she meets her doom. The drawing of the characters will be considered in a future chapter.
The play must have appeared during the closing years of the Peloponnesian war, and must have been fresh in men's memory, when, as Plutarch tells us (Life of Lysander, c. 15), the deliberations about the fate of conquered Athens were determined by a Phocian actor singing the opening monody, which moved all to pity by its picture of a whilom princess reduced to miserable poverty. There is also a distinct reassertion of the legend of Helen as told in the Helena, which points back to that play. We may therefore confidently refer the Electra to those last years of the poet's life, when he appears more prolific and various to us than in any other part of his career. The real merits of this play are not admitted by recent German critics, who make it the special object of their censure or even their amusement. It is often called the weakest production among the extant plays, and an unfortunate attempt to improve upon the treatment of the same subject by Æschylus and Sophocles. The coryphæus of these critics is August Schlegel, whose own attempt to copy the despised Euripides in his Ion might have taught him more modesty.
The play is indeed intended as a critique of the defects of earlier Electras. It is a feuilleton spirituel, as the French call it, and from this point of view ranks with the works of literary criticism common in the Middle Comedy. After ridiculing (vv. 524 sqq.) the various proofs of recognition adduced by Æschylus, the poet criticises the long scene of rejoicing introduced by Sophocles, by cutting short these ebullitions, and proceeding at once with the plot against the royal assassins of Agamemnon. Far more important, however, than the external improvements is the ethical tone of the piece—the hesitation of Orestes when he sees his mother approaching, and the outburst of remorse in both brother and sister after the deed is done. Here is
