Testo: Cranes. Other. Orestes Et Électre.

Qui es-tu?



Un etranger.



Sois le bienvenu. Tout ce qui est etranger a cette ville m'est cher. Quel est ton nom?



Je m'appelle Philebe et je suis de Corinthe.



Ah? De Corinthe? Moi, on m'appelle Electre.



Tu es belle. Tu ne ressembles pas aux gens d'ici.



Belle? Tu es sur que je suis belle? Aussi belle que les filles de Corinthe?



Oui.



Ils ne me le dissent pas, ici. Ils ne veulent pas que je le sache. D'ailleurs a quoi ca me sert-il, je ne suis qu'une servante.



Servant? Toi? Tu n'as jamais songe a t'enfuir?



Je n'ai pas ce courage-la : j'aurais peur, seule sur les routes. Ah bien! J'attends quelque chose.



Quelque chose ou quelqu'un?



Je ne te le dirai pas. Parle plutot. C'est une belle ville, Corinthe?



Tres belle.



Je te parais niaise? C'est que j'ai tant de peine a imaginer des promenades, des chants, des sourires. Les gens d'ici sont ronges par



la peur. Et moi ...



Toi?



Par la haine. Et dis-moi encore ceci, car j'ai besoin de la savoir a cause de quelqu'un que j'attends : suppose qu'un gars de Corinthe, un de ces gars qui rient le soir avec les filles, trouve, au retour d'un voyage, son pere assassine, sa mere dans le lit du meurtrier et sa soeur en esclavage, est-ce qu'il filerait doux, le gars de Corinthe, est-ce qu'il s'en irait a reculons, en faisant des reverences, ou bien est-ce qu'il sortirait son epee et est-ce qu'il cognerait sur l'assassin jusqu'a lui faire eclater la tete?



Electre!



Chut!



Qu'y a-t-il?



C'est ma mere, la reine Clytemnestre.



Electre, le roi t'ordonne de t'appreter pour la ceremonie. Tu mettras ta robe noire et tes bijoux. Tu es princesse, Electre, et le peuple t'attend, comme chaque annee.



Sais-tu ce qu'ils font, Philebe? Il y a, au-dessus de la ville, une caverne on dit qu'elle communique avec les enfers. A chaque anniversaire, le peuple se reunit devant cette caverne, des soldats repoussent de cote la pierre qui en bouche l'entree, et nos morts remontant des enfers, se repandent dans le ville. Ils courent partout. Je ne veux pas prendre part a ces momeries. Ce sont leurs morts, non les miens.



Si tu n'obeis pas de ton plein gre, le roi a donne l'ordre qu'on t'amene de force.



De force? ... ha! Je paraitrai a la fete et, puisque le peuple veut m'y voir, il ne sera pas decu. A bientot, je vrais m'appreter.









English Translation:



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 Philebe and I am from Corinthe.



Ah? From Corinthe? My name's Electre.



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 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?



Electre!



Hush!



What is it?



That was my mother, Queen Clytemnestre



Electre, 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, Electre, and the townsfolk expect to see you, as in former years.



Do you know what they do Phileee? 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.



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.