An Oresteia: Agamemnon by Aiskhylos; Elektra by Sophokles; Orestes by Euripides
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to the next axle box, the next snorting lip, and the horse foam flying back over shoulders and wheels as they pounded past.
Meanwhile Orestes just grazing the post each time with his wheel, was letting his right horse go wide, reining back on the other.
The cars were all upright at this point—
then, all of a sudden the Ainian’s colts go out of control and swerve off just as they round the seventh turn.
They crash head-on into the Barkaian team.
Then one car after another comes ramming into the pile and the whole plain of Krisa fills with the smoke of wrecks.
Now the Athenian driver was smart, he saw
what was happening.
Drew offside and waited as the tide of cars went thundering by.
Orestes was driving in last place, lying back on his mares.
He had put his faith in the finish.
But as soon as he sees the Athenian driver alone on the track
he lets out a cry that shivers his horses’ ears and goes after him.
Neck and neck they are racing, first one, then the other nosing ahead, easing ahead.
Now our unlucky boy had stood every course so far, sailing right on in his upright car, but at this point he lets the left rein go slack with the horses turning, he doesn’t notice, hits the pillar and smashes the axle box in two.
Out he flips over the chariot rail, reins snarled around him and as he falls the horses scatter midcourse.
They see him down. A gasp goes through the crowd:
“Not the boy!”
To go for glory and end like this—pounded against the ground, legs beating the sky—the other drivers could hardly manage to stop his team and cut him loose.
Blood everywhere.
He was unrecognizable. Sickening.
They burned him at once on a pyre and certain Phokians are bringing the mighty body back—just ashes, a little bronze urn—so you can bury him in his father’s ground.
That is my story.
So far as words go, gruesome enough.
But for those who watched it, and we did watch it, the ugliest evil I ever saw.
CHORUS : PHEU PHEU.
The whole ancient race torn off at the roots. Gone.
KLYTAIMESTRA : Zeus! What now? Should I call this good news?
Or a nightmare cut to my own advantage?
There is something grotesque in having my own evils save my life.
OLD MAN : Why are you so disheartened at this news, my lady?
KLYTAIMESTRA : To give birth is terrible, incomprehensible.
No matter how you suffer, you cannot hate a child you’ve borne.
OLD MAN : My coming was futile then, it seems.
KLYTAIMESTRA : Futile? Oh no. How—if you’ve come with convincing proof of his death?
He was alive because I gave him life.
But he chose to desert my breasts and my care, to live as an exile, aloof and strange.
After he left here he never saw me.
But he laid against me the death of his father, he made terrible threats.
And I had no shelter in sleep by night or sleep by day:
Time stood like a deathmaster over me, letting the minutes drop.
Now I am free!
Today I shake loose from my fear of her, my fear of him.
And to tell you the truth, she did more damage.
She lived in my house and drank my lifeblood neat!
Now things are different.
She may go on making threats—but so what?
From now on, I pass my days in peace.
ELEKTRA : OIMOI TALAINA.
Now I have grief enough to cry out OIMOI—
Orestes! Poor cold thing.
As you lie in death your own mother insults you.
What a fine sight!
KLYTAIMESTRA : Well you’re no fine sight.
But he looks as fine as can be.
ELEKTRA : Nemesis! Hear her!
KLYTAIMESTRA : Nemesis has heard me. And she has answered.
ELEKTRA : Batter away. This is your hour of luck.
KLYTAIMESTRA : And you think you will stop me, you and Orestes?
ELEKTRA : It is we who are stopped. There’s no stopping you.
KLYTAIMESTRA : Stranger, you deserve reward if you really have put a stop on her traveling tongue.
OLD MAN : Then I’ll be on my way, if all is well.
KLYTAIMESTRA : Certainly not! You’ve earned better of me and the man who dispatched you.
No, you go inside.
Just leave her out here to go on with her evil litany.
[Exit KLYTAIMESTRA and the OLD MAN into house.]
ELEKTRA : Well how did she look to you—shattered by [1090] grief?
Heartbroken mother bewailing her only son?
No—you saw her—she went off laughing!
O TALAIN’EGO.
Orestes beloved, as you die you destroy me.
You have torn away the part of my mind where hope was—
my one hope in you to live, to come back, [1100] to avenge us.
Now where can I go?
Alone I am.
Bereft of you. Bereft of father.
Should I go back into slavery?
Back to those creatures who cut down my father?
What a fine picture.
No.
I will not go back inside that house.
No. At this door I will let myself lie unloved.
I will wither my life.
If it aggravates them, they can kill me.
Yes it will be a grace if I die.
To exist is pain.
Life is no desire of mine anymore.
CHORUS : Where are you lightnings of Zeus!
Where are you scorching Sun!
In these dark pits you leave us dark!
ELEKTRA : E E AIAI.
CHORUS : Child, why do you cry?
ELEKTRA : PHEU.
CHORUS : Don’t make that sound.
ELEKTRA : You will break me.
CHORUS : How?
ELEKTRA : If you bring me hope and I know he is dead, you will harm my heart.
CHORUS : But think of Amphiaraus:
he was a king once, snared by a woman in nets of gold.
Now under the earth
ELEKTRA : E E IO.
CHORUS : he is a king in the shadows of souls.
ELEKTRA : PHEU.
CHORUS : Cry PHEU, yes! For his murderess—
ELEKTRA : was destroyed!
CHORUS : Destroyed.
ELEKTRA : I know—because an avenger arose.
I have no such person. That person is gone.
CHORUS : You are a woman marked for sorrow.
ELEKTRA : Yes I know sorrow. Know it far too well.
My life is a tunnel choked by the sweepings of dread.
CHORUS : We have watched you grieving.
ELEKTRA : Then do not try—
CHORUS : What?
ELEKTRA : To console me.
The fact is, there are no more hopes.
No fine brothers.
No comfort.
CHORUS : Death exists inside every mortal.
ELEKTRA : Oh yes, but think of the hooves drumming down on him!
See that thing dragging behind in the reins—
CHORUS : Too cruel.
ELEKTRA : Yes. Death made him a stranger—
CHORUS : PAPAI.
ELEKTRA : Laid out somewhere not by my hands.
Not with my tears.
[Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.]
CHRYSOTHEMIS : I am so happy, I ran here to tell you—putting good manners aside!
I have good news for you that spells release from all your grieving.
ELEKTRA : Where could you find anything to touch my grief?
It has no cure.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Orestes is with us—yes! Know it from me—plain as you see me standing here!
ELEKTRA : You are mad.
You are joking.
He is with us. He is.
ELEKTRA : You poor girl.
Who gave you this story?
CHRYSOTHEMIS : No one gave me the story!
I saw the evidence with my own eyes.
ELEKTRA : What evidence?
My poor girl, what has set you on fire?
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Well listen, for gods’ sake.
Find out if I’m crazy or not.
ELEKTRA : All right, tell the tale, if it makes you happy.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Yes, I will tell all I saw.
Well.
When I arrived at Father’s grave I saw milk dripping down from the top of the mound and the tomb wreathed in flowers—flowers of every kind—what a shock!
I peered all around—in case someone was sneaking up on me but no, the whole place was perfectly still.
I crept near the tomb.
And there it was.
Right there on the edge.
A lock of hair, fresh cut.
As soon as I saw it, a bolt went through me—
almost as if I saw his face,
I suddenly knew! Orestes.
Beloved Orestes.
I lifted it up. I said not a word.
I was weeping for joy.
And I know it now as I knew it then, this offering had to come from him.
Who else would bother, except you or me?
And I didn’t do it. I’m sure of that.
You couldn’t do it—god knows you don’t take a step from this house without getting in trouble.
And certainly Mother has no such inclinations.
If she did, we would hear of it.
No, I tell you these offerings came from Orestes.
Oh Elektra, lift your heart!
Bad luck can’t last forever.
Long have we lived in shadows and shuddering:
today I think our future is opening out.
ELEKTRA : PHEU!
Poor lunatic. I feel sorry for you.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : What do you mean? Why aren’t you happy?
ELEKTRA : You’re dreaming, girl, lost in a moving dream.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Dreaming! How? I saw what I saw!
ELEKTRA : He is dead, my dear one.
He’s not going to save you.
Dead, do you hear me? Dead. Forget him.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : OIMOI TALAINA.
Who told you that?
ELEKTRA : Someone who was there when he died.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : And where is this someone? It’s all so strange.
ELEKTRA : He’s gone in the house. To entertain Mother.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : I don’t want to hear this. I don’t understand.
Who put those offerings on Father’s tomb?
ELEKTRA : I think, most likely, someone who wished to honor Orestes’ memory.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : What a fool I am—here I come racing for joy to tell you my news, with no idea how things really are.
The evils multiply.
ELEKTRA : Yes they do. But listen to me.
You could ease our sorrow.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : How? Raise the dead?
ELEKTRA : That’s not what I meant. I am not quite insane.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Then what do you want? Am I capable of it?
ELEKTRA : All you need is the nerve—to do what I say.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : If it benefits us, I will not refuse.
ELEKTRA : But you know nothing succeeds without work.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : I do. I’ll give you all the strength I have.
ELEKTRA : Good then, listen. Here is my plan.
You know, I think, our present contingent of allies: zero.
Death took them.
We two are alone.
Up to now, while I heard that my brother was living I cherished a hope that he’d arrive one day to avenge his father.
But Orestes no longer exists. I look to you.
You will not shrink back.
You will stand with your sister and put to death the man who murdered your father:
Aigisthos.
After all, what are you waiting for?
Let’s be blunt, girl, what hope is left?
Your losses are mounting, the property gone and marriage seems a fading dream at your age—or do you still console yourself with thoughts of a husband?
Forget it. Aigisthos is not so naive as to see children born from you or from me—unambiguous grief for himself.
But now if you join in my plans, you will win, in the first place, profound and sacred respect from the dead below:
your father, your brother.
And second, people will call you noble.
That is your lineage, that is your future.
And besides, you will find a husband, a good one: men like a woman with character.
Oh don’t you see? You’ll make us famous!
People will cheer! They’ll say “Look at those two!” They’ll say “Look at the way they saved their father’s house!
Against an enemy standing strong!
Risked their lives! Stood up to murder!
Those two deserve to be honored in public, on every streetcorner and festival in the city—
there should be a prize for heroism like that!”
So they will speak of us.
And whether we live or die doesn’t matter:
that fame will stand.
Oh my dear one, listen to me.
Take on your father’s work, take up your brother’s task, make some refuge from evil for me and for you.
Because you know, there is a kind of excellence in me and you—born in us—and it cannot live in shame.
CHORUS : In times like these, speaking or listening, forethought is your ally.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Well yes—and if this were a rational woman she would have stopped to think before she spoke.
She is, unfortunately, mad.
Tell me, what in the world do you have in mind as you throw on your armor and call me to your side?
Look at yourself! You are female, not male—born that way.
And you’re no match for them in strength or in luck.
They are flush with fortune;
our luck has trickled away.
Really, Elektra, who would think to topple a man of his stature?
Who could ever get away with it?
Be careful: this sort of blundering might make things worse for us—what if someone overhears!
And there is nothing whatever to win or to gain
if we make ourselves famous and die in disgrace.
Death itself is not the worst thing.
Worse is to live when you want to die.
So I beg you, before you destroy us and wipe out the family altogether, control your temper.
As for your words, I will keep them secret—for your sake.
Oh Elektra, get some sense! It is almost too late.
Your strength is nothing. You cannot beat them: give up.
CHORUS : Hear that? Foresight!—
no greater asset a person can have than foresight combined with good sense.
ELEKTRA : Predictable.
I knew you’d say no.
Well:
alone then.
One hand will have to be enough.
One hand is enough.
Yes.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Too bad you weren’t so resolved on the day Father died.
You could have finished the task.
ELEKTRA : Yes, I had the guts for it then, but no strategy.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Forget strategy—you’ll live longer.
ELEKTRA : I gather you don’t intend to help.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : Too risky for me.
ELEKTRA : You have your own strategy, I see.
I admire that.
But your cowardice appalls me.
CHRYSOTHEMIS : One day you will say I was right.
ELEKTRA : Never.