Electra (460-549)

Where, where is my young queen and mistress, Agamemnon’s child, whom I once brought up? How steep is the approach to her house,

for a wrinkled old man to ascend with this foot! Still, for these friends, I must drag along my back bent double and sinking knees. Oh, daughter—for I see you now before the house—I have come, bringing you from my own sheep

this newborn nursling of the flock, having drawn it away from its mother, and garlands, and cheeses I have taken from the press, and this old treasure of Dionysus, furnished with fragrance, small, but sweet to pour a cup of it into a weaker drink.

Let some one carry these gifts into the house for the guests. I have moistened my eyes with tears, and wish to wipe them off on this shred of my robe.

Why are your eyes wet, old man? Have my troubles stirred your memory, after an interval of time?

Or are you groaning over the sad exile of Orestes, and over my father, whom you once held in your arms and brought up, in vain for you and for your friends?

In vain; but still I could not endure this: for I came to his grave, an addition to my journey,

and falling on it I wept for its desolation; then I opened the wine-skin which I am bringing to the guests, and poured a libation, and set myrtle-sprigs round the tomb. On the alter itself I saw a black-fleeced ram as an offering, and there was blood, not long poured out,

and severed locks of yellow hair. And I wondered, child, who ever dared come to the the tomb; for it was no Argive at least. But perhaps your brother has somehow come secretly and on his return has done honor to his father’s wretched grave.

Go look to see if the color of the cut lock is the same as yours, putting it to your own hair; it is usual for those who have the same paternal blood to have a close bodily resemblance in most points.

Old man, your words are unworthy of a wise man,

if you think my own brave brother would come to this land secretly for fear of Aegisthus. Then, how will a lock of hair correspond, the one made to grow in the wrestling schools of a well-bred man, the other, a woman’s lock, by combing? No, it is impossible.

But you could find in many people hair very similar, although they are not of the same blood, old man.

Then stand in the footprint and see if the tread of the boot will measure with your own foot, child.

How could there be an imprint of feet on a stony plot of ground?

And if there is, the foot of brother and sister would not be the same in size, for the male conquers.

There is not, even if your brother, coming to this land . . . by which you might know your loom’s weaving,

in which I once stole him away from death?

Don’t you know that I was still young when Orestes was driven out of the land? And even if I had woven him a robe, how could he, a child then, have the same one now, unless his clothes grew together with his body?

But either a stranger, taking pity on his grave. . .

Where are the guests? I want to see them and question them about your brother.

There they are, coming quickly out of the house.