El. Now be assured that I do feel shame for this, though thou believe it not; I know that my behaviour is unseemly, and becomes me ill. But then the enmity on thy part, and thy treatment, compel me in mine own 620 despite to do thus; for base deeds are taught by base. \ Cl. Thou brazen one! Truly I and my sayings and my deeds give thee too much matter for words.
El. The words are thine, not mine; for thine is the action; and the acts find the utterance.
Cl. Now by our lady Artemis, thou shalt not fail to pay for this boldness, so soon as Aegisthus returns.
EL. Lo, thou art transported by anger, after grant- ing me free speech, and hast no patience to listen.
Cl. Now wilt thou not hush thy clamour, or even 630 suffer me to sacrifice, when I have permitted thee to speak unchecked?
El. I hinder not, — begin thy rites, I pray thee; and blame not my voice, for I shall say no more. Cl. Raise then, my handmaid, the offerings of many fruits, that I may uplift my prayers to this our king, for deliverance from my present fears. Lend now a gracious ear, O Phoebus our defender, to my words, though they be dark; for I speak not among friends, 640 nor is it meet to unfold my whole thought to the light, while she stands near me, lest with her malice and her garrulous cry she spread some rash rumour throughout the town: but hear me thus, since on this wise I must speak.
That vision which I saw last night in doubtful dreams — if it hath come for my good, grant, Lycean king, that it be fulfilled; but if for harm, then let it recoil upon my foes. And if any are plotting to hurl me by treachery from the high estate which now is mine, permit them 650 not; rather vouchsafe that, still living thus unscathed, I may bear sway over the house of the Atreidae and this realm, sharing prosperous days with the friends who share them now, and with those of my children from whom no enmity or bitterness pursues me.
O Lycean Apollo, graciously hear these prayers, and grant them to us" all, even as we ask! For the rest, though I be silent, I deem that thou, a god, must know it; all things, surely, are seen by the sons of Zeus.
Enter the Paedagogus.
660 Pae. Ladies, might a stranger crave to know if this be the palace of the king Aegisthus?
Ch. It is, sir; thou thyself hast guessed aright.
Pae. And am I right in surmising that this lady is his consort? She is of queenly aspect.
Ch. Assuredly; thou art in the presence of the queen.
Pae. Hail, royal lady! I bring glad tidings to thee and to Aegisthus, from a friend.
Cl. I welcome the omen; but I would fain know from thee, first, who may have sent thee.
Pae. Phanoteus the Phocian, on a weighty mission. 670 Cl. What is it, sir? Tell me: coming from a friend, thou wilt bring, I know, a kindly message.
Pae. Orestes is dead; that is the sum.
El. Oh, miserable that I am! I am lost this day!
Cl. What sayest thou, friend, what sayest thou? — listen not to her!
PAE. I said, and say again — Orestes is dead.
El. I am lost, hapless one, I am undone!
CL. (to Electra). See thou to thine own con- cerns.— But do thou, sir, tell me exactly, — how did he perish? Pae. I was sent for that purpose, and will tell thee 680 all. Having gone to the renowned festival, the pride of Greece, for the Delphian games, when he heard the loud summons to the foot-race which was first to be decided, he entered the lists, a brilliant form, a wonder in the eyes of all there; and, having finished his course at the point where it began, he went out with the glorious meed of victory. To speak briefly, where there is much to tell, I know not the man whose deeds and triumphs have matched his; but one thing thou must know; in 690 all the contests that the judges announced, he bore away the prize; and men deemed him happy, as oft as the herald proclaimed him an Argive, by name Orestes, son of Agamemnon, who once gathered the famous armament of Greece.
Thus far, 'twas well; but, when a god sends harm, not even the strong man can escape. For, on another day, when chariots were to try their speed at sunrise, he 700 entered, with many charioteers. One was an Achaean, one from Sparta, two masters of yoked cars were Li- byans; Orestes, driving Thessalian mares, came fifth among them; the sixth from Aetolia, with chestnut colts; a Magnesian was the seventh; the eighth, with white horses, was of Aenian stock; the ninth, from Athens, built of gods; there was a Boeotian too, making the tenth chariot.
They took their stations where the appointed umpires 710 placed them by lot and ranged the cars; then, at the sound of the brazen trump, they started. All shouted to their horses, and shook the reins in their hands; the whole course was filled with the noise of rattling chariots; the dust flew upward; and all, in a confused throng, plied their goads unsparingly, each of them striving to pass the wheels and the snorting steeds of his rivals; for alike at their backs and at their rolling wheels the breath of the horses foamed and smote.
720 Orestes, driving close to the pillar at either end of the course, almost grazed it with his wheel each time, and, giving rein to the trace-horse on the right, checked the horse on the inner side. Hitherto, all the chariots had escaped overthrow; - but presently the Aenian's hard-mouthed colts ran away, and, swerving, as they passed from the sixth into the seventh round, dashed their foreheads against the team of the Barcaean. Other mishaps followed the first, shock on shock and crash on crash, till the whole race-ground of Crisa was strewn 730 with the wreck of the chariots.
Seeing this, the wary charioteer from Athens drew aside and paused, allowing the billow of chariots, surg- ing in mid course, to go by. Orestes was driving last, keeping his horses behind, — for his trust was in the end; but when he saw that the Athenian was alone left in, he sent a shrill cry ringing through the ears of his swift colts, and gave chase. Team was brought level with team, and so they raced, — first one man, then the other, showing his head in front of the chariots. 740 Hitherto the ill-fated Orestes had passed safely through every round, steadfast in his steadfast car; at last, slackening his left rein while the horse was turning, unawares he struck the edge of the pillar; he broke the axle-box in twain; he was thrown over the chariot- rail; he was caught in the shapely reins; and, as he fell on the ground, his colts were scattered into the middle of the course.
But when the people saw him fallen from the car, a cry of pity went up for the youth, who had done 75° such deeds and was meeting such a doom, — now dashed to earth, now tossed feet uppermost to the sky, — till the charioteers, with difficulty checking the career of his horses, loosed him, so covered with blood that no friend who saw it would have known the hapless corpse. Straightway they burned it on a pyre; and chosen men of Phocis are bringing in a small urn of bronze 764 the sad dust of that mighty form, to find due burial Un his fatherland.
Such is my story, — grievous to hear, if words can grieve; but for us, who beheld, the greatest of sorrows that these eyes have seen. Ch. Alas, alas! Now, methinks, the stock of our V ancient masters hath utterly perished, root and branch. Cl. O Zeus, what shall I call these tidings, — glad tidings? Or dire, but gainful? Tis a bitter lot, when \ mine own calamities make the safety of my life.
Pae. Why art thou so downcast, lady, at this news? ^770 Cl. There is a strange power in motherhood; a x/ mother may be wronged, but she never learns to hate her child. Pae.. Then it seems that we have come in vain. Cl. Nay, not in vain; how canst thou say ' in vain,' when thou hast brought me sure proofs of his death? — His, who sprang from mine own life, yet, forsaking me who had suckled and reared him, became an exile and an alien; and, after he went out of this land, he saw me no more; but, charging me with the murder of his / sire, he uttered dread threats against me; so that 786 neither by night nor by day could sweet sleep cover I mine eyes, but from moment to moment I lived in fear of death. Now, however — since this day I am rid of terror from him, and from this girl, — that worse plague who shared my home, while still she drained my very life- blood, — now, methinks, for aught that she can threaten, I shall pass my days in pe^ce.
El. Ah, woe is me! Now, indeed, Orestes, thy fortune may be lamented, when it is thus with thee, and thou art mocked by this thy mother! Is it not 790 well?
Cl. Not with thee; but his state is well. El. Hear, Nemesis of him who hath lately died!
Cl. She hath heard who should be heard, and hath ordained well.
El. Insult us, for this is the time of thy triumph.
Cl. Then will not Orestes and thou silence me?
El. We are silenced; much less should we silence thee.
Cl. Thy coming, sir, would deserve large recom- pense, if thou hast hushed her clamorous tongue.
Pae. Then I may take my leave, if all is well.
Cl. Not so; thy welcome would then be unworthy 800 of me, and of the ally who sent thee. Nay, come thou in; and leave her without, to make loud lament for her- self and for her friends.
[Clytaemnestra and the PAEDAGOGUS enter the house. El. How think ye? Was there not grief and anguish there, wondrous weeping and wailing of that miserable mother, for the son who perished by such a fate? Nay, she left us with a laugh! Ah, woe is me! Dearest Orestes, how is my life quenched by thy death! Thou hast torn away with thee from my heart the only hopes which still were mine, — that thou wouldst 810 live to return some day, an avenger of thy sire, and of me unhappy. But now — whither shall I turn? I am alone, bereft of thee, as of my father.
Henceforth I must be a slave again among those whom most I hate, my father's murderers. Is it not well with me? But never, at least, henceforward, will I enter the house to dwell with them; nay, at these gates I will lay me down, and here, without a friend, V 820 my days shall wither. Therefore, if any in the house be wroth, let them slay me; for 'tis a grace, if I die, but if I live, a pain; I desire life no more.
Ch. Where are the thunderbolts of Zeus, or where is the bright Sun, if they look upon these things, and brand them not, but rest?
El. Woe, woe, ah me, ah me!
Ch. O daughter, why weepest thou?
El. {with hands outstretched to heaven). Alas!
Ch. Utter no rash cry! 830 El. Thou wilt break my heart!
Ch. How meanest thou?
El. If thou suggest a hope concerning those who have surely passed to the realm below, thou wilt trample^ yet more upon my misery.
Ch. Nay, I know how, ensnared by a woman for \i a chain of gold, the prince Amphiaraus found a grave; and now beneath the earth — CH. — he reigns in fulness of force.
El. Alas!
Ch. Alas indeed! for the murderess — El. Was slain. Ch. Yea.
EL. I know it, I know it; for a champion arose to avenge the mourning dead; but to me no champion remains; for he who yet was left hath been snatched away.
Ch. Hapless art thou, and hapless is thy lot I El. Well know I that, too well, — I, whose life is 850 a torrent of woes dread and dark, a torrent that surges through all the months!
Ch. We have seen the course of thy sorrow.
El. Cease, then, to divert me from it, when no more — Ch. How sayest thou? El. — when no more can I have the comfort of hope, from a brother, the seed of the same noble sire.
Ch. For all men it is appointed to die. 860 El. What, to die as that ill-starred one died, amid I the tramp of racing steeds, entangled in the reins that dragged him?
Ch. Cruel was his doom, beyond thought!
El. Yea, surely; when in foreign soil, without ministry of my hands — CH. Alas!
El. — he is buried, ungraced by me with sepulture or with tears. 87c Enter Chrysothemis.
Chr. Joy wings my feet, dear sister, not careful of seemliness, if I come with speed; for I bring joyful news, to relieve thy long sufferings and sorrows.
El. And whence couldst thou find help for my woes, y whereof no cure can be imagined?
Chr. Orestes is with us, — know this from my lips, — in living presence, as surely as thou seest me here.
EL. What, art thou mad, poor girl? Art thou 880 laughing at my sorrows, and thine own?
Chr. Nay, by our father's hearth, I speak not in mockery; I tell thee that he is with us indeed.
El. Ah, woe is me! And from whom hast thou heard this tale, which thou believest so lightly? Chr. I believe it on mine own knowledge, not on hearsay; I have seen clear proofs.
El. What hast thou seen, poor girl, to warrant thy belief? Whither, I wonder hast thou turned thine eyes, v that thou art fevered with this baneful fire?
Chr. Then, for the gods' love, listen, that thou mayest know my story, before deciding whether I am S90 sune or foolish.
El. Speak on, then, if thou findest pleasure in speaking.
Chr. Well, thou shalt hear all that I have seen. When I came to our father's ancient tomb, I saw that streams of milk had lately flowed from the top of the mound, and that his sepulchre was encircled with gar- lands of all flowers that blow. I was astonished at the sight, and peered about, lest haply some one should be close to my side. But when I perceived that all the 900 place was in stillness, I crept nearer to the tomb; and on the mound's edge I saw a lock of hair, freshly severed.
And the moment that I saw it, ah me, a familiar image rushed upon my soul, telling me that there I beheld a token of him whom most I love, Orestes. Then I took it in my hands, and uttered no ill-omened" word, but the tears of joy straightway filled mine eyes. And I know well, as I knew then, that this fair tribute has come from none but him. Whose part else was that, save mine and thine? And I did it not, I know, — nor 910 thou; how shouldst thou? — when thou canst not leave this house, even to worship the gods, but at thy peril. Nor, again, does our mother's heart incline to do such deeds, nor could she Have so done without our know- ledge.
No, these offerings are from Orestes! Come, dear sister, courage! No mortal life is attended by a change less fortune. Ours was once gloomy; but this day, per- chance, will seal the promise of much good.
El. Alas for thy folly! How I have been pitying 920 thee!
Chr. What, are not my tidings welcome?
El. Thou knowest not whither or into what dreams \j thou wanderest.
Chr. Should I not know what mine own eyes have seen?
El. He is dead, poor girl; and thy hopes in that deliverer are gone: look not to him.
CHR. Woe, woe is me! From whom hast thou heard this? El. From the man who was present when he perished.
CHR. And where is he? Wonder steals over my V mind.
El. He is within, a guest not unpleasing to our mother.
930 CHR. Ah, woe is me! Whose, then, can have been those ample offerings to our father's tomb?
El. Most likely, I think, some one brought those gifts in memory of the dead Orestes.
Chr. Oh, hapless that I am! And I was bringing such news in joyous haste, ignorant, it seems, how dire was our plight; but now that I have come, I find fresh sorrows added to the old!
El. So stands thy case; yet, if thou wilt hearken to me, thou wilt lighten the load of our present trouble. 940 Chr. Can I ever raise the dead to life?
El. I meant not that; I am not so foolish.
Chr. What biddest thou, then, for which my strength avails?
El. That thou be brave in doing what I enjoin.
Chr. Nay, if any good can be done, I will not refuse.
El. Remember, nothing succeeds without toil.
Chr. I know it, and will share thy burden with all my power. El. Hear, then, how I am resolved to act. As for the support of friends, thou thyself must know that we have none; Hades hath taken our friends away, and we 950 two are left alone. I, so long as I heard that my brother still lived and prospered, had hopes that he would yet come to avenge the murder of our sire. But now that he is no more, I look next to thee, not to flinch from aiding me thy sister to slay our father's murderer, Aegisthus: — I must have no secret from thee more.
How long art thou to wait inactive? What hope is left standing, to which thine eyes can turn? Thou hast to complain that thou art robbed of thy father's heritage; 960 thou hast to mourn that thus far thy life is fading with- out nuptial song or wedded love. Nay, and do not hope1 that such joys will ever be thine; Aegisthus is not so ill-advised as ever to permit that children should springy from thee or me for his own sure destruction. But if\ thou wilt follow my counsels, first thou wilt win praise of piety from our dead sire below, and from our brother too; next, thou shalt be called free henceforth, as thou 97° wert born, and shalt find worthy bridals; for noble natures draw the gaze of all.
Then seest thou not what fair fame thou wilt win for thyself and for me, by hearkening to my word? What citizen or stranger, when he sees us, will not greet us with praises such as these? — * Behold these two sisters, my friends, who saved their father's house;| who, when their foes were firmly planted of yore, took their lives 980 in their hands and stood forth as avengers of blood! Worthy of love are these twain, worthy of reverence from all; at festivals, and wherever the folk are as- sembled, let these be honoured of all men for their prowess.' Thus will every one speak of us, so that in life and in death our glory shall not fail.
Come, dear sister, hearken! Work with thy sire, share the burden of thy brother, win rest from woes for me and for thyself, — mindful of this, that an ignoble life brings shame upon the noble.
? Ch. In such case as this, forethought is helpful for 990 those who speak and those who hear.
Chr. Yea, and before she spake, my friends, were she blest with a sound mind, she would have remem- bered caution, as she doth not remember it. Now whither canst thou have turned thine eyes, that 1/ thou art arming thyself with such rashness, and calling me to aid thee? Seest thou not, thou art a woman, not a man, and no match for thine adversaries in strength? 1000 And their fortune prospers day by day, while ours is ebbing and coming to nought. Who, then, plotting to vanquish a foe so strong, shall escape without suffering deadly scathe? See that we change not our evil plight to worse, if any one hears these words, It brings us no relief or benefit, if, after winning fair fame, we die an. ignominious death; for mere death is not the bitterest, but rather when one who craves to die cannot obtain even that boon.
Nay, I beseech thee, before we are utterly destroyed, 1010 and leave our house desolate, restrain thy rage! I will take care that thy words remain secret and harmless; and learn thou the prudence, at last though late, of yielding, when so helpless, to thy rulers.
Ch. Hearken; there is- no better gain for mortals to win than foresight and a prudent mind. El. Thou hast said nothing unlooked-for; I well knew that thou wouldst reject what I proffered. Well! I must do this deed with mine own hand, and alone; for 1020 assuredly I will not leave it void.
Chr. Alas! Would thou hadst been so purposed Ion the day of our father's death! What mightst thou not have wrought?
El. My nature was the same then, but my mind less ripe.
( CHR. Strive to keep such a mind through all thy life.
El. These counsels mean that thou wilt not share my deed.
CHR. No; for the venture is likely to bring disaster.
EL. I admire thy prudence; thy cowardice I hate.
CHR. I will listen not less calmly when thou praise me.
El. Never fear to suffer that from me.
Chr. Time enough in the future to decide that.| 1030 El. Begone; there is no power to help in thee.
Chr. Not so; but in thee, no mind to learn. \ El. Go, declare all this to thy mother!
CHR. But, again, I do not hate thee with such a hate. El. Yet know at least to what dishonour thou bringest me.
CHR. Dishonour, no! I am only thinking of thy good.
El. Am I bound, then, to follow thy rule of right?
CHR. When thou art wise, then thou shalt be our guide.
El. Sad, that one who speaks so well should speak amiss!
Chr. Thou hast well described the fault to which 1040 thou cleave.st.
El. How? Dost thou not think that I speak with justice?
Chr. But sometimes justice itself is fraught with harm.
El. I care not to live by such a law.
Chr. Well, if thou must do this, thou wilt praise me yet.
El. And do it I will, no whit dismayed by thee. * Chr. Is this so indeed? Wilt thou not change thy \ counsels?
El. No, for nothing is more hateful than bad counsel.
Chr. Thou seemest to agree with nothing that I urge.
{ El. My resolve is not new, but long since fixed. 1050 Chr. Then I will go; thou canst not be brought to approve my words, nor I to commend thy conduct. El. Nay, go within; never will I follow thee, how- ever much thou mayst desire it; it were great folly even to attempt an idle quest.
CHR. Nay, if thou art wise in thine own eyes, be such wisdom thine; by and by, when thou standest in evil plight, thou wilt praise my words.
sir. 1. Ch. When we see the birds of the air, with sure 1060 instinct, careful to nourish those who give them life and nurture, why do not we pay these debts in like measure?
Nay, by the lightning-flash of Zeus, by Themis throned in heaven, it is not long till sin brings sorrow.
Voice that comest to the dead beneath the earth, send a piteous cry, I pray thee, to the son of Atreus in that world, a joyless message of dishonour; ant. 1. tell him that the fortune's of his house are now dis- 1070 tempered; while, among his children, strife of sister with sister hath broken the harmony of loving days. Electra, •/ forsaken, braves the storm alone; she bewails alway, hapless one, her father's fate, like the nightingale un- wearied in lament; she recks not of death, but is ready ' to leave the sunlight, could she but quell the two Furies 1080 of her house. Who shall match such noble child of noble sire?
No generous soul deigns, by a base life, to cloud str. 2. a fair repute, and leave a name inglorious; as thou, too, O my daughter, hast chosen to mourn all thy days with those that mourn, and hast spurned dishonour, that thou mightest win at once a twofold praise, as wise, and as the best of daughters.
May I yet see thy life raised in might and wealths/. 2. above thy foes, even as now it is humbled beneath their Ife^° hand! For I have found thee in no prosperous estate; and yet, for observance of nature's highest laws, winning the noblest renown, by thy piety towards Zeus.
Enter ORESTES, with PYLADES and two attendants.
Or. Ladies, have we been directed aright, and are we on the right path to our goal?
Ch. And what seekest thou? With what desire 1100 hast thou come? Or. I have been searching for the home of Ae- gisthus.
Ch. Well, thou hast found it; and thy guide is blameless.
Or. Which of you, then, will tell those within that our company, long desired, hath arrived?
Ch. This maiden, — if the nearest should announce it.
Or. I pray thee, mistress, make it known in the house that certain men of Phocis seek Aegisthus.
El. Ah, woe is me! Surely ye are not bringing the visible proofs of that rumour which we heard? 1 1 10 OR. I know nothing of thy ' rumour '; but the aged Strophius charged me with tidings of Orestes.
El. What are they, sir? Ah, how I thrill with fear!
Or. He is dead; and in a small urn, as thou seest, we bring the scanty relics home.
El. Ah me unhappy! There, at last, before mine eyes, I see that wdjul burden in your hands!
Or. If thy tears are for aught which Orestes hath suffered, know that yonder vessel holds his dust. El. Ah, sir, allow me, then, I implore thee, if this 1 120 urn indeed contains him, to take it in my hands, — that 1 may weep and wail, not for these ashes alone, but for myself and for all our house therewith!
Or. {to the attendants). Bring it and give it her, whoe'er she be; for she who begs this boon must be one who wished him no evil, but a friend, or haply a kins- woman in blood.
[ The urn is placed in Electra's hands.
El. Ah, memorial of him whom I loved best on ,- earth! Ah, Orestes, whose life hath no relic left save this, — how far from the hopes with which I sent thee \ forth is the manner in which I receive thee back! Now 1 130 I carry thy poor dust in my hands; but thou wert radiant, my child, when I sped thee forth from home! Would that I had yielded up my breath, ere, with these hands, I stole thee away, and sent thee to a strange lano\ and rescued thee from death; that so thou mightest j have been stricken down on that self-same day, and had/, thy portion in the tomb of thy sire!
But now, an exile from home and fatherland, thou hast perished miserably, far from thy sister; woe is me, these loving hands have not washed or decked thy corpse, nor taken up, as was meet, their sad burden from 1140 the flaming pyre. No! at the hands of strangers, hap- less one, thou hast had those rites, and so art come to us, a little dust in a narrow urn.
Ah, woe is me for my nursing long ago, so vain, that I oft bestowed on thee with loving toil! For thou wast never thy mother's darling so much as mine; nor was any in the house thy nurse but I; and by thee I was ever called 'sister.' But now all this hath vanished in a day, with thy death; like a whirlwind, thou hast swept 1150 \J all away with thee. Our father is gone; I am dead in I regard to thee; thou thyself hast perished: our foes J exult; that mother, who is none, is mad with joy, — she \/ of whom thou didst oft send me secret messages, thy I heralds, saying that thou thyself wouldst appear as an ^ avenger. But our evil fortune, thine and mine, hath reft all that away, and hath sent thee forth unto me thus, — no more the form that I loved so well, but ashes and an idle shade.
Ah me, ah me! O piteous dust! Alas, thou dear 1 160 one, sent on a dire journey, how hast undone me, — un- done me indeed, O brother mine I Therefore take me to this thy home, me who am as 1 nothing, to thy nothingness, that I may dwell with thee j henceforth below; for when thou wert on earth, we shared alike; and now I fain would die, that I may not 1 170 be parted from thee in the grave. For I see that the dead have rest from pain.
Ch. Bethink thee, Electra, thou art the child of mortal sire, and mortal was Orestes; therefore grieve not too much. This is a debt which all of us must pay.
Or. Alas, what shall I say? What words can serve me at this pass? I can restrain my lips no longer!
EL. What hath troubled thee? Why didst thou say that?
Or. Is this the form of the illustrious Electra that I behold?
El. It is; and very grievous is her plight.
Or. Alas, then, for this miserable fortune! 1 180 El. Surely, sir, thy lament is not for me?
Or. O form cruelly, godlessly misused!
El Those ill-omened words, sir, fit no one better than me.
Or. Alas for thy life, unwedded and all unblest!
El. Why this steadfast gaze, stranger, and these laments?
OR. How ignorant was I, then, of mine own sorrows! El. By what that hath been said hast thou per- ceived this?
Or. By seeing thy sufferings, so many and so great.
El. And yet thou seest but a few of my woes.
Or. Could any be more painful to behold?
El. This, that I share the dwelling of the mur- 1190 derers.
Or. Whose murderers? Where lies the guilt at which thou hintest?
El. My father's; — and then I am their slave perforce.
Or. Who is it that subjects thee to this constraint?
EL. A mother — in name, but no mother in her deeds.
Or. How doth she oppress thee? With violence or with hardship?
El. With violence, and hardships, and all manner of ill.
Or. And is there none to succour, or to hinder?
El. None. I had one; and thou hast shown me his ashes.
Or. Hapless girl, how this sight hath stirred my pity!
El. Know, then, that thou art the first who ever 1200 pitied me.
Or. No other visitor hath ever shared thy pain.
EL. Surely thou art not some unknown kinsman? Or. I would answer, if these were friends who hear us.
El. Oh, they are friends; thou canst speak with- out mistrust.
Or. Give up this urn, then, and thou shalt be told all.
El. Nay, I beseech thee be not so cruel to me, sir!
Or. Do as I say, and never fear to do amiss.
El. I conjure thee, rob me not of my chief treasure!
Or. Thou must not keep it.
El. Ah woe is me for thee, Orestes, if I am not 1210 to give thee burial!
Or. Hush! — no such word! — Thou hast no right to lament.
El. No right to lament for my dead brother?
Or. It is not meet for thee to speak of him thus.
El. Am I so dishonoured of the dead?
Or. Dishonoured of none: — but this is not thy part.
El. Yes, if these are the ashes of Orestes that I hold.
OR. They are not; a fiction clothed them with 1/ his name.
[He gently takes the urn from her.
El. And where is that unhappy one's tomb?