Electra

Sophocles

• Editore: Dover Publications
• Anno: 2012
• ISBN:
  9780486157962
• Argomento: Letteratura
• Categoria: Teatro antico e classico

Masterpiece of drama concerns the revenge Electra takes on her mother for the murder of her father. One of the best-known heroines of all drama and a towering figure of Greek tragedy.

ELECTRA

Scene, before the Palace at Mycenæ.

Enter ORESTES, PYLADES and Guardian.

GUARDIAN.

Son of our Captain in the wars of Troy,
Great Agamemnon, it is given thee now
With thine own eyes, Orestes, to behold
Those scenes thou hast ever longed for. Here it lies,
Argos, the ancient land of thy desire;
The sacred glade of her the gadfly drave,
Inachus’ daughter;¹ that’s the Agora
They call Lycean, from the wolf-slaying God;
This, on the left, Hera’s renowned fane;
And from the point we are reaching you can swear
You see Mycenæ’s Golden City, and this,
The death-fraught house of Pelops’ family;
Whence I received you at your sister’s hands,
And saved you from the slaughter of your sire,
And carried you away, and fostered you
So far toward manhood, ready to revenge
A father’s blood. Wherefore, Orestes, now—
And Pylades, thou dearest of allies—
Take we brief counsel what is right to do;
For see, already the bright gleam of day
Calls up the birds to sing their matins clear
Above us, and the sable star-lit night
Has passed away. Now, before any man
Comes forth abroad, join you in conference;
For where we stand, it is no season more
To hesitate; the hour is come for action.

ORESTES.

My faithfullest of followers, what clear signs
You manifest of your good will to us!
For as a generous steed, though he be old,
Beset with difficulties, pricks his ears
And bates not of his courage, you impart
Spirit to us, and lag no whit behind.
As you desire, I will unfold my scheme;
Do you the while mark my words heedfully,
And if I miss the target, mend my aim.
Late, when I sought the Pythian oracle,
To learn how I might execute revenge
Upon my father’s murderers, Phœbus gave me
Answer in this sort; I will tell it you;
I by myself unarmed with shields and martial bands
By craft held condign slaughter hidden in my hands.
Well, with this answer sounding in our ears,
Go you, as opportunity may lead,
Into the house, and gather all that passes,
And bring us word of all; for in old age,
And so long after, they will never know
Now, nor suspect you, frosted thus by time.
Tell your tale thus; you are a citizen
Of Phocis, and you come from Phanoteus,
Who is their best ally; tell them (and swear it)
Orestes has been killed by accident,
By a fall from his chariot, at the Pythian games;
Let it stand so. We, as He bade, the while,
First with libations and shorn curls of hair
Will deck my father’s grave; then back again
Return, carrying an urn of beaten brass,
(The same, you know, that in the brake lies hidden,)
That in feigned words we may convey to them
Glad tidings—how my body is destroyed,
Burnt up already and made embers of!
For where’s the harm to be called dead, when really
I am alive, and gather praise thereby?
No word that profits us can hurt, I fancy.
Why, I have seen men often, who were wise,
Falsely pretending death; then, when again
They came back home, they have been more prized than ever;
So I expect yet, out of this report,
To blaze forth, star-like, living, on my foes.
But O my native land! Gods of the soil!
Welcome me with good fortune in these ways;
And thou, paternal Home! for I thy cleanser
Come here of right, the ambassador of Heaven;
Send me not with dishonour from this land,
But grant me to inherit and set up
The old estate.—I have spoken. Now, old friend,
Be it your care to guard your post; go forward;
And let us forth. It is the season; this,
In every action, is men’s best ally.

ELECTRA (within).

Ah woe is me!

GUARDIAN.

Hark!
I thought I heard some handmaiden cry faintly
Inside the doors, my son!

ORESTES.

Is it perhaps
The wronged Electra? Shall we stay awhile
And listen to her sorrowing?

GUARDIAN.

By no means.
Do nothing ere performing what is bidden
Of Loxias,² and initiate all from thence,
Pouring lustrations on your father’s grave.
This wafts us victory, and nerves our doings.

[Exeunt.

Enter ELECTRA.

ELECTRA.

Holy Light, with Earth, and Sky,
Whom thou fillest equally,
Ah how many a note of woe,
Many a self-inflicted blow
On my scarred breast might’st thou mark,
Ever as recedes the dark;
Known, too, all my nightlong cheer
To bitter bed and chamber drear,
How I mourn my father lost,
Whom on no barbarian coast
Did red Ares greet amain,
But as woodmen cleave an oak
My mother’s axe dealt murderous stroke,
Backed by the partner of her bed,
Fell Ægisthus, on his head;
Whence no pity, save from me,
O my father, flows for thee,
So falsely, foully slain.
Yet I will not cease from sighing,
Cease to pour my bitter crying,
While I see this light of day,
Or the stars’ resplendent play,
Uttering forth a sound of wail,
Like the child-slayer, the nightingale,³
Here before my father’s door
Crying to all men evermore.
O Furies dark, of birth divine!
O Hades wide, and Proserpine!
Thou nether Hermes! Ara great!⁴
Ye who regard the untimely dead,
The dupes of an adulterous bed,
Come ye, help me, and require
The foul murder of our sire;
And send my brother back again;
Else I may no m...