Orestes Et Électre (inglês)

Cranes

Who are you?

A stranger.

Then you are welcome. All that is foreign to this town is 
dear to me. What is your name?

I am Philèbe and I am from Corinthe.

Ah? From Corinthe? My name's Électre.

You're very beautiful. Not at all like the people in these 
parts.

I, beautiful? Can you really mean it? As beautiful as the 
Corinthian girls? Yes.

Well here they never tell me that I am beautiful. Perhaps 
they don't want me to know it. Anyhow what use would beauty
 be to me? I'm only a servant.

What! You a servant? Have you never thought of running 
away?

I haven't the courage; I daren't face the country roads at 
night all by myself. No! I'm waiting for something.

Something or someone?

That's my secret. Now it's your turn to speak. Is Corinthe 
a pretty place?

Very pretty.

I suppose you think I'm very childish. But it's so hard for
 me to picture a life like that - going for walks, laughing
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 and singing in the streets. Everybody here is sick with 
fear. Everyone except me. And I ...

Yes? And you?

I'm sick with hatred. Please tell me something else; I want
 to know it because of someone I'm expecting. Suppose one 
of the young fellows you've been telling about, who walk 
and laugh with girls in the evening - suppose one of these 
young men came home after a long journey and found his 
father murded, and his mother living with the murderer, and
 his sister treated like a slave - what would he do, that 
young man from Corinthe? Would he just he just take it for 
granted and leave his fathers house? Or would he draw his 
sword and hurl himself at the assassin, and slash his 
brains out?

Électre!

Hush!

What is it?

That was my mother, Queen Clytemnestre

Électre, hear the kings order. You are to make ready for 
the ceremony. You must wear your black dress and your 
jewels. You are a princess, Électre, and the townsfolk 
expect to see you, as in former years.

Do you know what they do Philèèe? Above the town there's a 
great cavern. People say that it leads down to hell. Each 
year when this anniversary comes round, the townspeople 
gather outside the cavern, soldiers roll away the stone 
which blocks the entrance, and our dead, so they say, come 
up from hell amd roam the city. The dead are everywhere. I 
refuse to take part in this mummery. Those dead folk are 
their dead, not mine.

If you will not obey his summons willingly, the King will 
have you brought to him by force.
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By force? ... ha! I shall attend the rite and, if the 
townsfolk wish to see me, they won't be disappointed. Now 
I'll go and make myself ready.
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