The Electra of Euripides | Page 3

father's boyhood, over seas
Far off, and laid upon King
Strophios' knees
In Phocis, for the old king's sake. But here
The
maid Electra waited, year by year,
Alone, till the warm days of
womanhood
Drew nigh and suitors came of gentle blood
In Hellas.
Then Aegisthus was in fear
Lest she be wed in some great house, and
bear
A son to avenge her father. Close he wrought
Her prison in his
house, and gave her not
To any wooer. Then, since even this
Was
full of peril, and the secret kiss
Of some bold prince might find her
yet, and rend
Her prison walls, Aegisthus at the end
Would slay her.
Then her mother, she so wild
Aforetime, pled with him and saved her
child.
Her heart had still an answer for her lord
Murdered, but if the
child's blood spoke, what word
Could meet the hate thereof? After
that day
Aegisthus thus decreed: whoso should slay
The old king's
wandering son, should win rich meed
Of gold; and for Electra, she
must wed
With me, not base of blood--in that I stand
True
Mycenaean--but in gold and land
Most poor, which maketh highest
birth as naught.
So from a powerless husband shall be wrought
A
powerless peril. Had some man of might
Possessed her, he had called
perchance to light
Her father's blood, and unknown vengeances

Risen on Aegisthus yet.
Aye, mine she is:
But never yet these arms--the Cyprian knows
My
truth!--have clasped her body, and she goes

A virgin still. Myself
would hold it shame
To abase this daughter of a royal name.
I am
too lowly to love violence. Yea,
Orestes too doth move me, far away,

Mine unknown brother! Will he ever now
Come back and see his
sister bowed so low?
Doth any deem me fool, to hold a fair
Maid in my room and seek no

joy, but spare
Her maidenhood? If any such there be,
Let him but
look within. The fool is he
In gentle things, weighing the more and
less
Of love by his own heart's untenderness.
[_As he ceases_ ELECTRA _comes out of the hut. She is in mourning
garb, and carries a large pitcher on her head. She speaks without
observing the_ PEASANT'S _presence_.
ELECTRA.
Dark shepherdess of many a golden star,
Dost see me, Mother Night?
And how this jar
Hath worn my earth-bowed head, as forth and fro

For water to the hillward springs I go?
Not for mere stress of need,
but purpose set,
That never day nor night God may forget

Aegisthus' sin: aye, and perchance a cry
Cast forth to the waste
shining of the sky
May find my father's ear.... The woman bred
Of
Tyndareus, my mother--on her head
Be curses!--from my house hath
outcast me;
She hath borne children to our enemy;
She hath made
me naught, she hath made Orestes naught....
[_As the bitterness of her tone increases, the_ PEASANT _comes
forward._
PEASANT.
What wouldst thou now, my sad one, ever fraught
With toil to lighten
my toil? And so soft
Thy nurture was! Have I not chid thee oft,
And
thou wilt cease not, serving without end?
ELECTRA (_turning to him with impulsive affection_).
O friend, my friend, as God might be my friend,
Thou only hast not
trampled on my tears.
Life scarce can be so hard, 'mid many fears

And many shames, when mortal heart can find
Somewhere one
healing touch, as my sick mind
Finds thee.... And should I wait thy
word, to endure
A little for thine easing, yea, or pour
My strength

out in thy toiling fellowship?
Thou hast enough with fields and kine
to keep;
'Tis mine to make all bright within the door.
'Tis joy to him
that toils, when toil is o'er,
To find home waiting, full of happy
things.
PEASANT.
If so it please thee, go thy way. The springs
Are not far off. And I
before the morn
Must drive my team afield, and sow the corn
In the
hollows.--Not a thousand prayers can gain
A man's bare bread, save
an he work amain.
[ELECTRA _and the_ PEASANT _depart on their several ways. After
a few moments there enter stealthily two armed men,_ ORESTES
_and_ PYLADES.
ORESTES.
Thou art the first that I have known in deed
True and my friend, and
shelterer of my need.
Thou only, Pylades, of all that knew,
Hast
held Orestes of some worth, all through
These years of helplessness,
wherein I lie
Downtrodden by the murderer--yea, and by
The
murderess, my mother!... I am come,
Fresh from the cleansing of
Apollo, home
To Argos--and my coming no man yet
Knoweth--to
pay the bloody twain their debt
Of blood. This very night I crept
alone
To my dead father's grave, and poured thereon
My heart's
first tears and tresses of my head
New-shorn, and o'er the barrow of
the dead
Slew a black lamb, unknown of them that reign
In this
unhappy land.... I am not fain
To pass the city gates, but hold me here

Hard on the borders. So my road is clear
To fly if men look close
and watch my way;
If not, to seek my sister. For men say
She
dwelleth in these hills, no more a maid
But wedded. I must find her
house, for aid
To guide our work, and learn