by Sophocles
Hath been thine issue to our native soil! —
[508-545] Since, from the golden oar
Hurled to the deep afar,
Myrtilus sank and slept,
Cruelly plucked from that fell chariot-floor,
This house unceasingly hath kept
Crime and misfortune mounting evermore.
Enter CLYTEMNESTRA.
CLYTEMNESTRA. Again you are let loose and range at will.
Ay, for Aegisthus is not here, who barred
Your rashness from defaming your own kin
Beyond the gates. But now he’s gone from home,
You heed not me: though you have noised abroad
That I am bold in crime, and domineer
Outrageously, oppressing thee and thine.
I am no oppressor, but I speak thee ill,
For thou art ever speaking ill of me —
Still holding forth thy father’s death, that I
Have done it. So I did: I know it well:
That I deny not; for not I alone
But Justice slew him; and if you had sense,
To side with Justice ought to be your part.
For who but he of all the Greeks, your sire,
For whom you whine and cry, who else but he
Took heart to sacrifice unto the Gods
Thy sister? — having less of pain, I trow,
In getting her, than I, that bore her, knew!
Come, let me question thee! On whose behalf
Slew he my child? Was ‘t for the Argive host?
What right had they to traffic in my flesh? —
Menelaüs was his brother. Wilt thou say
He slew my daughter for his brother’s sake?
How then should he escape me? Had not he,
Menelaüs, children twain, begotten of her
Whom to reclaim that army sailed to Troy?
Was Death then so enamoured of my seed,
That he must feast thereon and let theirs live?
Or was the God-abandoned father’s heart
Tender toward them and cruel to my child?
[546-581] Doth this not argue an insensate sire?
I think so, though your wisdom may demur.
And could my lost one speak, she would confirm it.
For my part, I can dwell on what I have done
Without regret. You, if you think me wrong,
Bring reasons forth and blame me to my face!
EL. Thou canst not say this time that I began
And brought this on me by some taunting word.
But, so you’d suffer me, I would declare
The right both for my sister and my sire.
CLY. Thou hast my sufferance. Nor would hearing vex,
If ever thus you tuned your speech to me.
EL. Then I will speak. You say you slew him. Where
Could there be found confession more depraved,
Even though the cause were righteous? But I’ll prove
No rightful vengeance drew thee to the deed,
But the vile bands of him you dwell with now.
Or ask the huntress Artemis, what sin
She punished, when she tied up all the winds
Round Aulis. — I will tell thee, for her voice
Thou ne’er may’st hear! ’Tis rumoured that my sire,
Sporting within the goddess’ holy ground,
His foot disturbed a dappled hart, whose death
Drew from his lips some rash and boastful word.
Wherefore Latona’s daughter in fell wrath
Stayed the army, that in quittance for the deer
My sire should slay at the altar his own child.
So came her sacrifice. The Achaean fleet
Had else no hope of being launched to Troy
Nor to their homes. Wherefore, with much constraint
And painful urging of his backward will,
Hardly he yielded; — not for his brother’s sake.
But grant thy speech were sooth, and all were done
In aid of Menelaüs; for this cause
Hadst thou the right to slay him? What high law
Ordaining? Look to it, in establishing
Such precedent thou dost not lay in store
Repentance for thyself. For if by right
[581-620] One die for one, thou first wilt be destroyed
If Justice find thee. — But again observe
The hollowness of thy pretended plea.
Tell me, I pray, what cause thou dost uphold
In doing now the basest deed of all,
Chambered with the blood-guilty, with whose aid
Thou slewest our father in that day. For him
You now bear children — ousting from their right
The stainless offspring of a holy sire.
How should this plead for pardon? Wilt thou say
Thus thou dost ‘venge thy daughter’s injury?
O shameful plea? Where is the thought of honour,
If foes are married for a daughter’s sake? —
Enough. No words can move thee. Thy rash tongue
With checkless clamour cries that we revile
Our mother. Nay, no mother, but the chief
Of tyrants to us! For my life is full
Of weariness and misery from thee
And from thy paramour. While he abroad,
Orestes, our one brother, who escaped
Hardly from thy attempt, unhappy boy!
Wears out his life, victim of cross mischance.
Oft hast thou taunted me with fostering him
To be thy punisher. And this, be sure,
Had I but strength, I had done. Now for this word,
Proclaim me what thou wilt, — evil in soul,
Or loud in cursing, or devoid of shame:
For if I am infected with such guilt,
Methinks my nature is not fallen from thine.
CH. (looking at CLYTEMNESTRA).
I see her fuming with fresh wrath: the thought
Of justice enters not her bosom now.
CLY. What thought of justice should be mine for her,
Who at her age can so insult a mother?
Will shame withhold her from the wildest deed?
EL. Not unashamed, assure thee, I stand here,
Little as thou mayest deem it. Well I feel
My acts untimely and my words unmeet.
But your hostility and treatment force me
[620-656] Against my disposition to this course.
Harsh ways are taught by harshness.
CLY. Brazen thing!
Too true it is that words and deeds of mine
Are evermore informing thy harsh tongue.
EL. The shame is yours, because the deeds are yours.
My words are but their issue and effect.
CLY. By sovereign Artemis, whom still I serve,
You’ll rue this boldness when Aegisthus comes.
EL. See now, your anger bears you off, and ne’er
Will let you listen, though you gave me leave.
CLY. Must I not even sacrifice in peace
From your harsh clamour, when you’ve had your say?
EL. I have done. I check thee not. Go, sacrifice!
Accuse not me of hindering piety.
CLY. (to an attendant).
Then lift for me those fruitful offerings,
While to Apollo, before whom we stand,
I raise my supplication for release
From doubts and fears that shake my bosom now.
And, O defender of our house! attend
My secret utterance. No friendly ear
Is that which hearkens for my voice. My thought
Must not be blazoned with her standing by,
Lest through her envious and wide-babbling tongue
She fill the city full of wild surmise.
List, then, as I shall speak: and grant the dreams
Whose two-fold apparition I to-night
Have seen, if g
ood their bodement, be fulfilled:
If hostile, turn their influence on my foes.
And yield not them their wish that would by guile
Thrust me from this high fortune, but vouchsafe
That ever thus exempt from harms I rule
The Atridae’s home and kingdom, in full life,
Partaking with the friends I live with now
All fair prosperity, and with my children,
Save those who hate and vex me bitterly.
Lykeian Phoebus, favourably hear
My prayer, and grant to all of us our need!
[657-689] More is there, which, though I be silent here,
A God should understand. No secret thing
Is hidden from the all-seeing sons of Heaven.
Enter the Old Man.
OLD M. Kind dames and damsels, may I clearly know
If these be King Aegisthus’ palace-halls?
CH. They are, sir; you yourself have guessed aright.
OLD M. May I guess further that in yonder dame
I see his queen? She looks right royally.
CH. ’Tis she, — no other, — whom your eyes behold.
OLD M. Princess, all hail! To thee and to thy spouse
I come with words of gladness from a friend.
CLY. That auspice I accept. But I would first
Learn from thee who of men hath sent thee forth?
OLD M. Phanoteus the Phocian, with a charge of weight.
CLY. Declare it, stranger. Coming from a friend,
Thou bring’st us friendly tidings, I feel sure.
OLD M. Orestes’ death. Ye have the sum in brief.
EL. Ah me! undone! This day hath ruined me.
CLY. What? Let me hear again. Regard her not.
OLD M. Again I say it, Orestes is no more.
EL. Undone! undone! Farewell to life and hope!
CLY. (to ELECTRA).
See thou to thine own case! (To Old Man) Now, stranger, tell me
In true discourse the manner of his death.
OLD M. For that I am here, and I will tell the whole.
He, entering on the great arena famed
As Hellas’ pride, to win a Delphian prize,
On hearing the loud summons of the man
Calling the foot-race, which hath trial first,
Came forward, a bright form, admired by all.
And when his prowess in the course fulfilled
The promise of his form, he issued forth
Dowered with the splendid meed of victory. —
To tell a few out of the many feats
Of such a hero were beyond my power.
[690-727] Know then, in brief, that of the prizes set
For every customary course proclaimed
By order of the judges, the whole sum
Victoriously he gathered, happy deemed
By all; declared an Argive, and his name
Orestes, son of him who levied once
The mighty armament of Greeks for Troy.
So fared he then: but when a God inclines
To hinder happiness, not even the strong
Are scatheless. So, another day, when came
At sunrise the swift race of charioteers,
He entered there with many a rival car: —
One from Achaia, one from Sparta, two
Libyan commanders of the chariot-yoke;
And he among them fifth, with steeds of price
From Thessaly; — the sixth Aetolia sent
With chestnut mares; the seventh a Magnete man;
The eighth with milk-white colts from Oeta’s vale;
The ninth from god-built Athens; and the tenth
Boeotia gave to make the number full.
Then stood they where the judges of the course
Had posted them by lot, each with his team;
And sprang forth at the brazen trumpet’s blare.
Shouting together to their steeds, they shook
The reins, and all the course was filled with noise
Of rattling chariots, and the dust arose
To heaven. Now all in a confusèd throng
Spared not the goad, each eager to outgo
The crowded axles and the snorting steeds;
For close about his nimbly circling wheels
And stooping sides fell flakes of panted foam.
Orestes, ever nearest at the turn,
With whirling axle seemed to graze the stone,
And loosing with free rein the right-hand steed
That pulled the side-rope, held the near one in.
So for a time all chariots upright moved,
But soon the Oetaean’s hard-mouthed horses broke
From all control, and wheeling as they passed
From the sixth circuit to begin the seventh,
Smote front to front against the Barcan car.
[728-766] And when that one disaster had befallen,
Each dashed against his neighbour and was thrown,
Till the whole plain was strewn with chariot-wreck.
Then the Athenian, skilled to ply the rein,
Drew on one side, and heaving to, let pass
The rider-crested surge that rolled i’ the midst.
Meanwhile Orestes, trusting to the end,
Was driving hindmost with tight rein; but now,
Seeing him left the sole competitor,
Hurling fierce clamour through his steeds, pursued:
So drave they yoke by yoke — now this, now that
Pulling ahead with car and team. Orestes,
Ill-fated one, each previous course had driven
Safely without a check, but after this,
In letting loose again the left-hand rein,
He struck the edge of the stone before he knew,
Shattering the axle’s end, and tumbled prone,
Caught in the reins, that dragged him with sharp thongs.
Then as he fell to the earth the horses swerved,
And roamed the field. The people when they saw
Him fallen from out the car, lamented loud
For the fair youth, who had achieved before them
Such glorious feats, and now had found such woe, —
Dashed on the ground, then tossed with legs aloft
Against the sky, — until the charioteers,
Hardly restraining the impetuous team,
Released him, covered so with blood that none, —
No friend who saw — had known his hapless form.
Which then we duly burned upon the pyre.
And straightway men appointed to the task
From all the Phocians bear his mighty frame —
Poor ashes! narrowed in a brazen urn, —
That he may find in his own fatherland
His share of sepulture. — Such our report,
Painful to hear, but unto us, who saw,
The mightiest horror that e’er met mine eye.
CH. Alas! the stock of our old masters, then,
Is utterly uprooted and destroyed.
CLY. O heavens! what shall I say? That this is well?
[767-799] Or terrible, but gainful? Hard my lot,
To save my life through my calamity!
OLD M. Lady, why hath my speech disheartened thee?
CLY. To be a mother hath a marvellous power:
No injury can make one hate one’s child.
OLD M. Then it should seem our coming was in vain.
CLY. In vain? Nay, verily; thou, that hast brought
Clear evidences of his fate, who, sprung
Prom my life’s essence, severed from my breast
And nurture, was estranged in banishment,
And never saw me from the day he went
Out from this land, but for his father’s blood
Threatened me still with accusation dire;
That sleep nor soothed at night nor sweetly stole
My senses from the day, but, all my time,
Each instant led me on the way to death! —
But this day’s chance hath freed me from all fear
Of him, and of this maid: who being at home
Troubled me more, and with unmeasured thirst
Kept draining my life-blood; but now her threats
Will leave us quiet days, methinks, and peace
Unbroken. — How then shouldst thou come in vain?
EL. O misery! ’Tis time to wail thy fate,
Orestes, when, in thy calamity,
Thy mother thus insults thee. Is it well?
CLY. ’Tis well that he is gone, not that you live.
EL. Hear, ‘venging spirits of the lately dead!
CLY. The avenging spirits have heard and answered well.
EL. Insult us now, for thou art fortunate!
CLY. You and Orestes are to quench my pride.
EL. Our pride is quenched. No hope of quenching thee!
CLY. A world of good is in thy coming, stranger,
Since thou hast silenced this all-clamorous tongue.
OLD M. Then I may go my way, seeing all is well.
[800-836] CLY. Nay, go not yet! That would disgrace alike
Me and the friend who sent you to our land.
But come thou in, and leave her out of door
To wail her own and loved ones’ overthrow.
[Exeunt CLYTEMNESTRA and Old Man
EL. Think you the wretch in heartfelt agony
Weeps inconsolably her perished son?
She left us with a laugh! O misery!
How thou hast ruined me, dear brother mine,
By dying! Thou hast torn from out my heart
The only hope I cherished yet, that thou
Living wouldst come hereafter to avenge
Thy father’s woes and mine. Where must I go?
Since I am left of thee and of my sire
Bereaved and lonely, and once more must be
The drudge and menial of my bitterest foes,
My father’s murderers. Say, is it well?
Nay, nevermore will I consort with these,
But sinking here before the palace gate,
Thus, friendless, I will wither out my life.
Hereat if any in the house be vexed,
Let them destroy me; for to take my life
Were kindness, and to live is only pain:
Life hath not kindled my desires with joy.
CH. 1. O ever-blazing sun!I 1
O lightning of the eternal Sire!
Can ye behold this done
And tamely hide your all-avenging fire?
EL. Ah me!
CH. 2. My daughter, why these tears?
EL. Woe!
CH. 3. Weep not, calm thy fears.
EL. You kill me.
CH. 4. How?
EL. To breathe
A hope for one beneath
So clearly sunk in death,
’Tis to afflict me more
Already pining sore.
