Leader of the Chorus: Chance rules the marriages of women; some I
see turn out well, others ill amongst mankind.
Clytemnestra: Daughter, 'twas ever thy nature to love thy father.
This too one finds; some sons cling to their father, others have a
deeper affection for their mother. I will forgive thee, for myself
am not so exceeding glad at the deed that I have done, my child. But
thou,-why thus unwashed and clad in foul attire, now that the days
of thy lying-in are accomplished? Ah me, for my sorry schemes! I have
goaded my husband into anger more than e'er I should have done.
Electra: Thy sorrow comes too late; the hour of remedy has gone from
thee; my father is dead. Yet why not recall that exile, thy own wandering
son?
Clytemnestra: I am afraid; 'tis my interest, not his that I regard.
For they say he is wroth for his father's murder.
Electra: Why, then, dost thou encourage thy husband's bitterness against
us?
Studies
