Euripides -- Translations into English; Mythology, Greek -- Drama
city, and the circle of the forum; one who farmed his own land,[24] which
class of persons[25] alone preserve the country, but prudent, and wishing
the tenor of his conduct to be in unison with his words, uncorrupted, one
that had conformed to a blameless mode of living; he proposed to crown
Orestes the son of Agamemnon,[25a] who was willing to avenge his father by
slaying a wicked and unholy woman, who took this out of the power of men,
and would no one have been the cause of arming the hand for war, nor
undertaking an expedition, leaving his home, if those who are left destroy
what is intrusted to their charge in the house, disgracing their husbands'
beds. And to right-minded men at least he appeared to speak well: and none
spoke besides, but thy brother advanced and said, "O inhabitants of the
land of Inachus, avenging you no less than my father, I slew my mother, for
if the murder of men shall become licensed to women, ye no longer can
escape dying, or ye must be slaves to your wives. But ye do the contrary to
what ye ought to do. For now she that was false to the bed of my father is
dead; but if ye do indeed slay me, the law has lost its force, and no man
can escape dying, forasmuch as there will be no lack of this audacity."
But he persuaded not the people, though appearing to speak well. But that
villain, who spoke among the multitude, overcomes him, he that harangued
for the killing of thy brother and thee. But scarcely did the wretched
Orestes persuade them that he might not die by stoning; but he promised
that this day he would quit his life by self-slaughter together with
thee:--but Pylades is conducting him from the council, weeping: but his
friends accompany him bewailing him, pitying him; but he is coming a sad
spectacle to thee, and a wretched sight. But prepare the sword, or the
noose for thy neck, for thou must die, but thy nobleness of birth hath
profited thee nothing, nor the Pythian Phœbus who sits on the tripod, but
hath destroyed thee.
CHOR. O unhappy virgin! how art thou dumb, casting thy muffled countenance
toward the ground, as though about to run into a strain of groans and
lamentations!
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