Sophocles Electra 660

CH

They are, sir; you yourself have guessed aright.

OLD M

May I guess further that in yonder dame

I see his queen? She looks right royally.

CH

’Tis she,—no other,—whom your eyes behold.

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OLD M

Princess, all hail! To thee and to thy spouse

I come with words of gladness from a friend.

CLY

That auspice I accept. But I would first

Learn from thee who of men hath sent thee forth?

OLD M

Phanoteus the Phocian, with a charge of weight.

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CLY

Declare it, stranger. Coming from a friend,

Thou bring’st us friendly tidings, I feel sure.

OLD M

Orestes’ death. Ye have the sum in brief.

EL

Ah me! undone! This day hath ruined me.

CLY

What? Let me hear again. Regard her not.

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OLD M

Again I say it, Orestes is no more.

EL

Undone! undone! Farewell to life and hope!

CLY

().

See thou to thine own case! () Now, stranger, tell me

In true discourse the manner of his death.

OLD M

For that I am here, and I will tell the whole.

He, entering on the great arena famed

As Hellas’ pride, to win a Delphian prize,

On hearing the loud summons of the man

Calling the foot-race, which hath trial first,

Came forward, a bright form, admired by all.

And when his prowess in the course fulfilled

The promise of his form, he issued forth

Dowered with the splendid meed of victory.—

To tell a few out of the many feats

Of such a hero were beyond my power.

Know then, in brief, that of the prizes set

For every customary course proclaimed

By order of the judges, the whole sum

Victoriously he gathered, happy deemed

By all; declared an Argive, and his name

Orestes, son of him who levied once

The mighty armament of Greeks for Troy.

So fared he then: but when a God inclines

To hinder happiness, not even the strong

Are scatheless. So, another day, when came

At sunrise the swift race of charioteers,

He entered there with many a rival car:—

One from Achaia, one from Sparta, two

Libyan commanders of the chariot-yoke;

And he among them fifth, with steeds of price

From Thessaly;—the sixth Aetolia sent

With chestnut mares; the seventh a Magnete man;

The eighth with milk-white colts from Oeta’s vale;

The ninth from god-built Athens; and the tenth

Boeotia gave to make the number full.

Then stood they where the judges of the course

Had posted them by lot, each with his team;

And sprang forth at the brazen trumpet’s blare.

Shouting together to their steeds, they shook

The reins, and all the course was filled with noise

Of rattling chariots, and the dust arose

To heaven. Now all in a confusèd throng

Spared not the goad, each eager to outgo

The crowded axles and the snorting steeds;

For close about his nimbly circling wheels

And stooping sides fell flakes of panted foam.

Orestes, ever nearest at the turn,

With whirling axle seemed to graze the stone,

And loosing with free rein the right-hand steed

That pulled the side-rope, held the near one in.

So for a time all chariots upright moved,

But soon the Oetaean’s hard-mouthed horses broke

From all control, and wheeling as they passed

From the sixth circuit to begin the seventh,

Smote front to front against the Barcan car.

And when that one disaster had befallen,

Each dashed against his neighbour and was thrown,

Till the whole plain was strewn with chariot-wreck.

Then the Athenian, skilled to ply the rein,

Drew on one side, and heaving to, let pass

The rider-crested surge that rolled i’ the midst.

Meanwhile Orestes, trusting to the end,

Was driving hindmost with tight rein; but now,

Seeing him left the sole competitor,

Hurling fierce clamour through his steeds, pursued:

So drave they yoke by yoke—now this, now that

Pulling ahead with car and team. Orestes,

Ill-fated one, each previous course had driven

Safely without a check, but after this,

In letting loose again the left-hand rein,

He struck the edge of the stone before he knew,

Shattering the axle’s end, and tumbled prone,

Caught in the reins, that dragged him with sharp thongs.

Then as he fell to the earth the horses swerved,

And roamed the field. The people when they saw

Him fallen from out the car, lamented loud

For the fair youth, who had achieved before them

Such glorious feats, and now had found such woe,—

Dashed on the ground, then tossed with legs aloft

Against the sky,—until the charioteers,

Hardly restraining the impetuous team,

Released him, covered so with blood that none,—

No friend who saw—had known his hapless form.

Which then we duly burned upon the pyre.

And straightway men appointed to the task

From all the Phocians bear his mighty frame—

Poor ashes! narrowed in a brazen urn,—

That he may find in his own fatherland

His share of sepulture.—Such our report,

Painful to hear, but unto us, who saw,

The mightiest horror that e’er met mine eye.

CH

Alas! the stock of our old masters, then,

Is utterly uprooted and destroyed.

CLY

O heavens! what shall I say? That this is well?

Or terrible, but gainful? Hard my lot,

To save my life through my calamity!

OLD M

Lady, why hath my speech disheartened thee?

CLY

To be a mother hath a marvellous power:

No injury can make one hate one’s child.

OLD M

Der Chor.

Das ist es, Fremdling: recht gerathen hast du selbst.

Der Pfleger.

Und rath' ich recht auch: steht sie hier, des Königes

Gemahl? Ihr Anblick kündet ja die Herrin an.

Der Chor.

Du trasst es richtig: eben sie erblickst du hier.

Der Pfleger.

Heil dir, o Fürstin! Frohe Kunden bring' ich dir

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Und auch Aegisthen, abgesandt von einem Freund.

Klytämnestra.

Willkommen sei die Rede; doch vor Allem laß

Mich erst erfahren, welcher Mann dich uns gesandt.

Der Pfleger.

Euch schickt der Phoker Phanoteus ein großes Wort.

Klytämnestra.

Was ist es, Fremdling? Rede! Denn vom Freund gesandt,

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Das weiß ich, bringst du sicher mir ein freundlich Wort.

Der Pfleger.

Todt ist Orestes; kurzgefaßt verkünd' ich es.

Elektra.

Weh mir! Des Todes bin ich, ach, an diesem Tag!

Klytämnestra.

Wie sagst du, Freund, was sagst du? Hör' auf diese nicht.

Der Pfleger.

Todt ist Orestes, sag' ich jezt, und sagt' ich schon.

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Elektra.

Ich Arme bin verloren, ach, ich bin dahin!

Klytämnestra.

Du treibe nur das Deine; mir indeß, o Freund,

Sag' an die Wahrheit: wie ereilt' ihn sein Geschick?

Der Pfleger.

Chorus

Stranger, it is: thou hast conjectured well.

Attendant

And this, if not amiss I judge, his queen :

For in her port are dignity and grace.

Chorus

Well hast thou mark'd our sovereign: this is she.

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Attendant

Hail queen. I bring thee grateful tidings, sent

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By one to thee and to Ægisthus dear.

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Clytemnestra

I welcome thy address. But say by whom,

Bearing this friendly message, thou art sent.

From Phanoteus of Phocis, mighty queen :

Important are the tidings which he sends.

Clytemnestra

What are they, stranger? Tell me: from a friend

Nothing but friendly tidings wilt thou bring.

To speak in brief, Orestes is no more.

Attendant

FLEC. O wretched me! This day I am undone.

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Clytemnestra

What say'st thou, stranger, what? Regard not her.

Attendant

Again I say Orestes is no more.

Electra

Then I am nothing; I too am no more.

Clytemnestra

Attend thou to thine own concerns. To me

Attendant

Speak truly, stranger; tell me how he died.

And therefore was I sent: hear then the whole.

The glorious contest of the Grecian games

Led him to Delphi: when the herald's voice

Loudly proclaim'd the first, the rapid race,

He enter'd with a splendor that from all

Drew wonder and applause: that graceful form

Deceived not expectation; he first reach'd

The goal, and bore the honour'd prize away.

But, of his many deeds to speak in brief,

In skill and strength one equal I ne'er saw.

Know then at once 'midst the heroic games

In the five contests, as by law ordain'd,

To him the praise of conquest was assign'd,

By the presiding umpires' voice announced.

Applauding Greece the happy victor hail'd,

Call'd him an Argive, sounding loud his name,

Orestes

son of Agamemnon once

The leader of th' illustrious host of Greece.

Such was this day: but when some god decrees

His doom, not e'en the mighty can escape.

The next day's contest was the rapid course

Of rolling chariots. With the orient sun

Ardent 'midst many rivals he advanced;

One an Achæan, one from Sparta, two

From Libya, skill'd to rule the harness'd car:

With these Orestes, his Thessalian mares

Restraining: From Ætolia came a youth,

His coursers colour'd like the burnish'd gold:

Nor was Magnesia wanting to the course:

Proud of his snow white steeds an Ænian came,

One came from Athens built by hands divine;

The list of heroes a Bœotian closed.

Now standing where th' appointed umpires fix'd

By lot their stations, and arranged the cars,

Soon as the trumpet gave the signal, swift

They bounded from the barrier, cheer'd their steeds,

And tost their slacken'd reins; the rolling wheels

With thunder shook the plain, and clouds of dust

Rose to the skies. Together all were mix'd,

Nor spared the lash, impatient each to pass

The others axle and high-snorting steeds;

For o'er their backs and summits of the wheels

Their whitening foam they threw, and fiery breath.

But ever, the last pillar as he reach'd,

He drew his axle nigh, for on the right

He gave his steed the reins, the nearer curb'd.

Thus far the rapid cars roll'd on erect;

Till now the Ænian's wild unmanaged steeds

Broke from the ground, and at the seventh return

Reckless their fronts with headstrong fury dash'd

Against the Lybian chariot. From this shock

Of one, wheel clash'd with shatter'd wheel, and fell;

The wreck of cars fill'd all the Phocian plain.

This saw th' Athenian, and, with skilful hand

Wheeling aloof, his courser's speed restrain'd,

And pass'd the wide confusion of the storm

Roll'd in the middle course. His steeds behind

Orestes

the last, but high in hope

Foremost to reach the goal: but when he saw

One only left his rival for the prize,

With sharper voice he cheer'd his flying mares,

And follow'd close. Now side by side they drove,

Now one, the other now, his coursers' heads-

Push'd forward. All his other courses safe

Now pass'd, firm in his car, its wheels erect,

Orestes on the left relax'd the rein,

And, as his courser round the pillar wheel'd,

Dash'd unawares against it; in the nave

The axle broke, and roll'd him o'er the car

Entangled in the reins: his steeds uncheck'd

Break forth at large, and bound amidst the course.

But when th' assembly saw him from the car

Hurl'd headlong, they with cries deplored the youth,

His gallant actions, and his hapless fate,

As low his head was trail'd along the ground.

And now th' attendant train, his fiery steeds

Scarce check'd, unbound him so deform'd with gore

That not a friend could know the mangled corse.

The funeral pile was raised, the body burn'd,

And to some Phocians is the charge assign'd

With speed to his paternal land to bear

The poor cold ashes of the mighty man

Closed in a narrow urn, that this dear land,

Which gave him birth, may bear his honour'd tomb.

Theseus

lady, are the tidings which I bring,

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How mournful to relate! But to behold,

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As we beheld it-misery never show'd

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Chorus

Scene of like horror to my aching eyes.

Alas, alas! Our lord's imperial stem,

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Honour'd so long, is perish'd from its roots.

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Clytemnestra

What an event is this! Almighty Jove,

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Shall I with joy receive it, or with grief?

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It brings advantage: yet it grieves my soul

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To gain the safety of my life by ills.

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Attendant

Why at these tidings, lady, sink with grief?

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Clytemnestra

Nature will touch a mother: though with wrongs

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Attendant

Her heart be rent, she cannot hate her child.

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Unthank'd is he that brings unwelcome news.

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Clytemnestra

Why should'st thou say unwelcome and unthank'd?

It is not so: thou bring'st me certain proofs

That he is dead, who, born of me, renounced

My breasts, and all a mother's nurturing care,

Became a fugitive, with strangers lived,

And never saw me since he left this land,

But charged his father's murder on my head,

And menaced fierce revenge; so that by night

Sleep never closed mine eyes, nor sweet repose

By day was mine; but each imperious hour

Appall'd me as a victim mark'd for death.

But now, this day, my terrors are no more

From her, or him; she was the greater pést, ***

A fury nourish'd in my house, that wish'd

To lap my blood: but from their threats secure

I now shall pass my fearless life in peace.

Electra

A wretched me! I now have cause to mourn

Thy wretched fate, Orestes, e'en in death

Thus taunted by a mother. Is this well?

Clytemnestra

Not well with thee; but it is well with him..

Electra

Clytaemnestra

You run loose again, it seems, since Aegisthus is not here, who used always to keep you at least from coming out to the gates and shaming your family. But now, since he is absent, you pay

me no mind. And yet you have said of me often and to many listeners that I am a rash and unjust tyrant, who violently abuse you and yours. But it is not I who do violence; I only return the insults that I so often hear from you.
 

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Your father—this and nothing else is your constant pretext—was slain by me. Yes, by me. I know it well. I make no denial. Justice took hold of him, not I alone—Justice, whom you ought to have supported, if you had been in your right mind.

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For this father of yours whom you constantly bewail alone of all the Greeks had the heart to sacrifice your own blood, your sister, to the gods—he, who, when sowing his seed, felt none of the pains I did when I gave birth.
  Come, tell me now, why, or to please whom,

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did he sacrifice her? To please the Argives, you will say? No, they had no right to kill my daughter. Or, if indeed it was for the sake of his brother Menelaus that he killed my child, was he not to pay me the penalty for that? Did Menelaus not have two children,

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who should in fairness have died instead of my daughter, since the father and mother from whom they were sprung had caused that voyage? Did Hades have some greater desire to feast on my offspring than on hers? Or had all love of the children of my womb been

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abandoned by their accursed father, while love for the children of Menelaus filled him? Were these not the marks of a thoughtless and malicious parent? I think so, even if I differ from your judgment. So, too, would the dead girl speak, if she could find a voice. For myself, then, I view the past without

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dismay; but if you think my attitude criminal, see that your own judgment is just before you blame your neighbor.

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Electra

This time, at least, you cannot say that I first gave you cause for upset and thereby provoked such words from you. But, if you will permit me,

I would gladly declare the truth, on behalf of my dead father and my sister alike.

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Clytaemnestra

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

Electra

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;

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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.

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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 .

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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?

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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.

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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

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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.
 

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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,

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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,

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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.

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Chorus

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

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Clytaemnestra

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?

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Electra

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.

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Clytaemnestra

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

Electra

The words are yours, not mine; for yours

are the deeds, and they find their own expression.

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Clytaemnestra

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

Electra

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

Clytaemnestra

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

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Electra

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

Clytaemnestra

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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Paedagogus

Foreign ladies, how might I know for certain if this be the palace of the king Aegisthus?

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Chorus

This is the palace, stranger; you yourself have guessed correctly.

Paedagogus

And am I on target when I surmise that this lady is his wife? She is indeed regal to look upon.

Chorus

Exactly right; this is she before you.

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Paedagogus

Greetings, royal lady! I bring happy news to you and to Aegisthus from a friend.

Clytaemnestra

I welcome your greeting; but I would like first to know who may have sent you.

Paedagogus

Phanoteus the Phocian provided me the weighty task.

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Clytaemnestra

And what is it, sir? Tell me. Coming from a friend you will bring, I know, a kindly message.

Paedagogus

Orestes is dead, to put it briefly.

Electra

Oh, miserable me! My ruin comes today!

Clytaemnestra

What, friend? What did you say? Do not listen to her!

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Paedagogus

I said, and say again, Orestes is dead.

Electra

This is my wretched end! I am no more!

Clytaemnestra

To Electra.

You, go about your business! But you, sir, tell me exactly in what manner he was destroyed.

Paedagogus

I was sent for that purpose, and will tell you all. Having gone to the shrine which is Greece ’s common glory in order to compete for Delphi ’s prizes and having heard the herald’s loud summons to the foot-race, the first contest,

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he entered the lists, a brilliant form, a wonder in the eyes of all there. When he had finished the race at the point where it began, he went out with the glorious honor of victory. To say the most with the least words, I do not know the man whose deeds and triumphs have matched his.

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But this one thing you must know: in all the contests that the judges announced, he carried away the prize, and men deemed him happy as often as the herald proclaimed him an Argive , by name Orestes, son of

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Agamemnon, who once marshalled Greece ’s famous expedition.
  So far Orestes fared as I described. But when a god sends harm, not even the strong man can escape. For on another day, when with the rising sun there was held the race of the swift-footed horses,

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he entered it along with many charioteers. One was an Achaean, one from Sparta ; two masters of yoked cars were Libyans; Orestes, driving Thessalian mares, came fifth among them; the sixth was from Aetolia ,

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with chestnut colts; a Magnesian was the seventh; the eighth, with white horses, was of Aenian stock; the ninth hailed from Athens , built of gods; there was a Boeotian too, making the tenth chariot. They took their stations where the appointed umpires

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placed them by lot and ranged the cars. Then at the sound of the bronze trumpet, they started. All shouted to their horses, and shook the reins in their hands; the whole course was filled with the clatter of rattling chariots; and the dust flew upward.

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All of them in a confused throng kept plying their goads unsparingly, so that one of them might pass the wheel-hubs and the snorting steeds of his rivals; for both at their backs and at their rolling wheels the breath of the horses foamed and smattered.

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Orestes, driving close to the near edge of the turning-post, almost grazed it with his wheel each time and, giving rein to the trace-horse on the right, he checked the horse on the inner side. To this point, all the chariots still stood upright. But then the Aenian’s

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hard-mouthed colts carried him out of control as they passed out of the turn from the sixth into the seventh lap and dashed their foreheads against the rig of the Barcaean. Next, as a result of this one mishap, the cars kept smashing and colliding with each other, and the whole

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race-ground of Crisa swelled with shipwrecked chariots.

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Seeing this, the clever charioteer from Athens drew aside and paused, allowing the equestrian flood to pass in mid-crest. Orestes was driving last, keeping his horses

behind, as his trust was in the race’s end. But when he sees that the Athenian is alone left in, he sends a shrill cry ringing through the ears of his swift colts, and gives chase. Bringing yoke level with yoke the two of them raced, first one man, then the other,

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showing his head in front of the other’s chariot. Up to now the ill-fated Orestes had driven upright safely through every circuit, upright in his upright car. But then he slackened his left rein while the horse was turning and unwittingly struck the edge of the pillar,

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breaking the axle-box in two. He spilled forward over the chariot-rail and was caught in the trim reins, and as he fell to the ground, his colts were scattered into the middle of the course.
  But when the crowd saw that he had fallen

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from the chariot, a cry of pity went up for the young man who had done such deeds and was allotted such bad fortune—now dashed against the earth, now tossed with his feet to the sky until the charioteers with difficulty reigned in the gallop of his horses and

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freed him, so covered with blood that no friend who saw it would have known the pitiful corpse. Immediately they burned him on a pyre, and chosen men of Phocis now bring the sad dust of that mighty form in a small urn of bronze,

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so that he may find due burial in his fatherland.
  Such is my story—it is grievous even to hear, but for us witnesses who looked on, it was the greatest of sorrows that these eyes have seen.

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Chorus

Oh, sorrow! It seems now that all the stock of our ancient masters

has been leveled clean down to the roots.

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Clytaemnestra

O Zeus, how shall I name this news—fortunate? Or terrible, but beneficial? It is a bitter thing, when by my own misery I preserve my life.

Paedagogus

Why are you so despondent, lady, at my news?

Clytaemnestra

There is a terrible power in motherhood; a mother may be wronged, but she can feel no hate for those whom she bore.

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Paedagogus

Then it seems that we have come in vain.

Clytaemnestra

No, not in vain; how can you say in vain when you have brought me sure proofs of his death?

He sprang from my own life, yet deserting my breast and my nurture he became a fugitive, completely alien from me. And me, once he left this land, he saw no more; but, charging me with the murder of his father, he made terrible threats,

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so that neither by night nor by day could sweet sleep cover me, but the imminent moment made me live always as if I were about to die. Now, however, since today I am rid of terror of him and of this girl—that greater plague

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who shared my home while consuming undiluted my life-blood—now, I think, for all her threats, I shall pass my days in peace.

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Electra

Ah, what misery! Now, indeed, Orestes, I must mourn your misfortune, since even dead as you are

you are abused by this woman, your mother! Is it not just fine?

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Clytaemnestra

You certainly are not, but he is fine as he is.

Electra

Listen to her, Nemesis of the recently departed!

Clytaemnestra

She has heard who should be heard, and has ordained well.

Electra

Abuse us! Fortune is with you today.

Clytaemnestra

You and Orestes will not stop me, then, will you?

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Electra

It is we who are stopped; we cannot stop you.

Clytaemnestra

Your coming, sir, deserves large recompense, if you have stopped her clamorous tongue.

Paedagogus

Then I would take my leave, if all is well.

Clytaemnestra

Not so; your welcome would then be unworthy of me, and of my ally who sent you. No, come in. Leave her out here to shout out loud her misfortunes and those of her friends. Clytaemnestra and the Paedagogus enter the house.

800

Electra

What do you think? Does it seem to you that she, poor woman, wept and wailed terribly,

like a grieving, anguished woman, over her son thus destroyed? No, she left us with a laugh! Ah, miserable me! Dearest Orestes, how your death has destroyed me! For your passing has torn from my heart

805

the only hopes which still were mine: that you would live to return some day as the avenger of our father, and also of me in my misery. But now, where shall I turn? I am alone, cheated of you, as of my father. Hereafter I must be a slave again

810

among those I most hate, my father’s murderers. Am I not in a fine way? But at least in the time remaining me I will never enter the house to dwell with them. No, lying down at these gates, without a friend, I shall wither away my days.

815

Therefore, if anyone in the house be angry, let him kill me. It is a favor, if I die, but a pain, if I live. I desire life no more.

820