Retribution* is at hand; her shadow falls before she comes.
She is coming, and she brings with her a power invincible.
Confidence rises in my heart;
The dream is good; it makes me glad.
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The King, your father, is not sunk in dull forgetfulness,
Nor does the rusty two-edged axe* forget the foul blow.
Antistrophe 1
She will come swiftly and strongly, springing on
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them from an ambush,
The Vengeance of the gods, coming in might. For they were swept
By a passion for a lawless and bloody mating into crime.
Therefore I feel glad confidence;
The omen has not come in vain.
For evil doers must pay. Oracles and prophecies
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Only deceive, if this dream is not now fulfilled.
Epode
That chariot-race of Pelops*
Has become the cause of sorrow
And of suffering without end.
Since Myrtilus* was thrown from
His golden car, and dashed to death into
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The sea that roared beneath him,
Cruel violence and bloodshed
Have been quartered on this house.
Enter CLYTEMNESTRA, with a servant carrying
materials for a sacrifice
CLYTEMNESTRA. At large again, it seems—because
Aegisthus
Is not at home to stop you. So you go
Roaming about, putting us all to shame!
But in his absence, you are not afraid
Of me! And yet you say to everyone
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That I am cruel and tyrannical,
That I heap outrage both on you and yours.
I do no outrage; if my tongue reviles you,
It is because my tongue must answer yours.
Your father: that is always your excuse,
That he was killed by me.—By me! Of course;
I know he was, and I do not deny it—
Because his own crime killed him, and not I
Alone. And you, if you had known your duty,
Ought to have helped, for I was helping Justice.
This father of yours, whom you are always
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mourning,
Had killed your sister,* sacrificing her
To Artemis,* the only Greek* who could endure
To do it—though his part, when he begot her,
Was so much less than mine, who bore the child.
So tell me why, in deference to whom,
He sacrificed her? For the Greeks, you say?
What right had they to kill a child of mine?
But if you say he killed my child to serve
His brother Menelaus, should not he
Pay me for that? Did not this brother have
Two sons, and should they rather not have died,
The sons of Helen* who had caused the war
And Menelaus who had started it?
Or had the god of death some strange desire
To feast on mine, and not on Helen’s children?
Or did this most unnatural father love
His brother’s children, not the one I bore him?
Was not this father monstrous, criminal?
You will say No, but I declare he was,
And so would she who died—if she could speak.
Therefore at what has happened I am not
Dismayed; and if you think me wrong, correct
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Your own mistakes before you censure mine.
ELECTRA. This time at least you will not say that I
Attacked you first, and then got such an answer.
If you allow it, I’ll declare the truth
On his behalf and on my sister’s* too.
CLYTEMNESTRA. I do allow it. Had you always spoken
Like this, you would have given less offence.
ELECTRA. Then listen. You admit you killed my
father:
Justly or not, could you say anything
More foul? But I can prove to you it was
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No love of Justice that inspired the deed,
But the suggestions of that criminal
With whom you now are living. Go and ask
The Huntress Artemis why she becalmed
The fleet at windy Aulis.*—No; I will tell you;
We may not question gods.
My father once, they tell me, hunting in
A forest that was sacred to the goddess,*
Started an antlered stag. He aimed, and shot it,
Then made a foolish boast, of such a kind
As angered Artemis. Therefore she held up
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The fleet, to make my father sacrifice
His daughter to her in requital for
The stag he’d killed. So came the sacrifice:
The Greeks were prisoners, they could neither sail
To Troy nor go back home; and so, in anguish,
And after long refusal, being compelled,
He sacrificed her. It was not to help
His brother. But even had it been for that,
As you pretend, what right had you to kill him?
Under what law? Be careful; if you set
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This up for law, Blood in return for blood,
You may repent it; you would be the first
To die, if you were given your deserts.
But this is nothing but an empty pretext;
For tell me—if you will—why you are doing
What is of all things most abominable.
You take the murderer with whose help you killed
My father, sleep with him and bear him children;*
Those born to you before, in lawful wedlock,
You have cast out. Is this to be applauded?
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Will you declare this too is retribution?
You’ll not say that; most shameful if you do—
But there, one cannot even warn you, for
You shout aloud that I revile my mother.
You are no daughter’s mother, but a slave’s
Mistress to me! You and your paramour
Enforce on me a life of misery.
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Your son Orestes, whom you nearly killed,
Is dragging out a weary life in exile.
You say I am sustaining him that he
May come as an avenger: would to God
I were! Go then, denounce me where you like—
Unfilial, disloyal, shameless, impudent.
I may be skilled in all these arts; if so,
I am at least a credit to my mother!
CHORUS. She is so furious that she is beyond
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All caring whether she be right or wrong.
CLYTEMNESTRA. Then why should I care what I say to her,
When she so brazenly insults her mother,
At her age too?* She is so impudent
That there is nothing that she would not do.*
ELECTRA. Then let me tell you, though you’ll not believe it:
I am ashamed at what I do; I hate it.
But it is forced on me, despite myself,
By your malignity and wickedness.
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Evil in one breeds evil in another.
CLYTEMNESTRA. You shameless creature! What I say, it seems,
And what I do give you too much to say.
ELECTRA. ’Tis you that say it, not I. You do the deeds,
And your ungodly deeds find me the words.*
CLYTEMNESTRA. I swear by Artemis* that when
Aegisthus comes
Back home you’ll suffer for this insolence.
ELECTRA. You see? You give me leave to speak my mind,
Then fly
into a rage and will not listen.
CLYTEMNESTRA. Will you not even keep a decent silence
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And let me offer sacrifice in peace
When I have let you rage without restraint?
ELECTRA. Begin your sacrifice. I will not speak
Another word. You shall not say I stopped you.
CLYTEMNESTRA [to the servant]. Lift up the rich fruit- offering to Apollo
As I lift up my prayers to him, that he
Will give deliverance from the fears that now
Possess me.
Phoebus Apollo, god of our defence:
Hear my petition, though I keep it secret;
There is one present who has little love
For me. Should I speak openly, her sour
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And clamorous tongue would spread malicious rumour
Throughout the city. Therefore, as I may
Not speak, give ear to my unspoken prayer.
Those visions of the doubtful dreams that came
When I was sleeping, if they bring good omen,
Then grant, O Lord Apollo, that they be
Fulfilled; if evil omen, then avert
That evil; let it fall upon my foes.
If there be any who, by trickery,
Would wrest from me the wealth I now enjoy,
Frustrate them. Let this royal power be mine,
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This house of Atreus.* So, until I die,
My peace untroubled, my prosperity
Unbroken, let me live with those with whom
I now am living, with my children round me—
Those who are not my bitter enemies.
Such is my prayer; accept it graciously,
O Lord Apollo; give to all of us
Even as we ask. And there is something more.
I say not what it is; I must be silent;
But thou, being a god, wilt understand.
Nothing is hidden from the sons of Zeus.
A silence, while CLYTEMNESTRA makes her sacrifice.
Enter the TUTOR
TUTOR [to the chorus]. Might I inquire of you if I have come
To the royal palace of the lord Aegisthus?
CHORUS. You have made no mistake, sir; this is it.
TUTOR. The lady standing there perhaps might be
Aegisthus’ wife? She well might be a queen!
CHORUS. She is indeed the queen.
TUTOR.
My lady, greeting!
One whom you know—a friend—has sent me here
To you and to Aegisthus with good news.
CLYTEMNESTRA. Then you are very welcome. Tell me first,
Who is the friend who sent you?
TUTOR.
Phanoteus
Of Phokis.—The news is of importance.
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CLYTEMNESTRA. Then sir, what is it? Tell me. Coming from
So good a friend, the news, I’m sure, is good.
TUTOR. In short, it is Orestes. He is dead.
ELECTRA. Orestes, dead? O this is death to me!
CLYTEMNESTRA. What, dead?—Take no account of her.
TUTOR. That is the news. Orestes has been killed.
ELECTRA. Orestes! Dead! Then what have I to live for?
CLYTEMNESTRA. That’s your affair!—Now let me hear the truth,
Stranger. What was the manner of his death?
TUTOR. That was my errand, and I’ll tell you all.
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He came to Delphi for the Pythian Games,
That pride and glory of the land of Greece.
So, when he heard the herald’s voice proclaim
The foot-race, which was first to be contested,
He stepped into the course, admired by all.
And soon he showed that he was swift and strong
No less than beautiful, for he returned
Crowned with the glory of a victory.
But though there’s much to tell, I will be brief:
That man was never known who did the like.
Of every contest in the Festival*
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He won the prize, triumphantly. His name
Time and again was heard proclaimed: ‘Victor:
Orestes, citizen of Argos, son