Delphi Complete Works of Sophocles

by Sophocles

  CH. 5. One in a woman’s toilsI 2 [837-870]

  Was tangled, buried by her glittering coils,

  Who now beneath —

  EL. Ah woe!

  CH. 6. Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.

  EL. O dreadful!

  CH. 7. Dreadful was the wrong.

  EL. But she was quelled.

  CH. 8. Ay.

  EL. True!

  That faithful mourner knew

  A brother’s aid. But I

  Have no man now. The one

  I had, is gone, is gone.

  Rapt into nothingness.

  CH. 9. Thou art wrung with sore distress.II 1

  EL. I know it. Too well I know,

  Taught by a life of woe,

  Where horror dwells without relief.

  CH. 10. Our eyes have seen thy grief.

  EL. Then comfort not again —

  CH. 11. Whither now turns thy strain?

  EL. One utterly bereft,

  Seeing no hope is left,

  Of help from hands owning the same great sire.

  CH. 12. ’Tis nature’s debt.II 2

  EL. To expire

  On sharp-cut dragging thongs,

  ‘Midst wildly trampling throngs

  Of swiftly racing hoofs, like him,

  Poor hapless one?

  CH. 13. Vast, dim,

  And boundless was the harm.

  EL. Yea, severed from mine arm,

  By strangers kept —

  CH. 14. O pain!

  EL. Hidden he must remain,

  Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.

  [871-906]

  Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.

  CHR. Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come,

  Reckless of dignity, with headlong speed.

  For news I bear of joy and sweet relief

  From ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.

  EL. Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes,

  That close in darkness without hope of dawn?

  CHR. Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth,

  As certainly as you now look on me.

  EL. What? Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh

  Over thine own calamity and mine?

  CHR. No, by our father’s hearth, I say not this

  In mockery. I tell you he is come.

  EL. Me miserable! Who hath given thine ear

  The word that so hath wrought on thy belief?

  CHR. Myself am the eyewitness, no one else

  Gained my belief, but proofs I clearly saw.

  EL. What sign hath so engrossed thine eye, poor girl?

  What sight hath fired thee with this quenchless glow?

  CHR. But list to me, I pray thee, that henceforth

  Thou mayest account me clear eyed, or a fool!

  EL. By all means, if it pleasure thee, say on.

  CHR. Well, I will tell thee all I saw: — I came

  Unto the ancient tomb that holds our sire;

  And from the topmost mound I marked a stream

  Of milk fresh-flowing, and his resting place

  Ringed round with garlands of all flowers that blow.

  I marvelled at the sight, and peered about,

  Lest some one might be nearer than we knew.

  But finding all was quiet in the spot,

  I ventured closer to the tomb, and there,

  Hard by the limit, I beheld a curl

  Of hair new shorn, with all the gloss of youth

  And straight it struck my heart, as with a sense

  Of something seen, ah me! long, long ago,

  And told me that my sight encountered here

  The token of Orestes, dearest soul

  Then, clasping it, I did not cry aloud,

  But straight mine eyes were filled with tears of joy.

  [907-943] And now as much as then I feel assured

  He and none else bestowed this ornament.

  To whom beyond thyself and me belongs

  Such consecration? And I know this well,

  I did it not, — nor thou. Impossible!

  Thou canst not worship even the blessèd Gods

  Forth of this roof, unpunished. And, most sure,

  Our mother is not minded so to act,

  Nor, had she done it, could we fail to know.

  This offering comes then of Orestes’ hand.

  Take courage, dear one. Not one fate pursues

  One house perpetually, but changeth still.

  Ours was a sullen Genius, but perchance

  This day begins the assurance of much good.

  EL. Oh how I pity thine infatuate mind!

  CHR. Why? Dost thou find no comfort in my news?

  EL. You know not where you roam. Far wide! far wide!

  CHR. Not know? when I have seen it with mine eyes?

  EL. Dear, he is dead. Look not to him, poor girl!

  Salvation comes to thee no more from him.

  CHR. Oh me, unfortunate! Who told thee this?

  EL. He who stood by and saw his life destroyed.

  CHR. Amazement seizes me. Where is that man?

  EL. Right welcome to the mother there within.

  CHR. Me miserable! Who then can have decked

  With all those ceremonies our father’s tomb?

  EL. I cannot but suppose some hand hath brought

  These gifts in memory of Orestes dead.

  CHR. O cruel fate! While I in ecstasy

  Sped with such news, all ignorant, it seems,

  Of our dire fortune; and, arriving, find

  Fresh sorrows added to the former woe.

  EL. It is so, sister; yet if thou wilt list

  To me, thou mayest disperse this heaviness.

  CHR. What? Shall I raise the dead again to life?

  EL. I did not mean so. I am not so fond.

  CHR. What bid you then that I have power to do?

  EL. To endure courageously what I enjoin.

  [944-981] CHR. So it make profit, I will not refuse.

  EL. Remember, without toil no plan may thrive!

  CHR. I know it, and will aid thee to my power.

  EL. Then hearken my resolve. Thou seëst now,

  We have no friendly succour in the world;

  But death has taken all, and we are left

  Two only. I, so long as I could hear

  My brother lived and flourished, still had hope

  He would arise to wreak his father’s blood.

  But now that he is gone, to thee I turn,

  To help thy sister boldly to destroy

  The guilty author of our father’s death,

  Aegisthus. — Wherefore hide it from thee now?

  — Yea, sister! Till what term wilt thou remain

  Inactive? To what end? What hope is yet

  Left standing? Surely thou hast cause to grieve,

  Bobbed of thy father’s opulent heritage,

  And feeling bitterly the creeping years

  That find thee still a virgin and unwed.

  Nay, nor imagine thou shalt ever know

  That blessing. Not so careless of his life

  Is King Aegisthus, as to risk the birth

  Of sons from us, to his most certain fall.

  But if thou wilt but follow my resolve,

  First thou shalt win renown of piety

  From our dead father, and our brother too,

  Who rest beneath the ground, and shalt be free

  For evermore in station as in birth,

  And nobly matched in marriage, for the good

  Draw gazers to them still. Then seest thou not

  What meed of honour, if thou dost my will,

  Thou shalt apportion to thyself and me?

  For who, beholding us, what citizen,

  What foreigner, will not extend the hand

  Of admiration, and exclaim, ‘See, friends,

  These scions of one stock, these noble twain,

  These that have saved their father’s house from woe
,

  Who once when foes were mighty, set their life

  Upon a cast, and stood forth to avenge

  The stain of blood! Who will not love the pair

  [981-1018] And do them reverence? Who will not give

  Honour at festivals, and in the throng

  Of popular resort, to these in chief,

  For their high courage and their bold emprise?’

  Such fame will follow us in all the world.

  Living or dying, still to be renowned.

  Ah, then, comply, dear sister; give thy sire

  This toil — this labour to thy brother give;

  End these my sufferings, end thine own regret:

  The well-born cannot bear to live in shame.

  CH. In such affairs, for those who speak and hear

  Wise thoughtfulness is still the best ally.

  CHR. True, noble women, and before she spake

  Sound thought should have prevented the rash talk

  That now hath proved her reckless. What wild aim

  Beckons thee forth in arming this design

  Whereto thou wouldst demand my ministry?

  Dost not perceive, thou art not man but woman,

  Of strength inferior to thine enemies, —

  Their Genius daily prospering more and more,

  Whilst ours is dwindling into nothingness?

  Who then that plots against a life so strong

  Shall quit him of the danger without harm?

  Take heed we do not add to our distress

  Should some one hear of this our colloquy.

  Small help and poor advantage ‘twere for us

  To win brief praise and then inglorious die.

  Nay, death is not so hateful as when one

  Desiring death is balked of that desire.

  And I beseech thee, ere in utter ruin

  We perish and make desolate our race,

  Refrain thy rage. And I will guard for thee

  In silence these thy words unrealized;

  If thou wilt learn this wisdom from long time,

  Having no strength, to bend before the strong.

  CH. Comply. Than prudence and a heedful mind,

  No fairer treasure can be found for men.

  EL. Thy words have not surprised me. Well I knew

  The good I offered would come back with scorn.

  [1019-1052] I, all alone and with a single hand,

  Must do this. For it shall not rest undone.

  CHR. Would thou hadst been thus minded when our sire

  Lay dying! In one act thou hadst compassed all.

  EL. My spirit was the same: my mind was less.

  CHR. Be such the life-long temper of thy mind!

  EL. Thine admonition augurs little aid.

  CHR. Yea. For the attempt would bring me certain bane.

  EL. I envy thee thy prudence, hate thy fear.

  CHR. Even when thou speak’st me fair, I will endure it.

  EL. Take heart. That never will be thine from me.

  CHR. Long time remains to settle that account.

  EL. I find no profit in thee. Go thy way.

  CHR. Profit there is, hadst thou a mind to learn.

  EL. Go to thy mother and declare all this!

  CHR. I am not so in hatred of thy life.

  EL. Yet know the shame thou wouldst prepare for me.

  CHR. No, no! Not shame, but care for thine estate.

  EL. Must I still follow as thou thinkest good?

  CHR. When thou hast wisdom, thou shalt be the guide.

  EL. ’Tis hard when error wears the garb of sense.

  CHR. Right. That is the misfortune of your case.

  EL. Why? Feel you not the justice of my speech?

  CHR. Justice may chance to bring me injury.

  EL. I care not, I, to live by such a rule.

  CHR. Well, if you do it, you will find me wise.

  EL. Well, I will do it, nought dismayed by thee.

  CHR. Speak you plain sooth? and will you not be counselled?

  EL. No, for bad counsel is of all most hateful.

  CHR. You take the sense of nothing that I say.

  EL. Long since, not newly, my resolve is firm.

  CHR. Then I will go. Thy heart will ne’er be brought

  To praise my words, nor I thine action here.

  EL. Then go within! I will not follow thee,

  [1053-1089] Though thou desire it vehemently. None

  Would be so fond to hunt on a cold trail.

  CHR. If this seem wisdom to thee, then be wise

  Thy way: but in the hour of misery,

  When it hath caught thee, thou wilt praise my words. [Exit CHRYSOTHEMIS

  CHORUS.

  Wise are the birds of airI 1

  That with true filial care

  For those provide convenient food

  Who gave them birth, who wrought their good.

  Why will not men the like perfection prove?

  Else, by the fires above,

  And heavenly Rectitude,

  Fierce recompense they shall not long elude.

  O darkling rumour, world-o’er-wandering voice

  That piercest to the shades beneath the ground,

  To dead Atrides waft a sound

  Of sad reproach, not bidding him rejoice.

  Stained is the ancestral hall,I 2

  Broken the battle-call,

  That heretofore his children twain

  In loving concord did sustain.

  Alone, deserted, vexed, Electra sails,

  Storm-tossed with rugged gales,

  Lamenting evermore

  Like piteous Philomel, and pining sore

  For her lost father; — might she but bring down

  That two-fold Fury, caring not for death,

  But ready to resign her breath,

  What maid so worthy of a sire’s renown?

  None who inherit from a noble race,II 1

  Complying with things base

  Will let their ancient glory be defiled.

  So ’twas thy choice, dear child,

  Through homeless misery to win a two-fold prize,

  Purging the sin and shame

  That cloud the Argive name,

  So to be called most noble and most wise.

  May’st thou surpass thy foes in wealth and powerII 2 [1090-1123]

  As o’er thee now they tower!

  Since I have found thee, not in bright estate,

  Nor blessed by wayward fate,

  But through thy loyalty to Heaven’s eternal cause

  Wearing the stainless crown

  Of perfectest renown,

  And richly dowered by the mightiest laws.

  Enter ORESTES and PYLADES, with the urn.

  OR. Say, dames and damsels, have we heard aright,

  And speed we to the goal of our desire?

  CH. And what desire or quest hath brought thee hither?

  OR. I seek Aegisthus’ dwelling all this while.

  CH. Welcome. The tongue that told thee hath no blame.

  OR. Which of you all will signify within

  Our joint arrival, — not unwelcome here.

  CH. This maiden, if the nearest should report.

  OR. Mistress, wilt thou go yonder and make known,

  That certain Phocians on Aegisthus wait?

  EL. Oh! can it be that you are come to bring

  Clear proofs of the sad rumour we have heard?

  OR. I know not what ye have heard. Old Strophius

  Charged me with tidings of Orestes’ fate.

  EL. What, stranger? How this terror steals on me!

  OR. Bearing scant remnants of his body dead

  In this small vase thou seest, we bring them home.

  EL. O sorrow! thou art here: I see full well

  That burden of my heart in present view.

  OR. If thou hast tears for aught Orestes suffered,

  Know that he lies within this vessel’s room.

  EL.
Ah, sir! by all in Heaven, if yonder urn

  Hide him, ah! give it once into my hand,

  That o’er that dust I may lament and mourn

  Myself and mine own house and all our woe!

  OR. Bring it and give her, whosoe’er she be.

  [1124-1163] For not an enemy — this petition shows it —

  But of his friends or kindred, is this maid.

  [The urn is given into ELECTRA’S hands

  EL. O monument of him whom o’er all else

  I loved! sole relic of Orestes’ life,

  How cold in this thy welcome is the hope

  Wherein I decked thee as I sent thee forth!

  Then bright was thy departure, whom I now

  Bear lightly, a mere nothing, in my hands.

  Would I had gone from life, ere I dispatched

  Thee from my arms that saved thee to a land

  Of strangers, stealing thee from death! For then

  Thou hadst been quiet on that far off day,

  And had thy portion in our father’s tomb

  Now thou hast perished in the stranger land

  Far from thy sister, lorn and comfortless

  And I, O wretchedness! neither have bathed

  And laid thee forth, nor from the blazing fire

  Collected the sad burden, as was meet

  But thou, when foreign hands have tended thee

  Com’st a small handful in a narrow shell

  Woe for the constant care I spent on thee

  Of old all vainly, with sweet toil! For never

  Wast thou thy mother’s darling, nay, but mine,

  And I of all the household most thy nurse,

  While ‘sister, sister,’ was thy voice to me

  But now all this is vanished in one day,

  Dying in thy death. Thou hast carried all away

  As with a whirlwind, and art gone. No more

  My father lives, thyself art lost in death,

  I am dead, who lived in thee. Our enemies

  Laugh loudly, and she maddens in her joy,

  Our mother most unmotherly, of whom

  Thy secret missives ofttimes told me, thou

  Wouldst be the punisher. But that fair hope

  The hapless Genius of thy lot and mine

  Hath reft away, and gives thee thus to me, —

  For thy loved form thy dust and fruitless shade

  O bitterness! O piteous sight! Woe! woe!

  Oh! sent on thy dire journey, dearest one,

  [1164-1197] How thou hast ruined me! Thou hast indeed,

  Dear brother! Then receive me to thyself,

  Hide me in this thy covering, there to dwell,

  Me who am nothing, with thy nothingness,

  For ever! Yea, when thou wert here above,

  I ever shared with thee in all, and now

  I would not have thee shut me from thy tomb.

  Oh! let me die and follow thee! the dead,

  My mind assures me now, have no more pain.

  CH. Electra, think! Thou hadst a mortal sire,