Your mother’s heart, that gave him,

  Snared, entrapped, to a shameful supplanter who killed him.

  If I may dare to say it, may

  Those who did such a thing

  Suffer the same themselves.

  ELECTRA. O my noble, generous friends,

  You are here, I know, to comfort me in my sorrow.

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  Welcome to me, most welcome, is your coming.

  But ask me not to abandon my grief

  Or cease to mourn my father.

  No, my friends; give, as always you give me, your

  love and devotion,

  But bear with my grief; I cannot betray my sorrow.

  Antistrophe 1

  CHORUS. But he has gone to the land to which we all

  must

  Go. Neither by tears nor by mourning can

  He be restored from the land of the dead.

  Yours is a grief beyond the common measure,

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  A grief that knows no ending,

  Consuming your own life, and all in vain.

  For how can mourning end wrong?

  Cannot you part yourself from your long

  Sorrow and suffering?

  ELECTRA. Hard the heart, unfeeling the mind,

  Of one who should forget a father, cruelly slain.

  Her will my heart follow, the sad nightingale,*

  Bird of grief, always lamenting

  Itys, Itys,* her child.

  And O, Niobe,* Queen of Sorrow, to thee do I turn, as a goddess

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  Weeping for ever, in thy mountain-tomb.

  Strophe 2

  CHORUS. Not upon you alone, my child,

  Has come the heavy burden of grief

  That chafes you more than those with whom you live,

  The two bound to you by kindred blood.

  See how Chrysothemis lives, and Iphianassa,*

  Your two sisters within.

  He also lives, your brother,

  Although in exile, suffering grief;

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  And glory awaits Orestes, for

  He will come by the kindly guidance of Zeus, and be Received with honour and welcome, here in

  Mycenae.

  ELECTRA. But I, year after year, waiting for him,

  Tread my weary path, unwedded, childless,

  Bathed in tears, burdened with endless sorrow.

  For the wrongs he has suffered, the crimes of which

  I have told him,

  He cares nothing. Messages come; all are belied;

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  He longs to be here, but not enough to come!

  Antistrophe 2

  CHORUS. Comfort yourself, take comfort, child;

  Zeus is still King in the heavens.

  He sees all; he overrules all things.

  Leave this bitter grief and anger to him.

  Do not go too far in hatred with those you hate,

  Nor be forgetful of him.

  Time has power to heal all wounds.

  Nor will he who lives in the rich

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  Plain of Crisa,* near the sea,

  Agamemnon’s son, neglect his own father.*

  ELECTRA. But how much of my life has now been spent,

  Spent in despair! My strength will soon be gone.

  I am alone, without the comfort of children; no

  Husband to stand beside me, and share the burden;

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  Spurned like a slave, dressed like a slave, fed on the scraps,

  I serve, disdained by all—in the house of my fathers!

  Strophe 3

  CHORUS. Pitiful the cry at his return,

  Your father’s cry in the banquet-hall,

  When the straight, sharp blow of an axe was launched at him.

  Guile was the plotter, lust was the slayer,

  Hideous begetters of a hideous crime,

  Whether the hand that wrought the deed

  Was a mortal hand, or a Spirit loosed from Hell.*

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  ELECTRA. That day of horrors beyond all other horrors!

  Hateful and bitter beyond all other days!

  That accursed night of banqueting

  Filled with fear and blood!

  My father looked, and saw two murderers aiming

  A deadly, cowardly blow at him,

  A blow that has betrayed my life

  To slavery, to ruin.

  O God that rulest Heaven and Earth,*

  Make retribution fall on them!

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  What they have done, that may they suffer.

  Leave them not to triumph!

  Antistrophe 3

  CHORUS. Yet you should be wise, and say no more,

  It is yourself and what you do

  That brings upon yourself this cruel outrage.

  Your sullen, irreconcilable heart,

  Breeding strife and enmity,

  Adds to your own misery.

  To fight with those that hold the power is folly.

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  ELECTRA. I know, I know my bitter and hateful temper;

  But see what I have to suffer! That constrains me.

  Because of that, I cannot help

  But give myself to frenzied hate

  So long as life shall last. My gentle friends,

  What words of comfort or persuasion

  Can prevail, to reconcile

  My spirit with this evil?

  No; leave me, leave me; do not try.

  These are ills past remedy.

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  Never shall I depart from sorrow

  And tears and lamentation.

  Epode

  CHORUS. In love and friendship, like a mother,

  I beg you: do not make, my child,

  Trouble on top of trouble.

  ELECTRA. In what I suffer, is there moderation?

  To be neglectful of the dead, can that be right?

  Where among men is that accounted honour?

  I’ll not accept praise from them!

  Whatever happiness is mine,

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  I’ll not enjoy dishonourable ease,

  Forget my grief, or cease to pay

  Tribute of mourning to my father.

  For if the dead shall lie there, nothing but dust and ashes,

  And they who killed him do not suffer death in return,

  Then, for all mankind,

  Fear of the gods, respect for men, have vanished.

  250

  CHORUS. Your cause I make my own. So, if my words

  Displease you, I recall them and let yours

  Prevail; for I will always follow you.

  ELECTRA. My friends, these lamentations are a sore

  Vexation to you, and I am ashamed.

  But bear with me: I can do nothing else.

  What woman would not cry to Heaven, if she

  Had any trace of spirit,* when she saw

  Her father suffering outrage such as I

  Must look on every day—and every night?

  And it does not decrease, but always grows

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  More insolent. There is my mother: she,

  My mother! has become my bitterest enemy.

  And then, I have to share my house with those

  Who murdered my own father; I am ruled

  By them, and what I get, what I must do

  Without, depends on them. What happy days,

  Think you, mine are, when I must see Aegisthus

  Sitting upon my father’s throne, wearing

  My father’s robes, and pouring his libations

  Beside the hearth-stone* where they murdered him?

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  And I must look upon the crowning outrage,

  The murderer lying in my father’s bed

  With my abandoned mother—if I must

  Call her a mother who dares sleep with him!

  She is so brazen that she lives with that

  Defiler; vengeance from the gods is not

  A thought that frightens her! As if exulting

  In what she did she noted carefully

  The day on which she treacherously killed

  My father, and each month, when that day comes,

  She holds high festival and sacrifices

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  Sheep to the Gods her Saviours.* I look on

  In misery, and weep with breaking heart.

  This cruel mockery, her Festival

  Of Agamemnon, is to me a day

  Of bitter grief—and I must grieve alone.

  And then, I cannot even weep in peace:

  This noble lady bids me stop, reviles

  Me bitterly: ‘You god-forsaken creature!

  You hateful thing! Are you the only one

  Who ever lost a father? Has none but you

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  Ever worn black? A curse upon you! May

  The gods of Hades give you ample cause

  To weep for evermore!’—So she reviles me.

  But when she hears from someone that Orestes

  May come, she flies into a frenzied rage,

  Stands over me and screams: ‘It’s you I have

  To thank for this, my girl! This is your work!

  You stole Orestes from my hands, and sent

  Him secretly away. But let me tell you,

  I’ll make you pay for this as you deserve.’

  So, like a dog, she yelps, encouraged by

  That glorious bridegroom who stands at her side,

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  That milksop coward, that abomination,

  That warrior who shelters behind women.

  My cry is for Orestes and his coming

  To put an end to this. O, I am sick

  At heart from waiting; he is holding back,

  And his delay has broken all my hopes.

  Enduring this, my friends, how can I follow

  Wisdom and piety? Among such evils

  How can my conduct not be evil too?

  CHORUS. Come, tell me: is Aegisthus here, that you

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  Say this to us, or is he gone from home?

  ELECTRA. If he were here, I’d not have dared to come

  Outside the palace. No, he’s in the country.

  CHORUS. If that is so, why then, I might perhaps

  Myself be bold, and speak with you more freely.

  ELECTRA. Say what you will; Aegisthus is not here.

  CHORUS. Then tell me of your brother: is there news

  That he is coming, or is he still waiting?

  ELECTRA. He promises—and that is all he does.

  CHORUS. So great an enterprise is not done quickly.

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  ELECTRA. Yet I was quick enough when I saved him!

  CHORUS. He’ll not desert his friends. Have confidence.

  ELECTRA. I have. If I had not I should have died.

  CHORUS. Hush, say no more! Chrysothemis is coming,

  Your sister,* from the palace, carrying

  Grave-offerings, that are given to the dead.

  Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS

  CHRYSOTHEMIS. Why have you come again outside the gate,

  Spreading your talk? O, will you never learn?

  Will nothing teach you? Why do you indulge

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  This vain resentment? I am sure of this:

  Mine is as great as yours. If I could find

  The power, they soon would learn how much I hate them.

  But we are helpless; we should ride the storm

  With shortened sail, not show our enmity

  When we are impotent to do them harm.

  Will you not do the same? The right may lie

  On your side, not on mine, but since they rule,

  I must submit, or lose all liberty.

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  ELECTRA. Shameful! that you, the child of such a father

  Should have no thought for him, but only for

  Your mother! All the wise advice you give me

  You learn of her; none of it is your own.

  But you must make your choice: to be a fool,

  Like me, or to be prudent, and abandon

  Those dearest to you. If you had the power,

  You say, you’d show them how you hate them both—

  And yet when I do all I can to avenge