonement for my suffering...

Electra: Too many tears, my brother, and I am the cause. Unhappy, that I came to fiery rage against this woman, who was my mother!

Chorus: Alas for your fate; you gave birth to unbearable pain, and you suffered it, miserably and beyond, from your children. Yet you have rightly paid for their father’s murder.

Orestes: Ah, Phoebus! you proclaimed in song unclear justice, but you have brought about clear woes, and granted me a bloody destiny far from the land of Hellas. To what other city can I go?

What host, what pious man will look at me, who killed my mother?

Electra: Ah me! Where can I go, to what dance, to what marriage? What husband will receive me into the bridal bed?

Chorus: Again, again your thought changes with the breeze; for now you think piously, though you did not before, and you did dreadful things, my dear, to your unwilling brother.

Orestes: Did you see how the unhappy one threw off her robe and showed her bosom in the slaughter, alas, hurling to the ground the limbs that gave me birth? And her hair, I—

Chorus: I know it well; you passed through agony, hearing the mournful wail of the mother that bore you.

Orestes: She uttered this cry, putting her hand to my chin:

My child, I entreat you! And she clung to my cheeks, so that the sword fell from my hand.

Chorus: The unhappy one! How did you endure to see the blood of your mother, breathing her last before your eyes?

Orestes: I threw my cloak over my eyes, and began the sacrifice by plunging the sword into my mother’s throat.

Electra: And I urged you on and put my hand to the sword together with you.

Chorus: You have done the most dreadful of deeds.

Orestes: Take and hide the limbs of our mother beneath a robe, and close the wounds. Turning to the corpse Ah! You gave birth to your own murderers.

Electra: Covering the corpse There, I am putting this cloak over the one loved and not loved.

Chorus: An end of great troubles for the house.

Chorus Leader: Divine forms are seen above the house. But see the ones who are appearing over the top of the house—spirits or gods from heaven?

For this path does not belong to men. Why ever do they come into the clear sight of mortals?

Dioskouroi: Son of Agamemnon, listen; the twin sons of Zeus, your mother’s brothers,

Castor and his brother Polydeuces, are calling you. Having just now calmed the swell of the sea, terrible for ships, we have come to Argos when we saw the slaying of our sister, your mother. Now she has her just reward, but you have not acted justly, and Phoebus, Phoebus—but I am silent, for he is my lord; although he is wise, he gave you oracles that were not. But it is necessary to accept these things. As to what remains, you must do what Fate and Zeus have accomplished for you. Give Electra to Pylades as his wife to take to his home;

but you leave Argos; for it is not for you, who killed your mother, to set foot in this city. And the dread goddesses of death, the one who glare like hounds, will drive you up and down, a maddened wanderer. Go to Athens and embrace the holy image of Pallas;

for she will prevent them, flickering with dreadful serpents, from touching you, as she stretches over your head her Gorgon-faced shield. There is a hill of Ares, where the gods first sat over their votes to decide on bloodshed, when savage Ares killed Halirrothius, son of the ocean’s ruler, in anger for the unholy violation of his daughter, so that the tribunal is most sacred and secure in the eyes of the gods.

You also must run your risk here, for murder.

An equal number of votes cast will save you from dying by the verdict; for Loxias will take the blame upon himself, since it was his oracle that advised your mother’s murder. And this law will be set for posterity, that the accused will always win his case if he has equal votes.

Then the dread goddesses, stricken with grief at this, will sink into a cleft of the earth beside this hill, a holy, revered prophetic shrine for mortals. You must found an Arcadian city beside the streams of Alpheus near the sacred enclosure to Lycaean Apollo;

and the city will be called after your name. I say this to you. As for this corpse of Aegisthus, the citizens of Argos will cover it in the earth in burial. But as for your mother, Menelaus, who has arrived at Nauplia only now after capturing Troy, will bury her, with Helen helping him; for she has come from Proteus’ house, leaving Egypt, and she never went to Troy; Zeus, to stir up strife and bloodshed among mortals, sent a phantom of Helen to Ilium. Now let Pylades, having one who is both a virgin and a married woman, go home from the Achaean land, and let him conduct the one called your brother-in-law to the land of Phocis, and give him a weight of riches. But you set out along the narrow Isthmus, and go to Cecropia’s blessed hill.

For once you have completed your appointed lot of murder, you will be happy, freed from these troubles.

Chorus: Sons of Zeus, is it right for us to draw near to speak with you?

Dioskouroi: It is right, for those not polluted by this murder.

Electra: May I too share your conversation, sons of Tyndareus?

Dioskouroi: You too; to Phoebus I will attribute this bloody deed.

Chorus: How was it that you, being gods and the brothers of this murdered woman, did not keep the death-goddesses away from her house?

Dioskouroi: Necessity’s fate led to what must be, and unwise speech from the mouth of Phoebus.

Electra: But what Apollo, what sort of oracles, ordained for me to be my mother’s murderer?

Dioskouroi: The deeds were shared, the fates were shared; one ancestral curse has ground down both.

Orestes: Ah, my sister, seeing you after a long time, at once I am robbed of your affection, and I must abandon you, abandoned by you.

Dioskouroi: She has a husband and a home; she does not suffer pitiably, except that she leaves the city of the Argives.

Electra: And what other unhappiness is greater than to leave the boundary of one’s native land?

Orestes: But I shall leave my father’s house, and at a stranger’s tribunal undergo trial for my mother’s murder.

Dioskouroi: Have courage; you will go to the holy town of Pallas; only hold out.

Electra: Clasp me to your breast, my dearest brother; for the curse of our mother’s blood is separating us from our father’s home.

Orestes: Throw your arms in close embrace about me. Lament as if I were dead, over my grave.

Dioskouroi: Alas! You have said things terrible even for gods to hear. For in me and in the Olympians there is pity for much-suffering mortals.

Orestes: I shall no longer see you!

Electra: Nor will I draw near your sight!

Orestes: These are my last words to you.

Electra: Farewell, my city!

And a long farewell to you, my fellow-countrywomen!

Orestes: Are you going already, most faithful one?

Electra: I am going, my young eye wet with tears.

Orestes: Go, Pylades, and be happy; marry Electra.

Dioskouroi: Marriage will be for them to think of. But go towards Athens, seeking to escape these hounds of hell, for they are pursuing you fearfully, the dark-skinned ones, with snakes for hands, holding a reward of dreadful pains. But we two must go in haste over the Sicilian sea to rescue the seagoing ships. As we go through the plains of the air, we do not come to the aid of those who are polluted; but we save and release from severe hardships those who love piety and justice in their ways of life. And so, let no one wish to act unjustly, or set sail with perjurers; as a god, I give this address to mortals.

Chorus: Farewell! Any mortal who is able to fare well, and is not worn down by any misfortune, achieves happiness.