Orestes
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Original / primary: Perseus Eng2
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Electra
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There is nothing so terrible to describe, or suffering, or heaven-sent affliction, that human nature may not have to bear the burden of it. The blessed Tantalus—and I am not now taunting him with his misfortunes—
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Tantalus, the reputed son of Zeus, flies in the air, quailing at the rock which looms above his head; paying this penalty, they say, for the shameful weakness he displayed in failing to keep a bridle on his lips, when admitted by gods, though he was a man,
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to share the honors of their feasts like one of them.
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He begot Pelops, the father of Atreus, for whom the goddess, when she had carded her wool, spun a web of strife—to make war with his own brother Thyestes. But why need I retrace that hideous tale?
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Well, Atreus slew Thyestes’ children and feasted him on them. Atreus, now; I pass over intermediate events; from Atreus and Aerope of Crete were born the famous Agamemnon, if he really was famous, and Menelaus. Now Menelaus married Helen,
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the gods’ abhorrence; while lord Agamemnon married Clytemnestra, notorious in Hellas; and we three daughters were born: Chrysothemis, Iphigenia, and myself, Electra; also a son Orestes; all from that one accursed mother,
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who slew her husband, after snaring him in an inextricable robe. Her reason a maiden’s lips may not declare, and so I leave it unclear for the world to guess at. What need for me to charge Phoebus with wrong-doing? Though he persuaded Orestes
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to slay his own mother, a deed that few approved. Still it was his obedience to the god that made him kill her; I had a share in the murder, in so far as a woman could, and Pylades, who helped us to bring it about.
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After this my poor Orestes, wasting away in a cruel disease,
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lies fallen on his couch, and it is his mother’s blood that drives him round and round in frenzied fits; I am ashamed to name the goddesses, whose terrors are chasing him—the Eumenides. It is now the sixth day
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since the body of his murdered mother was committed to the cleansing fire; since then no food has gone down his throat, nor has he washed his skin; but wrapped in his cloak he weeps in his lucid moments, whenever the fever leaves him;
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at other times he bounds headlong from his couch, as a colt when it is loosed from the yoke. This city of Argos has decreed that no man give us shelter in home or hearth, or speak to matricides like us; and this is the fateful day on which the Argives will take a vote,
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whether we are both to die by stoning. or to whet the steel and plunge it in our necks. There is, it is true, one hope of escape from death: Menelaus has landed from Troy; his fleet now crowds the haven of Nauplia where he has come to anchor on the shore, returned at last from Troy
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after ceaseless wanderings; but Helen, that so-called lady of sorrows, he has sent on to our palace, waiting for the night, lest any of those parents whose sons died at Troy might see her if she went by day, and set to stoning her.
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Within she sits, weeping for her sister and the calamities of her family, and yet she has still some solace in her woe; for Hermione, the child she left at home when she sailed for Troy, the maid whom Menelaus brought from Sparta
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and entrusted to my mother’s keeping, is still a cause of joy to her and a reason to forget her sorrows.
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I am watching each approach, until I see Menelaus arriving; for unless we find some safety from him, we have only a feeble anchor to ride on otherwise.
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A helpless thing, an unlucky house!
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Helen
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Daughter of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, unhappy Electra, a maiden for so long, how is it with you and your brother, this ill-starred Orestes who slew his mother?
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For referring the sin as I do to Phoebus, I incur no pollution by addressing you; and yet I am truly sorry for the death of my sister Clytemnestra, whom I never saw after I was driven by heaven-sent frenzy to sail as I did to Ilium;
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but now that I am parted from her, I bewail our misfortunes.
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Electra
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Helen, why should I speak of that which your own eyes can see? Agamemnon’s house in misfortune?
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Beside his wretched corpse I sit, sleepless—for corpse he is, so faint his breath—
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not that I reproach him with his sufferings; but you are highly blessed and your husband too. you have come upon us in the hour of adversity
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Helen
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How long has he lain in this way on the couch?
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Electra
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Ever since he spilt his mother’s blood.
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Helen
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Unhappy wretch! unhappy mother! what a death she died.
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Electra
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Unhappy enough to succumb to his misery.
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Helen
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By the gods, would you hear me a moment, maiden?
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Electra
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Yes, with such leisure as this watching over a brother leaves.
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Helen
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Will you go for me to my sister’s tomb?
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Electra
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Would you have me seek my mother’s tomb? Why?
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Helen
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To carry an offering of hair and a libation from me.
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Electra
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Isn’t it right for you to go to the tomb of one you love?
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Helen
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No, for I am ashamed to show myself in Argos.
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Electra
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A late repentance surely for one who left her home so shamefully then.
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Helen
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You have told the truth, but your telling is not kind to me.
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Electra
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What is this supposed shame before the eyes of Mycenae that possesses you?
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Helen
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I am afraid of the fathers of those who lie dead at Ilium.
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Electra
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Good cause for fear; your name is on every tongue in Argos.
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Helen
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Then free me of my fear and grant me this favor.
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Electra
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I could not bear to look upon my mother’s grave.
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Helen
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And yet it would be shame indeed for servants to bear these offerings.
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Electra
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Then why not send your daughter Hermione?
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Helen
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It is not good for maidens to go into a crowd.
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Electra
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And yet she would be repaying her dead foster-mother’s care.
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Helen
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You have told the truth and have convinced me, maiden. Yes, I will send my daughter for you are right. Calling. Hermione, my child, come out, before the palace. Take these libations and these tresses of mine in your hands, and go pour round Clytemnestra’s tomb
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a mingled cup of honey, milk, and frothing wine; then stand upon the heaped-up grave, and say this: Helen, your sister, sends you these libations as her gift, fearing herself to approach your tomb from terror of the Argive mob and bid her harbor kindly thoughts
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towards me and you and my husband; towards these two wretched sufferers, too, whom the gods have destroyed. And promise that I will pay in full whatever funeral gifts are due from me to a sister. Now go, my child, and hurry;
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and soon as you have made the libations at the tomb, think of your return. Exit Helen.
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Electra
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O human nature, how great an evil you are in men! and what salvation, too, to those who have a goodly heritage there.
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Did you see how she cut off her hair only at the ends, to preserve its beauty? She is the same woman as of old.
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May the gods hate you! for you have proved the ruin of me and my brother and all Hellas.
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Alas! here are my friends once more, coming to unite their plaintive dirge with mine; they will soon put an end to my brother’s peaceful sleep, and cause my tears to flow
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when I see him in frenzy.
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Dearest friends, step softly; not a sound; not a whisper! For though this kindness of yours is well-meant, rouse him and I shall rue it.
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Chorus
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Hush, hush! let your footsteps fall lightly! not a sound!
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Electra
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Go further from his couch, further, I beseech you!
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Chorus
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There, I obey.
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Electra
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Ah, ah! Speak like the breath of a slender reed-pipe, my dear, I pray.
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Chorus
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See, how soft and low I drop my voice.
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Electra
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Yes, do so; approach now, softly, softly!
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Give me an account of why you have come here. For at last he has lain down, and sleeps.
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Chorus
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How is he? You give us an account, my dear; what has happened, what misfortune?
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Electra
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He is still breathing, but his moans grow feeble.
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Chorus
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What are you saying? turning to Orestes. Unhappy Orestes!
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Electra
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You will kill him, if you disturb him from the sweet sleep he now enjoys.
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Chorus
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Poor sufferer, for his hateful deeds, inspired by a god!
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Electra
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Ah, misery! Injustice it was, after all, from an unjust mouth, when Loxias on the tripod of Themis
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decreed my mother’s most unnatural murder.
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Chorus Leader
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Electra, you are nearby; see whether your brother has not died without your knowing it;
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for I do not like his utter prostration.
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Orestes
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Sweet charm of sleep, savior in sickness, how sweetly you came to me, how needed! Revered forgetfulness of troubles, how wise a goddess you are, and invoked by every suffering soul!
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Addressing Electra. Where have I come from? How am I here? For I have lost all previous recollection and remember nothing.
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Electra
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My dearest, how glad I was to see you fall asleep! Do you want me take you in my arms and lift your body?
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Orestes
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Take, oh! take me in your arms, and from this sufferer’s mouth
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and eyes wipe off the flakes of foam.
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Electra
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There! The service is sweet, and I do not refuse to tend a brother’s limbs with a sister’s hand.
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Orestes
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Prop me up, your side to mine; brush the matted hair from my face, for I see dimly.
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Electra
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Ah, poor head, how dirty your hair! How savage you look, remaining so long unwashed!
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Orestes
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Put me once more upon the couch; whenever the madness leaves me, I am unnerved and weak.
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Electra
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As she lays him down. There! His couch is welcome to the sick man,
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a painful possession, but a necessary one.
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Orestes
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Set me upright once again, turn my body round; it is their helplessness that makes the sick so hard to please.
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Electra
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Will you set your feet upon the ground and take a step at last? Change is always pleasant.
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Orestes
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Oh, yes; for that has a semblance of health; and the semblance is preferable, though it is far from the truth.
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Electra
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Hear me now, my brother, while the Furies permit you to use your senses.
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Orestes
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You have news to tell; if it is good, you do me a kindness;
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but if it tends to my hurt, I have suffered enough.
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Electra
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Menelaus, your father’s brother, has come; his ships are moored in Nauplia.
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Orestes
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What did you say? Has he come to be a light in our troubles, a man of our own family, who owes gratitude to our father?
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Electra
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He has come, and is bringing Helen from the walls of Troy—accept this as proof of what I say.
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Orestes
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If he had returned alone in safety, he would be more enviable; but if he is bringing his wife, he has come with great mischief.
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Electra
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Tyndareus begot a race of daughters notorious for blame,
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infamous throughout Hellas.
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Orestes
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Then you be different from that evil brood, for you can be; and not only in words, but also in heart.
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Electra
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Ah! brother, your eye is growing wild, and in a moment you are turning mad again, when you were just now sane.
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Orestes
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Mother, I implore you! Do not shake at me those maidens with their bloodshot eyes and snaky hair. Here they are, close by, to leap on me!
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Electra
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Lie still, poor sufferer, on your couch; your eye sees nothing, you only imagine that you recognize them.
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Orestes
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O Phoebus! they will kill me, the hounds of hell, death’s priestesses with glaring eyes, the dreadful goddesses.