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Now for Euripides! It is a whirlwind of excitement in this journal here today, I can tell you that. (I'm cutting and posting well before I'm done with today's homework, as I'm about to get into the long argument with Pylades about who all is committing suicide here anyway.) We are back to good ol’ Orestes, who is possibly here to explain how stirring up the entire city to want to kill him is still totally not his fault. Nothing is ever Orestes’ fault!
Electra:
Woe is me! I groan on seeing you before the tomb, brother, and beside the pyre of those below. So much woe to me again! Seeing your appearance standing for the final time before my eyes, I leave my mind.
Orestes:
Will you not be content to send forth some silence, an end to this womanish wailing? These things are pitiful, but all the same it is necessary for you to endure the fate at hand.
Electra:
And how shall I be silent? To look upon this divine light is no longer for us poor wretches.
Orestes:
Don’t you kill me; I’m plenty wretched as is, dying at Argive hands; but leave it at these present evils.
Electra:
O wretched in your youth, Orestes, and your fate, and your untimely death! You ought to live, when you will not any longer.
Orestes:
By the gods, stop casting unmanliness around me, carrying me off into tears by reminding me of evils.
Electra:
We shall die; it’s not the sort of evil thing for not crying; for the dear life is pitiable to all mortals.
Orestes:
This day is the moment for us; and it’s necessary either to tie hanging nooses or to sharpen a sword at hand.
Electra:
Now you must do that for me, brother, lest some Argive kill me, setting an outrageous act upon the offspring of Agamemnon.
Orestes:
I have enough with the blood of my mother; and I will not kill you, but you must die by your own hand, by your preferred method.
Electra:
It will be so; I shall not linger behind your sword. Now I want to set my arms about your neck.
Orestes:
Delight in the empty pleasure, if it is delightful when you have walked near death to throw arms about.
Electra:
O dearest, who has the much desired and sweetest name, for your sister, and her one life.
Orestes:
You’ll make me cry, this way; I want to repay you with loving arms. --but why am I still ashamed, like a wretch? O chest of my sister, O my loved one for embraces, these things instead of children and marriage beds, the fellowship for us two miserable folks.
Electra:
Alas! How might the same sword kill us both, if it’s proper, and one memorial built of cedar hold us?
Orestes:
This would be sweetest; but you see how we are scarce of friends, so that we would share a tomb.
Electra:
But didn’t he speak for you, hastening so you wouldn’t die, that wicked Menelaus, the betrayer of my father?
Orestes:
He didn’t show his eyes, but holding his hope for the scepter,* he was careful not to save family. But all the same let’s die doing something true to our birth and most worthy of Agamemnon. And I will show to the city my noble birth by striking -- with a sword; and you must perform equal deeds to my daring acts.
And as for you, Pylades, become judge of the slaughter for us, and lay out the bodies of us two dead folks well, and bury us in a common grave, carried to the tomb of our father. And be well; as you see, I’m heading off towards my task.
---
* Menelaus, as brother to Agamemnon, inherits the household and the title if Orestes dies. So, you know. Mixed motivations there.
Electra:
Woe is me! I groan on seeing you before the tomb, brother, and beside the pyre of those below. So much woe to me again! Seeing your appearance standing for the final time before my eyes, I leave my mind.
Orestes:
Will you not be content to send forth some silence, an end to this womanish wailing? These things are pitiful, but all the same it is necessary for you to endure the fate at hand.
Electra:
And how shall I be silent? To look upon this divine light is no longer for us poor wretches.
Orestes:
Don’t you kill me; I’m plenty wretched as is, dying at Argive hands; but leave it at these present evils.
Electra:
O wretched in your youth, Orestes, and your fate, and your untimely death! You ought to live, when you will not any longer.
Orestes:
By the gods, stop casting unmanliness around me, carrying me off into tears by reminding me of evils.
Electra:
We shall die; it’s not the sort of evil thing for not crying; for the dear life is pitiable to all mortals.
Orestes:
This day is the moment for us; and it’s necessary either to tie hanging nooses or to sharpen a sword at hand.
Electra:
Now you must do that for me, brother, lest some Argive kill me, setting an outrageous act upon the offspring of Agamemnon.
Orestes:
I have enough with the blood of my mother; and I will not kill you, but you must die by your own hand, by your preferred method.
Electra:
It will be so; I shall not linger behind your sword. Now I want to set my arms about your neck.
Orestes:
Delight in the empty pleasure, if it is delightful when you have walked near death to throw arms about.
Electra:
O dearest, who has the much desired and sweetest name, for your sister, and her one life.
Orestes:
You’ll make me cry, this way; I want to repay you with loving arms. --but why am I still ashamed, like a wretch? O chest of my sister, O my loved one for embraces, these things instead of children and marriage beds, the fellowship for us two miserable folks.
Electra:
Alas! How might the same sword kill us both, if it’s proper, and one memorial built of cedar hold us?
Orestes:
This would be sweetest; but you see how we are scarce of friends, so that we would share a tomb.
Electra:
But didn’t he speak for you, hastening so you wouldn’t die, that wicked Menelaus, the betrayer of my father?
Orestes:
He didn’t show his eyes, but holding his hope for the scepter,* he was careful not to save family. But all the same let’s die doing something true to our birth and most worthy of Agamemnon. And I will show to the city my noble birth by striking -- with a sword; and you must perform equal deeds to my daring acts.
And as for you, Pylades, become judge of the slaughter for us, and lay out the bodies of us two dead folks well, and bury us in a common grave, carried to the tomb of our father. And be well; as you see, I’m heading off towards my task.
---
* Menelaus, as brother to Agamemnon, inherits the household and the title if Orestes dies. So, you know. Mixed motivations there.