Orestes (436-485)

They insult me, and the city listens to them now.

Will the city allow you to keep the scepter of Agamemnon?

How, seeing that they will not allow me to remain alive?

What is their method? Can you tell me plainly?

A vote will be taken against us today.

To leave the city? Or to die, or not to die?

Death by stoning at the hands of the citizens.

Then why not cross the border and try to escape?

Because we are encircled by men fully armed.

Private foes or Argive troops?

All the citizens, so that I may die; it is shortly told.

Poor wretch! you have arrived at the extremity of woe.

In you I have hopes of escape from my troubles. But since you have come with good fortune,

share with your friends, who are wretched, your prosperity; do not hold aside that goodness for yourself alone; but partake of troubles in your turn, and so pay back my father’s kindness to those who have a claim on you. For such friends as desert us in adversity

are friends in name but not in deed.

And here is Tyndareus, the Spartan, struggling with aged step, clad in black robes, with his hair cut short in mourning for his daughter.

Menelaus, I am ruined. See, Tyndareus

approaches us, the man of all others I most shrink from facing, because of the deed I have done. For he nursed me when I was small, and lavished on me many a fond caress, carrying me about in his arms as the son of Agamemnon; and so did Leda;

for they both honored me no less than the Dioscuri.

Ah me! my wretched heart and soul, it was a sorry return I made them! What darkness can I find for my face? What cloud can I spread before me in my efforts to escape the old man’s eye?

Where, where may I see Menelaus, my daughter’s husband? For as I was pouring libations on Clytemnestra’s grave I heard that he had come to Nauplia with his wife, safe home again after many years. Lead me to him; for I want to approach him

and clasp his hand, as a friend whom at last I see again.

Hail, old man, rival of Zeus for a bride!

All hail to you, Menelaus, my kinsman!

Catching sight of Orestes. Ah! What an evil it is to be ignorant of the future! There is that matricide before the house, a viper darting venomous flashes from his eyes, whom I loathe.

Menelaus, are you speaking to that godless wretch?

And why not? He is the son of one whom I loved.

This is his son, this creature here?

Yes, his son; if he is in misfortune, he ought to be honored.

You have been so long among barbarians that you have become one of them.