APOLLO:
You, my brother, blood of our common Father,
Hermes, guard him well. Live up to your name,
good Escort. Shepherd him well, he is my suppliant,
and outlaws have their rights that Zeus reveres.
Lead him back to the world of men with all good speed.
Apollo withdraws to his inner sanctuary; Orestes leaves with. Hermes in the lead. The ghost
of Clytaemnestra appears at the Navelstone, hovering over the furies as they sleep.
THE GHOST OF CLYTAEMNESTRA:
You - how can you sleep?
Awake, awake - what use are sleepers now?
I got stripped of honour, thanks to you,
alone among the dead. And for those I k**ed
the charges of the dead will never cease, never -
I wander in disgrace, I feel the guilt, I tell you,
withering guilt from all the outraged dead!
But I suffered too, terribly, from dear ones,
and none of my spirits rages to avenge me.
I was slaughtered by his matricidal hand.
See these gashes -
Seizing one of the furies weak with sleep.
Carve them in your heart! The sleeping brain has eyes that give us light; we can never see our
destiny by day.
And after all my libations... how you lapped
the honey, the sober offerings poured to soothe you,
awesome midnight feasts I burned at the hearthfire,
your dread hour never shared with gods.
All those rites, I see them trampled down.
And he springs free like a fawn, one light leap
at that - he's through the thick of your nets,
he breaks away!
Mocking laughter twists across his face.
Hear me, I am pleading for my life.
Awake, my Furies, goddesses of the Earth!
A dream is calling - Clytaemnestra calls you now.
The furies mutter in their sleep.
Mutter on. Your man is gone, fled far away. My son has friends to defend him, not like mine.