Electra (556-655)

Certainly I permit you; and if you always addressed me in such a tone, you would not be difficult to listen to.

Then I will speak. You admit that you killed my father. What statement could be more shameful still than that,

whether you did it justly or not? But I will demonstrate to you that you did not justly kill him. No, the persuasion of that wicked man with whom you now sleep dragged you to it. Ask the huntress Artemis what wrong she punished when she stayed the frequent winds at Aulis;

or I will tell you, since we may not learn from her. My father, as I have heard, was once hunting in the grove of the goddess, when his footfall flushed a dappled and antlered stag; he shot it, and chanced to make a certain boast concerning its slaughter.

Angered by this, Leto’s daughter detained the Greeks so that in requital for the beast’s life my father should sacrifice his own daughter. So it was that she was sacrificed, since the fleet had no other release, neither homeward nor to Troy.

For that reason, under fierce constraint and with much resistance, at last he sacrificed her—but it was not for the sake of Menelaus. But suppose—for I will make your own plea—suppose that the motive of his deed was to benefit his brother. Should you have killed him because of that? Under what sort of law?

See that by laying down such a law for men, you do not lay down trouble and remorse for yourself. For, if we are to take blood for blood, you surely would be the first to die, if you were to meet with justice. But consider whether this pretext is any excuse at all.

For tell me, if you please, what crime it is that you requite by doing the most shameless deeds of all: sharing your bed with that blood-guilty one, with whom you first destroyed my father and now bear his children

while you have cast out the earlier born, the pious offspring of a pious marriage? How can I commend these deeds? Or will you claim that this, too, is recompense for your daughter? No, it is a shameful plea, if you so plead, for there is nothing noble in marrying an enemy for a daughter’s sake.

But no, I can hardly even admonish you, when your every cry is that I slander my mother. I think, rather, that you are no less a mistress to me than a mother; so lowly is the life that I live,

ever beset with miseries come from you and your consort. And your other child, the exile who scarcely escaped your hand, poor Orestes, wastes away his unhappy life. You have often accused me of rearing him to punish your crime,

and I would have done so, if I could, you may be sure. As far as he is concerned, you can denounce me to all as disloyal, if you like, or loud-mouthed, or impudent. For if my nature is familiar with such wrongdoings, I hardly bring disgrace upon your nature.

I see her breathing fury; but whether justice is with her, her concern for this I see no longer.

And what manner of concern should I use against her, who has abused her mother like this at her mature age? Do you not think

that she would go forward to any deed without shame?

Now be assured that I do feel shame for it, though I seem not to you. I know that my behavior is unsuited to my age and inappropriate. But then the enmity I get from you and your

behavior compel me with harsh necessity to do this; for reprehensible deeds are learned from reprehensible examples.

You shameless creature! Truly I and my speech and my deeds give you too much to talk about.

The words are yours, not mine; for yours

are the deeds, and they find their own expression.

Now by our mistress Artemis, you shall not escape the consequences of this audacity once Aegisthus returns.

You see? You are driven to rage and, even though you grant me free speech, you have no patience to listen.

Will you not allow me to sacrifice without ominous shouting, when I have permitted you to say anything and everything you wished?

I allow it; I exhort you to it: sacrifice! But do not blame my voice, for I would not say another word.

Raise then, my attendant, the offerings

of many fruits, so that I may uplift my prayers for release from my present fears to this image of our King. Please, O Phoebus our defender, may you now listen to my prayer, though it is muffled; for I do not make my plea among friends, nor does it suit me to unfold it all

to the light while she stands near me, lest by her malice and a cry of her clamorous tongue she sow reckless rumors through the whole city. Nevertheless, hear me thus, since in this way I will speak. That vision which I saw last night

in ambiguous dreams—if its appearance was to my good, grant, Lycean king, that it be fulfilled; but if to my harm, then hurl it back upon those who would harm me. And if any are plotting to eject me by treachery from my present prosperity, do not permit them.

Rather grant that living forever unharmed as I am I may govern the house of the sons of Atreus and their throne, sharing prosperous days with the friends who share them now, and with those of my children who feel no enmity or bitterness towards me.

O Lycean Apollo, hear these prayers with favor, and grant them to us all just as we ask! As for all my other prayers, though I am silent, I judge that you, a god, must know them, since it is appropriate that Zeus’s children see all.