Delphi Complete Works of Sophocles

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.