And on their foes who walked in pride of strength,
Regardless of their lives, wrought doom of death!
These all must love, these all must reverence;
These in our feasts, and when the city meets
Tn full assemblage, all should honour well
For this their manly prowess.' Thus will all
Speak of us, so that fame we shall not miss,
Living or dying."—(P.)
But Chrysothemis recoils from the suggestion. Her spirit is too weak to venture on such a hazardous enterprise. Besides, she says, our foes are stronger than we are;—
"And nothing does it help or profit us,
Gaining fair fame, a shameful death to die."—(P.)
Then the pretended Phocians enter, carrying, as they say,
"In one small urn
All that is left, sad relics of the dead."—(P.)
The sight only increases Electra's sorrow, for it confirms what she had at first hoped might have been only an evil rumour. She takes the urn from the stranger—(we must remember that the brother and sister had not met for years)—and she muses over her shattered hopes, and over the untimely death of the Orestes whom she had loved with such devoted affection:[1]—
- ↑ An anecdote is told of the great actor Polus, that once, when playing the part of Electra (for no woman ever appeared on the Athenian stage), he embraced an urn containing the real ashes of a much-loved son who had lately died, and, affected by
