Endure to have me as a citizen.

  1450

  My home must be the mountains—on Cithaeron,

  Which, while they lived, my parents chose to be

  My tomb: they wished to slay me; now they shall.

  For this I know: sickness can never kill me,

  Nor any other evil; I was not saved

  That day from death, except for some strange

  doom.*

  My fate must take the course it will.—Now, for my sons,

  Be not concerned for them: they can, being men,

  1460

  Fend for themselves, wherever they may be:

  But my unhappy daughters, my two girls,

  Whose chairs were always set beside my own

  At table—they who shared in every dish

  That was prepared for me—oh Creon! these

  Do I commend to you. And grant me this:

  To take them in my arms, and weep for them.

  My lord! most noble Creon! could I now

  But hold them in my arms, then I should think

  I had them as I had when I could see them.

  1470

  Enter ANTIGONE and ISMENE

  Ah! what is this?

  Ah Heaven! do I not hear my dear ones, sobbing?

  Has Creon, in his pity, sent to me

  My darling children? Has he? Is it true?

  CREON. It is; they have been always your delight;

  So, knowing this, I had them brought to you.

  OEDIPUS. Then Heaven reward you, and for this kind service

  Protect you better than it protected me!

  Where are you, children? Where? O come to me!

  1480

  Come, let me clasp you with a brother’s arms,

  These hands, which helped your father’s eyes, once bright,

  To look upon you as they see you now—

  Your father who, not seeing, nor inquiring,

  Gave you for mother her who bore himself.

  See you I cannot; but I weep for you,

  For the unhappiness that must be yours,

  And for the bitter life that you must lead.

  What gathering of the citizens, what festivals,

  Will you have part in? Your high celebrations

  1490

  Will be to go back home, and sit in tears.

  And when the time for marriage comes, what man

  Will stake upon the ruin and the shame

  That I am to my parents and to you!

  Nothing is wanting there: your father slew

  His father, married her who gave him birth,

  And then, from that same source whence he himself

  Had sprung, got you.—With these things they will taunt you;

  And who will take you then in marriage?—Nobody;

  1500

  But you must waste, unwedded and unfruitful.

  Ah, Creon! Since they have no parent* now

  But you—for both of us who gave them life

  Have perished—suffer them not to be cast out

  Homeless and beggars; for they are your kin.*

  Have pity on them, for they are so young,

  So desolate, except for you alone.

  Say ‘Yes’, good Creon! Let your hand confirm it.

  1510

  And now, my children, for my exhortation

  You are too young; but you can pray that I

  May live henceforward—where I should; and you

  More happily than the father who begot you.

  CREON. Now make an end of tears, and go within.

  OEDIPUS. Then I must go—against my will.

  CREON. There is a time for everything.

  OEDIPUS. You know what I would have you do?

  CREON. If you will tell me, I shall know.

  OEDIPUS. Send me away, away from Thebes.

  CREON. The God, not I, must grant you this.

  OEDIPUS. The gods hate no man more than me!

  CREON. Then what you ask they soon will give.

  OEDIPUS. You promise this?

  CREON. Ah no! When I

  Am ignorant, I do not speak.

  1520

  OEDIPUS. Then lead me in; I say no more.

  CREON. Release the children then, and come.

  OEDIPUS. What? Take these children from me? No!

  CREON. Seek not to have your way in all things:

  Where you had your way before,

  Your mastery broke before the end. *

  ELECTRA

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  ORESTES, only son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra

  PYLADES, his friend (he has no speaking part)

  TUTOR, personal attendant of Orestes

  ELECTRA, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra

  CHRYSOTHEMIS,her sister

  CLYTEMNESTRA AEGISTHUS

  CHORUS of women of Mycenae

  Attendants etc.

  Scene: Mycenae, in Argos, before the royal palace

  ELECTRA1

  Enter ORESTES, PYLADES and the TUTOR, with two attendants

  TUTOR. Here is the land of Argos. From this place

  Your father Agamemnon led the Greeks

  To Troy. How many years have you been longing

  To see what now your eyes can look upon:

  The ancient city Argos, once the home

  Of Io and her father Inachus.*

  Now look upon it: there, the market-place

  That bears Apollo’s name,* and to the left

  Is Hera’s famous temple. * The place where we

  Are standing now—my son, this is Mycenae,

  Golden Mycenae, and the blood-drenched palace

  Of Pelops’ dynasty* is here, the place

  10

  From which your sister saved you, as a baby,*

  When they had murdered Agamemnon. I

  Took you to safety, I have brought you up

  To manhood. Now you must avenge your father.

  So now, Orestes, you and Pylades

  Your loyal friend, resolve with no delay

  What you will do. For dawn has come; the stars

  Have vanished from the darkness of the sky;

  The birds are striking up their morning songs;

  People will soon be stirring. Little time

  20

  Is left to you; the hour has come for action.

  ORESTES. My friend, my loyal servant:* everything

  You say or do proclaims your true devotion.

  Just as a horse, if he is thoroughbred,

  Will keep his mettle even in old age,

  Will never flinch, but in the face of danger

  Prick up his ears, so you are ever first

  To proffer help and to encourage me.

  You then shall hear my plan, and as you listen

  Give it your sharp attention, to amend

  30

  Whatever seems amiss.

  I went to Delphi,* and I asked Apollo

  How best I might avenge my father’s death

  On these who murdered him. The god’s reply

  Was brief; it went like this: Not with an army

  But with your own right hand, by stratagem

  Give them what they have earned, and kill them both.

  Therefore, since this is what the god has said,

  Your part shall be to have yourself admitted

  Inside the palace when the moment favours.

  Find out what is afoot; return to me

  40

  And tell me what you can.—They will not know you;

  You have grown old, so many years have passed;

  Your silver hair will keep them from suspecting.

  Your story shall be this, that you have come

  From foreign parts, from Phanoteus of Phokis*—

  For he is one of their most trusted allies;

  Tell them Orestes has been killed, and give

  Your oath that it is true: he met his death

  Competing in the Pythian Games at Delphi,*

  Flung from his racing-chariot. Let this be

  50

  The tale. And for myself, the god commanded

  That I should first go to my father’s tomb

  And pay my tribute with a lock of hair

  And wine-libation. This then will I do;

  And I will find the urn which you have told me

  Lies hidden in a thicket, and with that

  I will come back. This urn of beaten bronze

  Shall bring them joy—though not for long; for it

  (So we will tell them) holds the ash and cinders

  Of this my body that the fire consumed.—

  Why should I fear an omen,* if I say that I

  Am dead, then by this story I fulfil

  60

  My life’s true purpose, to secure my vengeance?

  No need to fear a tale that brings me gain.

  For I have heard of those philosophers*

  Who were reported dead: when they returned,

  Each to his city, they were honoured more.

  And so, I trust, may I, through this pretence,

  Look down triumphant like the sun* in heaven

  Upon my enemies.

  Only do thou, my native soil; you, gods of Argos,

  Receive and prosper me. House of my fathers,

  Receive me with your blessing! The gods have sent me,

  70

  And I have come to purify and purge you.

  Do not reject me, drive me not away,

  But let me enter into my possessions;

  Let me rebuild my father’s fallen house.

  Such is my prayer. My friend, go to your task

  And do it well. We go to ours; for Time

  Calls only once, and that determines all.

  ELECTRA [within]. Ah me! Ah me!

  TUTOR. Listen, my son: I thought I heard a cry

  From near the gates, a cry of bitter grief. *

  80

  ORESTES. Electra, my unhappy sister! Could

  It be her cry?—Let us wait and listen.

  TUTOR. No. The command that God has given us,

  That must come first, to offer your libations

  At Agamemnon’s tomb. His aid will bring

  Victory to us, and ruin to his foes.

  [Exeunt ORESTES, PYLADES, the TUTOR, and attendants

  Enter ELECTRA

  ELECTRA [chants]. Thou holy light,

  Thou sky that art earth’s canopy,

  How many bitter cries of mine

  90

  Have you not heard,* when shadowy night

  Has given place to days of mourning!

  And when the night has come again

  My hateful bed alone can tell

  The tears that I have shed within

  This cruel palace. O my father!

  No Trojan spear,* no god of war,*

  Brought death to you on foreign soil.

  My mother killed you, and her mate

  Aegisthus! As a woodman fells

  An oak, they took a murderous axe

  And cut you down.

  100

  And yet no other voice but mine

  Cries out upon this bloody deed.

  I only, father, mourn your death.

  Nor ever will

  I cease from dirge and sad lament

  So long as I behold the sun

  By day and see the stars by night;

  But like the sorrowing nightingale*

  Who mourns her young unceasingly,

  Here at the very gates will I

  Proclaim my grief for all to hear.

  You powers of Death! you gods below!*

  110

  Avenging Spirits, who behold

  Each deed of blood,

  each faithless act

  Dishonouring the marriage-vow,*

  Desert me not. Come to my aid!

  Avenge my father’s death!

  And send my brother; bring to me Orestes! For I can no more

  Sustain this grief; it crushes me.

  120

  Enter the CHORUS

  [From here until line 250 everything is sung.]

  Strophe 1

  CHORUS. Electra, child of a most pitiless mother,

  Why are you so wasting your life in unceasing

  Grief and despair? Agamemnon

  Died long ago. Treachery filled the heart,