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The Complete Plays of Sophocles

Page 20

by Sophocles


  singing up the dawn, loud and clear.

  Before anyone leaves that house,

  get it together. The moment’s arrived.

  No time to dither. Time to act.

  ORESTES

  My best friend,

  my mentor! You’ve always come through 30

  for our family! Like an old thoroughbred

  who doesn’t spook in a tight spot

  you stick your ears out straight,

  urging us on, charging

  into the thick of it. You’re

  always right there beside us.

  Here’s what I think. Listen

  closely. If anything I say

  is off target, correct my aim.

  I went to Delphi to ask Apollo— 40

  through his Pythian oracle—

  how best to avenge my father.

  Kill his killers.

  Apollo said: ALONE NO TROOPS

  NO ARMOR BY STEALTH SLAUGHTER

  WITH YOUR OWN RIGHTEOUS HAND.

  That’s what the god told me.

  (to the ELDER)

  So you must infiltrate the palace.

  Seize the first chance you’re given.

  Find out what’s going on, so you

  can bring us hard information. 50

  You’re so old now. After all these years

  they won’t know you, they won’t

  suspect you, not with that gray hair.

  Now here’s your story. You’re a stranger

  from Phokis. Phantíus sent you.

  He’s their most powerful ally.

  Tell them—and flesh it out—the good

  news that Orestes had the horrible

  luck to be killed in a chariot race.

  He was thrown from his racing car 60

  at the Pythian games in Delphi.

  Make that the gist of your account.

  Meantime we will honor Father

  exactly as the god told us to do.

  We’ll pour milk mixed with honey

  over his grave. Next we’ll shear off

  and leave him thick hanks of our hair.

  Then we’ll come back here, bearing

  a bronze urn into the palace.

  We’ve stashed it in the underbrush, 70

  but I think you knew that.

  We’re sure to pick up their spirits

  with the false news that this living

  body of mine has been consumed

  by fire. Now it’s . . . nothing but ashes.

  ORESTES pauses, takes in the ominous implication of his own words.

  Why should this omen bother me—

  by feigning my death I take back

  my life! I make my name. I don’t

  think unlucky words can curse you—

  if they work to your advantage. 80

  Haven’t I seen smart men

  rumor themselves dead—

  so when they do come home alive

  the awe they inspire lasts a lifetime?

  I’m counting on this bogus tale

  to do the same for me. I’ll rise

  from death, flush with life—flaming

  like a starburst over my enemies!

  ORESTES and his companions descend from their hilltop; as they do, the palace walls light up in the dawn. ORESTES turns from the now-looming palace to face the city, the surrounding countryside, and the audience. Over a small rise on stage right is a path leading to the nearby tomb of Agamemnon. Outside the palace is a statue of Apollo and smaller statues of the house of Pelops’ domestic deities. The palace façade has an oversize double door. A smaller entrance is on the far stage left.

  Land of my fathers! My people’s gods! Welcome

  me! And let my mission succeed. 90

  And you, vast rooms my fathers built,

  the gods have brought me home

  to give you a righteous cleansing. Don’t

  drive me disgraced from my homeland.

  Return our family’s house to me.

  Let me take power and rule what’s mine.

  Enough talk. Now it’s up to you,

  Graybeard. You do your job

  and we’ll do ours. Now is the time.

  In whatever men do, timing’s the key. 100

  ELEKTRA

  (within, in a low but resonant voice)

  O what a rotten life!

  ELDER

  A servant? Behind that door.

  Commiserating with herself.

  ORESTES

  Could that be Elektra? Shouldn’t we wait?

  Hear why she moans?

  ELDER

  (forcefully)

  NO! Before anything else

  we must obey Apollo. Begin

  those libations for your father.

  They’ll bring victory within reach.

  Make sure we control the situation.

  The ELDER exits stage left toward the palace’s side entrance; ORESTES and Pylades move to the right, toward Agamemnon’s nearby tomb. Enter ELEKTRA from the house gates.

  ELEKTRA

  (singing)

  Pure Sunlight! Air breathing 110

  over the whole Earth!

  How often have you heard

  as darkness dies into day

  me singing my sorrows,

  pounding fists on my breasts

  until blood breaks the skin?

  And you, my rancid bed in that

  palace of pain, you’ve heard

  me, awake until dawn, crooning

  mournful songs for my father, whom 120

  Ares the bloodthirsty war god

  never welcomed—when he fought

  barbarians—to a brave death

  and a hero’s grave. So my mother

  and her bedmate, Aegisthus,

  laid open his skull like loggers

  splitting oak with an ax.

  No anguish broke from anyone’s

  lips but mine, Father, at your

  repulsive, pitiful slaughter. 130

  I won’t stop mourning you—

  not so long as I see stars

  brilliant in the night sky,

  not while I can see, still,

  day breaking over the land.

  I’m like the nightingale

  who killed her children,

  crying to everyone, outside

  what used to be my father’s door.

  Hades! Persephone! Hermes! 140

  And you, lethal Curses

  I scream out loud!

  You Curses who can kill!

  And you Furies—

  you daughters of Zeus,

  who strike when you see

  an innocent life taken,

  or a cunning wife leading

  a lover to her bed—

  Furies, help me avenge 150

  my father’s death!

  Give me back my brother!

  I lack the strength to keep my grief

  from dragging me under. I need help.

  Enter CHORUS of Mycenaean women from stage left, walking in small groups from town center. The following lines through line 250 are sung or acted as a duet.

  LEADER

  Elektra, why do you

  go on like this? Why, child?

  Yes, your mother’s atrocious. But

  your grief never lets up—it goes

  on and on, bemoaning Agamemnon.

  It’s been such a long time 160

  since your ungodly mother

  connived with that evil

  bastard to cut him down.

  May his killer be killed—

  if I’m allowed such a prayer.

  ELEKTRA

  You’re such considerate caring

  women—coming here to coax me

  out of my misery.

  I know your concern, I feel it,

  I’m not unaware—but 170

  I can’t let go, I can’t

  quit doing this until I’m done.

  I can’t stop mourning

 
; my murdered father.

  Friends,

  you’re always gracious, no matter

  what mood I’m in. This time

  let me be. Let me rage.

  LEADER

  Grief and prayer

  can’t bring your father

  back from the swamp of Hades. 180

  Someday we’ll all sink into it.

  But you’re grieving yourself to death.

  Yours is a grief that can’t be quenched.

  How will you ever satisfy it?

  It will kill you! Tell me, why

  do you love misery so much?

  ELEKTRA

  Only a callous child forgets

  a parent who died horribly.

  I’m like the nightingale, forever

  mourning its child—Littlewheel! 190

  Littlewheel!—that grief-crazed bird

  Zeus sends to tell us it’s spring.

  And you too, Niobe, to me

  you’re the goddess of sorrow

  in your tomb, tears running

  forever down your stone face.

  LEADER

  You’re not the only one who grieves . . . you just

  take it much harder than your sisters inside,

  Chrysòthemis and Iphianassa. They

  go on living . . . as your young brother does. 200

  He’s restless in seclusion, ready

  for Zeus to start him trekking—

  proud of his heritage, awaiting the day

  Mycenae welcomes Orestes home!

  ELEKTRA

  I’m waiting for him too.

  I haven’t given up,

  getting through day after

  daylong day, wishing he’d come,

  doing all the chores a childless

  unwed woman does, always 210

  teary-eyed, hemmed in by my own

  doom feeling, which never lets up.

  My brother’s forgotten everything.

  All he went through, all he witnessed.

  Has he sent me one message

  that hasn’t proven false?

  Always aching to join me—but

  for all the aching, never acts.

  LEADER

  Courage, child, and don’t lose hope.

  Zeus still watches us from the skies, 220

  His power is huge—he controls

  all that we do down here.

  Let him handle your bitter quarrel.

  Be vigilant—your foes hate you—

  but don’t let your own hatred

  get ahead of itself. Time is a god

  who eases us through the rough patches.

  And Agamemnon’s son, grazing

  his oxen, is far from indifferent.

  And nothing ever gets by 230

  the god who rules Acheron

  in the world under our own.

  ELEKTRA

  Hopeless frustration

  devoured my youth.

  My strength’s gone. I dry up

  in childless solitude

  with no lover to protect me.

  Like an immigrant

  everyone scorns,

  I slave in my father’s house, 240

  wear rags, eat on my feet.

  LEADER

  On the day he came home

  we heard a heartbreaking

  scream—when your father lay feasting

  and the bronze blade arced

  a quick unswerving blow.

  Guile set it up, but lust

  did the killing:

  a monster was born

  from that monstrous coupling— 250

  whether humans

  were behind it, or a god.

  ELEKTRA

  It was a day more acrid

  than any in my life.

  And that night! The terrors

  of that unspeakable banquet—

  the hacking, no mercy shown

  by the slashing hands of that pair.

  The same treacherous hands that took

  me prisoner and fed me death. 260

  May great Zeus on Olympus

  punish them, may their glitter

  give them no pleasure—

  after what they did.

  LEADER

  You’d better stop talking.

  Don’t you see? How you stir

  up trouble for yourself? Your spirit’s

  forever on the brink of war.

  Don’t force it. Don’t provoke

  fights you can’t win. 270

  ELEKTRA

  I’m forced to be outrageous

  by the outrage all around me!

  I know how passionate I am.

  How could I not know?

  But what drives me

  is so extreme . . .

  I can’t stop, not while I still

  live and breathe. Let it go. Let me be!

  Who in her right mind, dearhearts,

  thinks words could console me? 280

  There is no cure. I’ll never quit

  grieving, or stifle what I sing.

  LEADER

  But can’t I speak as though I care,

  like a mother! One you can trust?

  Who tells you to stop reliving

  old grievances time after time?

  ELEKTRA

  How do you measure misery?

  Tell me this: how can it be right

  for us to abandon our dead?

  Is anyone ever born that cold-blooded? 290

  I’ll never go along with that—

  and never, even if lucky enough

  to live once more in comfort,

  never would I cling to self-

  centered ease, or dishonor

  my father by clipping

  the wings of my shrill grief.

  If we let the dead rot in dirt

  and disregard, while those killers

  pay none of their own blood 300

  for the blood of their victims, all

  respect for human beings, all respect

  for law, will vanish from this Earth.

  LEADER

  I’m here for your sake, daughter,

  but also for my own. If what

  I’m saying doesn’t help, go your

  own way. We’re with you still.

  ELEKTRA

  Sister, I’m ashamed if you think

  I grieve too often and too much.

  But the compulsion is so strong— 310

  I must. So forgive me.

  What woman from a great family

  could hold back, watching her father’s

  house suffer disaster? It’s still

  happening! All day, all night long.

  It never withers, but blooms and blooms!

  It begins with the mother

  who bore me and hates me.

  I live by the sufferance

  of father’s murderers. 320

  They say if I eat. Or don’t.

  Think what my days are like.

  Aegisthus sits, propped up

  on father’s throne in the great hall

  —wearing my father’s clothes—

  pouring libations on the same

  hearthstone where he killed him.

  Worse than that, the killer

  sleeps in my father’s bed

  with my mother, if that’s 330

  the right word. Mother? Slut!

  So shameless she lives with,

  lays herself under, that

  piece of pollution. She’s not

  intimidated by the Furies—

  she mocks her own depravity.

  Now, waiting an eternity

  for Orestes to come end this,

  inside me I’m dying.

  He’s always going to do it 340

  but never does—it’s taken

  all the hope out of me.

  So how could I be calm

  and rational? Or god-fearing?

  Sisters . . . I’m so immersed

  in all this evil, how<
br />
  could I not be evil too?

  LEADER

  What about Aegisthus? Suppose

  he hears you talking like this?

  Or has he gone somewhere? 350

  ELEKTRA

  Of course he’s gone.

  If he were anywhere near here,

  you think I could stroll out the door?

  He’s off in the fields someplace.

  LEADER

  If that’s true, can we talk freely?

  ELEKTRA

  He’s not around! Ask your question.

  What’s your pleasure?

  LEADER

  What about your brother?

  You think he’ll come? Or keep

  putting it off? I’d like to know. 360

  ELEKTRA

  Says he’ll come. Never does what he says.

  LEADER

  When a man’s about to take on

  something overwhelming—

  won’t he sometimes hold off a bit?

  ELEKTRA

  (coldly furious)

  When I saved him, did I “hold off a bit”?

  LEADER

  Easy now. He’s a good man.

  He won’t let his own people down.

  ELEKTRA

  Oh I trust him. I’d be

  already dead if I didn’t.

  LEADER

  (whispering)

  Shhh! Don’t talk. 370

  I see Chrysòthemis—your real sister,

  the one you share both parents with—

  coming out of the house carrying

  food and drink to offer the dead.

  Enter CHRYSÒTHEMIS from the palace.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  Making more trouble, sister?

  Come out of the house on the street side,

  have you, so you can rant in public?

  What about?

  Haven’t you learned yet not

  to indulge in pointless fury? 380

  Listen, I too hate the way

  we’re made to live.

  Had I the power, I’d let them know

  I don’t love them either. But

  in waters rough as these

  I’m going to reef sail,

  not make threats, when I can’t

  possibly do them any harm.

  I’d advise you to do the same.

  Of course your rage is justified. 390

  You do speak for justice. I don’t.

  But if I want to live my life freely,

  I’ve got to do everything our rulers

  tell me to do. No exceptions.

  ELEKTRA

  Strange, isn’t it? That the daughter

  of such a father should dishonor him

  to humor a mother like ours.

  She’s taught you how to bawl me out.

  Not one syllable is your own!

  It’s your choice: either act bravely— 400

  or play it safe and betray

  those you should love the most.

 

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