he’s never to set foot upon this land.

  ELECTRA

  A surge of anguish swells within my heart as well,

  as though an arrow-point had pierced me through.

  As I look on this lock of hair,

  a rising flood of tears drop unrestrainedly,

  I can’t imagine any other Argive is responsible—

  it surely cannot be the killer cut it,

  190 yes, my mother (though her viciousness

  toward her children hardly fits that name).

  The thought that this delight comes

  from the dearest person in the world—

  Orestes . . . I find that wish so tempting.

  Ah, if only like some messenger

  it could acquire a conscious voice!

  Then I would not be racked with indecision,

  but be certain either to dismiss this lock

  as cut off from an enemy head,

  or else to think of it as kindred in my mourning,

  200 homage to this tomb and honor for my father.

  [She now finds footprints and goes to step in them.]

  Look, here are footprints, a second kind of evidence—

  and they are comparable to mine.

  The heels and shaping of the soles

  210 are in proportion with my own.

  This is so agonizing, soul-destroying.

  (201) I call upon the gods: they know what sort

  of tempest-storms are whirling me about.

  Yet, if it is our lot to reach safe haven,

  (204) then a mighty tree may grow up from a little seed.

  ORESTES [emerging from hiding]

  Then tell the gods your prayers have met fulfillment,

  and pray to win success in what is still to come.

  ELECTRA

  Why? What favor have the gods done for me now?

  ORESTES

  You’re face to face with him you have been praying for.

  ELECTRA

  How can you know who I’ve been crying for?

  ORESTES

  I know you have been struck with wonder for Orestes.

  ELECTRA

  And how have I the answer to my prayers?

  ORESTES

  It’s me. No need to search for one who’s closer.

  ELECTRA

  220 Is this some trick you’re winding round me, stranger?

  ORESTES

  In that case I’d be weaving plots around myself.

  ELECTRA

  I see: you want to mock me in my misery?

  ORESTES

  I’m laughing at myself, then, if I laugh at you.

  ELECTRA

  You really are Orestes? Is that what I should call you?

  ORESTES

  Now that you’re looking at me in the flesh,

  you find me hard to recognize,

  yet when you saw this lock of hair

  you were elated, and you conjured up my image

  as you traced your footprints over mine.

  230 Now put this curl beside where it was cut;

  [He produces a decorated piece of cloth.]

  and look well at this cloth, the work of your own hands,

  this weaving and the figure of a lion.

  [ELECTRA embraces him.]

  Stay calm, don’t let yourself be overcome with joy—

  because, as I am well aware, our closest kin

  are bitter enemies.

  ELECTRA

  You are the dearest sweetheart

  of our father’s house, the wept-for hope

  our bloodline’s seed might be preserved.

  Trust in your strength

  and you can yet possess our property.

  To see your face!

  You have to fill four roles for me: my father’s,

  240 then my mother’s—affection I divert to you

  since she is bound to have my total hatred—

  and my sister’s, cruelly sacrificed.

  And then you are my brother,

  my one true and only strength.

  May Power and Justice and almighty Zeus, as third,

  stand with you by your side.

  ORESTES

  Zeus, Zeus, look down upon these things:

  see here the orphaned children of the eagle father,

  who was crushed to death

  within the fearsome viper’s squirming coils.

  250 Starvation presses heavy on the orphans

  who are not full-grown enough to fetch

  their father’s prey back to their nesting-place.

  In that way look on me and on Electra here,

  bereft, and exiles from our property.

  ELECTRA

  He was so generous, Zeus, in sacrifices made to you.

  If you abandon us, his eagle-chicks,

  where will you get such splendid feasting from?

  Just as you could not send trustworthy signs to mortals

  if you made extinct the breed of eagles,

  260 so, if this royal stock were wholly shriveled up,

  it could not help to keep your altars

  stocked on sacrificial days.

  Provide for us and from its remnants make

  this household great, though now it seems so low.

  CHORUS LEADER

  Hush, children, you preservers of your father’s hearth,

  in case someone should hear you, and through idle talk

  tell everything to those in power.

  One day I hope to see them torched in bubbling pitch!

  ORESTES

  270 Apollo’s powerful oracle commanded me

  to carry out this dangerous task—

  it will not let me down.

  It warned me loud and clear about the chilling blights

  that would invade my fevered heart, were I to fail

  to run to earth those guilty of my father’s death

  in just the way they did themselves—

  which means that I must kill them in return.

  It said that otherwise I’d pay with my own life,

  and threatened me with many gruesome sufferings,

  describing rabid fury from the vengeful powers of earth—

  280 malign afflictions, greedy cankers of the flesh

  that eat at healthy tissue, and of ulcers white with mold.

  It told as well of other onslaughts from Erinyes

  incited by a father’s blood,

  dark forces which unleash the weaponry

  of fallen kin who beg for retribution.

  Madness and night-panic fears convulse him,

  290 hounding him from home, his body mutilated.

  Such a one cannot participate in offering libations,

  since a father’s wrath debars him from all sacrificial altars;

  and none will share a roof with him.

  In time, devoid of rights, devoid of friends,

  he dies, exhausted, desiccated.

  Should I believe at all in oracles like these?

  Well, even if I did not, still it must be done, the deed.

  For there are many urgings which combine to this one end:

  besides the god’s command,

  300 there is the heavy burden of my grief,

  and pressure from my lack of wealth;

  and I should not allow the glorious citizens of Argos,

  valiant conquerors of Troy, to live on as they are,

  subjected to a brace of women.

  Scene 4

  CHORUS

  Mighty Moirai, bring fulfillment,

  just as Zeus would have it. Justice,

  when collecting what is owing,

  shouts out: “Hate-filled language should be

  310 paid with hate-filled language: so too

  deadly blows should be repaid with

  deadly blows.” The ancient proverb

  has it: Doing leads to suffering.

  ORESTES

  Father, fateful father,

  what can I say, what can I do,

  reaching from so far off

  to where your grave-bed fetters you?

  320 Light contests with darkness;

  and so lament may gladden you.

  CHORUS

  The ravening pyre,

  child, does not devour

  the power of the dead.

  Later they’re angered;

  the power which can hurt

  is raised to the light.

  330 Tears for the father

  trace justice further.

  ELECTRA

  Hear this in turn, father:

  cries of children by your tomb,

  doubly tearful heartache.

  Your grave has welcomed exiles home.

  What’s good? What brings no harm?

  Disaster can’t be overthrown.

  CHORUS

  340 Even so, a god may choose to

  turn your song to more propitious.

  Then instead of tombside dirges

  we might hear a song of triumph

  as it ushers through the palace

  vintage that’s been freshly blended.

  ORESTES

  I wish you had been felled at Troy,

  impaled by an enemy throw.

  Then you’d have left your house with fame,

  your children a living so fine

  350 as to turn people’s eyes in the street;

  your tomb-mound raised to a sight

  seen over the sea from afar—

  that would have been lighter to bear.

  CHORUS

  Under the ground

  our majestic lord

  is valued as dear

  to the dear lords there;

  360 for, king in life here,

  he was honored with power,

  and the scepter’s sway

  that all men obey.

  ELECTRA

  I don’t even wish that beneath

  Troy’s walls you had gone to your death,

  by Scamander’s dark stream to be laid

  along with the other war-dead.

  I’d rather that murderous pair

  had met with their doom far from here,

  370 and that I’d heard they were gone,

  without ever knowing this pain.

  CHORUS

  What you speak of, daughter, would be

  better far than gold or fortune—

  but it’s nothing more than wishing.

  Yet this double scourge cracks nearer:

  all your allies lie in Hades,

  while usurpers live and rule with

  hands polluted, bringing shame on

  both the father and his children.

  ORESTES

  380 That pierces me right through

  like an arrow shot.

  Zeus, Zeus, send from below,

  though it may come late,

  punishment to fall

  upon those violent brutes,

  to pay my father full

  all they owe in debts.

  CHORUS

  Oh for the chance to sing out,

  raising my jubilant cries

  over the man as he’s struck,

  over the wife as she dies.

  390 Why should I try to hide these

  wing-beats perturbing my heart?

  Bitter winds drive on my soul,

  squall-blasts of furious hate.

  ELECTRA

  Almighty Zeus, when shall

  you bring down your hand

  to split apart their skulls?

  That would assure this land.

  I pray that justice shall

  displace what is unjust.

  I ask you, Earth, to hear,

  and powers below, assist.

  CHORUS

  400 There’s a rule that lays it down that

  spattering of life-blood spilling

  on the ground must summon further

  bloodshed. Murder calls upon an

  Erinys to draw on deadly

  retribution for the murdered.

  ORESTES

  O you rulers of the underworld,

  and you powerful curses of the dead,

  see this residue of Atreus’ blood,

  helpless and deprived of heritage.

  Tell us which way’s best to turn, O Zeus.

  410 CHORUS

  Now my heart too is disturbed,

  hearing this pitiful claim,

  and I’m diminished in hope,

  my inner parts darkened with gloom

  by the dismay you reveal.

  When, though, you’re strong in your call,

  boldness dislodges my hurt,

  urging that all will be well.

  ELECTRA

  What would be most convincing for our claim?

  How our mother has inflicted pain?

  420 She may stroke, but cannot make us calm,

  since my heart is like a savage wolf,

  deadened to a mother’s touch by wrath.

  CHORUS

  I have beaten my breast

  to the beat of the Arian drum;

  I have sung my lament

  to the strains of the Kissian dirge,

  with hands clutching my hair,

  and with spattering blood thick as rain,

  with hands clattering down

  from above, drumming loud in my brain.

  ELECTRA

  430 O mother, cruel-minded,

  you made his cruel interment:

  a king without his people,

  without his proper weeping.

  So heartlessly you buried

  your husband, unlamented.

  ORESTES

  You tell of gross insult:

  well, she must pay the sum

  for bringing this insult

  against our father’s name,

  with help from the gods,

  with help from my strength.

  Then, when I’ve done with her,

  I’ll gladly suffer death.

  CHORUS

  She amputated parts

  440 from him; she who did that

  in that state buried him,

  eager to make his fate

  unbearable for you

  to live with all your days.

  So now you’ve learned of how

  your father was disgraced.

  ELECTRA

  You tell of his lowly death.

  I was kept well away in disgrace,

  counted as of no worth,

  kenneled prisoner deep in the house,

  like some dangerous cur,

  where my tears of grief secretly fell.

  Now you’ve heard how it was,

  450 mark it deeply incised on your soul.

  CHORUS

  Yes, listen and inscribe it;

  drill your ear to absorb it.

  This is the way things are now:

  next rouse the passion to know

  the future. And join battle

  with unbending mettle.

  ORESTES

  Father, I call: join our cause.

  ELECTRA

  Through my tears I add my voice.

  CHORUS

  We add this cry sent from all:

  hear us straight, come to this light,

  460 help us face those whom we hate.

  ORESTES

  Fight meets fight, right confronts right.

  ELECTRA

  Gods, carry through what is just.

  CHORUS

  I tremble to hear your prayer.

  Too long has fate had to wait:

  may it respond to our prayers.

  O pain bred in the house,

  and discordant notes

  of Ruin’s bloody strokes,

  lamentable woes

  impossible to bear,

  470 difficult to close.

  The house must find a way

  to redress its wound,

  not helped by outside hand,

  but by inbred feud.

  The gods below chant out

  this refrain of blood.

  CHORUS LEADER

  Listen, blessed chthonic spirits,

  send your help with ready favor

  to the children: let them triumph.

  Scene 5

  ORESTES

  My father, brought low in a manner so unfitting for a king,

  480 grant my request to be the master of your heritage.

  ELECTRA

  My father, I have this demand as well:

  to overthrow Aegisthus and to win a home.

  ORESTES

  For only then will there be feasting in your name;

  or else you’ll be deprived among the dead

  when they are celebrated with burnt sacrifice.

  ELECTRA

  And I shall bring drink-offerings on my wedding day,

  drawn from the dowry of our house.

  And I’ll revere this tomb above all others.

  ORESTES

  O Earth, send up my father; let him oversee our fight.

  ELECTRA

  490 Persephone, bestow on us his power in all its splendor.